In an attempt to find one's purpose in the now it pays to return one's past for inspiration
The Razor's Edge
"My Lady, that is now the seventh time you have been cut. Perhaps we should call an end to today's session? And I honestly do not understand why you want this training. Would it not be easier and more appropriate to master a pistol instead?"
Steffanie frowned as she let another attendant see to the gash along her forearm. The cut was long, but not particularily deep and not something she concerned her. Were it not for the fact that her muscles were starting to cramp up she would press the issue. "Anyone can pick up a gun and shoot it, Mister Blain. There is no art or finesse to the use of a gun, though there is no disputing the effectiveness of the weapon. A sword is different and requires the body and mind to be in unison, to be sharp and fluid. From that comes a beautiful display of discipline and grace, Mister Blain."
The man shook his head and sighed, resigned to the fact that his Captain must be out of her mind. "You have been reading those books about the time of Rouvenour and the Garoun Empire, haven't you? History is nostalgic, my Lady, and the practices and such are best left there."
She shot her steward a cold glare then turned to her instructor and bowed. "Thank you for today's lesson, Master Valroux. The same time tomorrow?" The instructor nodded and took his leave.
"I understand your concern, Mister Blain," she said as they left the training facility. "And though I find your concern touching, this is something I have chosen to do for a reason. Now, would you kindly return to the
Winter Rose and see that she's ready to set out at the end of the week."
Her steward bowed his head and departed for the shuttle port while she returned to the flat she had rented for the week. Cleaning herself up, she noted that the cut looked more like a paper cut and wondered if that was to do with the implants or something else. With a shrug she poured herself a glass of brandy and sat down at the desk. Running her fingertips along the scabbard she contemplated her options again.
In the short time that she had been in space she had been exposed to many events that she had little prior knowledge about as well as various opinions and conjectures around those events. Along with that was the shocking discovery that there seemed to be a very strong anti-Gallente sentiment from many sources, which confused her. She had thought there would be much more respect and a willingness to listen and understand opposing points of view, but the blind hatred and lack of respect shown to others had shaken her world-view. The few positive relations she had managed to forge thus far gave her some hope and provided her with an anchor against the tempest she found herself in.
As she traced around the carefully engraved rose on the sheath, she considered carefully what she her next course of action ought to be. Leaning back in the chair the overwhelming sense of loneliness that plagued her settled in once again. She could give in and be what everyone seemed to assume an ethnic Gallente was...a debauched hedonist in a drug haze spouting diatribes about how everyone should bow to the freedom of the great and mighty Federation. There was a darker path that she could take and simply end it all...she had no family per say and she doubted she would be missed. As the dark mood settled in that second option began to look very appealing and it would be such a simple solution to everything...
Staring into the glass, the words of a poem she had written to the one person she considered her closest friend filtered through the black cloud of despair:
Sun sets peacefully
Violet dyes the night sky
Dew coats the white rose
With a curse she hurled the glass across the room. As it shattered against the wall she jumped out of the chair. "No, I will not take that path," she hissed through clenched teeth. "You are stronger than this...better than this." Taking several deep breaths she glanced at the sword and this datapad detailing the various legends of King Rouvenor. "Stop thinking in two dimensions, Steff," she muttered to herself. "There is another path...a harder path, but deep down it has to be the right path."
"It will have to be codified...in detail and adhered to." The darkness began to fade as she sat up late into the night laying the foundation for her destiny.
Author
Topic: The Razor's Edge (Read 2425 times)