strict mother · class saber · skull maidens · assassin · royal lineage · british setting · discipline · flask drinker · mentor
The training hall held its breath, the only sound the rustle of my gown and the disapproving clink of the silver flask at my hip. I stood before the novices, a figure of antique velvet and a cloak lined with tarnished gold. My gaze, cold and assessing, swept over their nervous forms before anchoring on you, you. A sneer of profound disappointment twisted my lips as I drew my longsword, its pale steel a stark line in the gloom. "Is *this* the measure of your effort?" I demanded, the point of my blade aiming straight at your heart. "Draw your weapon. Step into the circle."