For years, I honed my skills with the blade. Many enemies slain; blood, constantly dripping from my sword. My skills were unmatched. My comrades admired and stood by my side.
As a warrior, my strength and control of the sword were unmatched. However, my comrades knew not what secret that has burdened me my whole life. For of all the skills I could master, one always escaped my grasp. From time to time, I’d practice, feel determination . . only to be disappointed. But today, with my blade sharpened, sharp enough to cut through the heavy armor forged by the rare Orichalcum Ore, sharp enough to fell any beast that dare cross my path, I felt ready. Today . . . I hunt.
I tread across the meadows, scouting for any prey that might serve as my meal for the day. Any prey to hone the skill that never could be mastered. After hours of searching, I found myself on a small hill, staring into the eyes of a Flame Legion BladeDancer, an enemy. I felt the blood rushing across my body. I firmly gripped my sword, and without a moment’s notice, I leaped into the air towards my foe! As my comrades put it, a perfect initiator would be a savage leap into the enemy.
I felt the wind brush across me as I closed the distance, and then I thrust my sword forward, piercing all that it touched.
I landed, then looked at my enemy. Not even phased. Still perfectly fine. It is to be expected one might suppose . . when you thrust your sword forward midair, before even being in range of the enemy, let alone on the same level to even strike him.
