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Cold air whipped through the long strands of her hair as she made her way through the snowy pass. It was miserably cold outside, she noted. Colder than the winters she'd suffered through in Wa. This winter did not have icy rain, or unspeakable snowstorms. No, it had snowfall that trickled down gently at first, but did not cease, soon forming heavy blankets of white powder upon the muddy ground. The slow process had managed to cloak the entire world in white, forcing her boots to sink deep into the sleet before she could take another step, making her normally graceful strides turn into a lumbering stomp.

But she would not allow the cold to bother her. After all, her sensais had made her spend hours standing in that same icy rain, without moving, many times before. What was a little snow to that?

She tugged her robes closer to her body, but soon slapped her hands away. That was weakness. It was acknowledging any sort of discomfort. Her sensai would have broken her fingers for such a motion, then lectured her about the strict discipline of her order. Monks were meant to endure, after all.

Besides, this day was not about the cold. It was about getting away, from the town that cast her odd looks, because of her unique heritage. Even without her dark, drow coloring, and her father's silver eyes, she would have been foreign enough, with her mother's Kara-turan features dominating her form. The high cheek bones, the almond-shaped eyes, and most notably, the thick, silky black hair that hung over her back, straight as twine.

It had grown out to her waist in the past few months. Normally, she kept it shorter for practicality's sake, but for some reason…she couldn't bare to cut it again. Genkei had loved it long, always running his rough hands through it, even though she protested that the grime in his fingers would make it greasy and clumped.

She swallowed at the memory of it. What would he have said if he'd seen her last training session? That poor paladin could barely defend herself with her fists. She was a slight, tender thing, preferring to cast spells rather than wield swords and fists. And the half-orc. As arrogant as he was, as strong as he was, she'd grabbed him by the wrist and brought him to his knees within the space of a minute, tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

Genkai would probably laugh, now that she thought of it. He had never been a sensitive man. He would have made some comment about how the arrogant mage finally got what he deserved. After all, the half-orc had made it a point of bothering her, always speaking of how his human blood gave him magic and spells, while all she got from hers was narrowed eyes. How he was stronger than her, even though she was supposed to be some sort of powerful warrior. What kind of warrior couldn't use a sword properly, he'd taunt, every time she dropped her weapon in blades practices. How she was nothing more than a leech, always scraping and bowing to Drogan—though he did the same, and how her being quiet amongst meals with the other students merely showed that she thought she was better than them.

But her samurai was not brutal…who knew what he would have said about the little paladin, if he'd seen the bruises on her face.

She thought of what the others would say. The masters at her monastery…they'd scold her endlessly, lecturing patience and restraint. Kara would be stunned, and ask what the hell had come over her. Diana and Sari would follow suit. Ili would arch her eyebrows in that…that way of hers, like she knew something no one else did. Alexandra…Alexandra might just have understood. She had blood that often tempted her anger, after all.

A scowl crossed her face as she stepped over the carcass of a deer, slaughtered quickly by starving wolves and bears. Gods…how many people on that list had passed on? And well before their time? Too many. Far too many. And how many more would pass on, hmm?

Her samurai had plunged his blades into his own gut, to spare her from any dishonor she would receive from her monastery. Instead, she'd been thrown out of the order, but it was a fair trade, for her life. The Harpers had murdered her sister, all because of her blood, and left her little daughter an orphan. And Ili was slain by her own student, something the monk couldn't imagine doing. She had been part of the monastery, part of the Harpers, but instead of rebelling…she simply left both organizations. Like an obsequious, little coward.

Her hand clenched into a tight fist, her nails digging harshly into her palm. Just what did this dwarf have in store for her? How long until she would witness another death? Another deceased love one to throw on a funeral pyre. How long until she left this damnable school? He knew what he was doing, asking her to spar with her fellow students. He knew that she was a better fighter, and trained to be deadly. Just what the hell was he trying to prove?

A howl hissed through her teeth at that moment, and she slammed her fist into a nearby tree, a large slit appearing in the rotting wood. Her hand should have hurt, but it was too numb from cold to do so.

By the hells, what was she doing? She was completely out of control! No monk should behave like this! Like some impulsive, uncivilized barbarian!

"Get it together, Varra." She whispered to herself, running trembling black fingers through her thick hair.

A man's deep guffaw sounded behind her, and she whipped around, seeing three men approach her. Their dirty clothes and unshaved faces marked them as wanderers, while the poorly made blades, clubs, and bows they held declared them as bandits.

"Poor lass, lost in the snow." The leader chuckled at her, brandishing his knife. "Put an arrow in 'er, eh?"

She actually smiled as the archer raised his bow. It was a cruel parody of a smile, the one an evil wizard would wear before putting a curse on a village. The arrow pierced the arrow, heading straight for her right eye. But she held up her hand, and with a quick motion, caught the missile between her fingers, snapping the wood in half.

The leader rushed her not a moment later, but she crouched down, sending him right over her back and into the snow. A kick was leveled to his chest, easily splintering his ribs, as another blow crushed his lungs.

The club-wielder swung at her once his leader went down, and she ducked, her foot shooting out and toppling him. He was up in a moment, and tried to rush her, only to end up with his face in the snow, her hands locked to his arm, and giving his wrist a painful twist.

Bones cracked beneath her hands and feet as she finished off the second man. The archer, though, she took her time with him, easily yanking the bow out of his hand, and the quiver off his back. He made the fatal mistake of trying to grab her hair, and she smiled as she took hold of his wrist, holding it before her silver gaze like a fine cloak, eager to inspect the craftmanship and any possible flaws.

A scream left him as she pinched down on the web between his fingers, dug her nails into the tender veins of his wrist, bent his fingers back far beyond their normal scale, snapped his little finger over his palm, and finally began the process of breaking his knuckles, one by one.

"Please…please stop."

She halted, hearing the desperation in his voice, seeing the tears make cold trails over his face.

"Leave." Her voice finally broke out, cold and strong as a well-crafted knife, despite the way that her stomach was churning.

The moment he scampered off, she let out a curse, seeing the bruised and broken bodies of his comrades. What was wrong with her?! They…they were just bandits! Stupid highwaymen! Bullies who she KNEW wouldn't last a chance against her…and yet…she…she toyed with them. Tortured them. Made them into playthings for her deadly skills.

Cursing bitterly, she stormed through the pass, not stopping until she reached the nearby stream. A waterfall poured into the shallow water, the pressure just enough to resist the layers of ice that had covered most of the water in the area.

Taking a deep breath, she tread through the water, the cold biting deep into her ankles, before she stood beneath the water, and clasped her hands together. She nearly bit her tongue in half at first, shocked by the undiluted pressure of the cold water, as it seeped deep into her long hair and loose-fitting robes, numbing her to the core.

Her muscles relaxed gradually, goaded by the urging of her mind, and the years of practice. Meditation came easily to her, after all. She was naturally calm, though today was not a good indicator of her nature, and had grasped the concept with moderate difficulty. Unlike staff and hand fighting, of course.

But as she settled into a cerebral calm, the images in her mind were anything but relaxing. Two katanas in a Genkei's chest. Swords digging deep into Alexandra's back. Two knives plunged into Ili's abdomen. The bruises on Mischa's face. The panic in the bandit's eyes.

Her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. A nasty smile on Drogan's lips. Diana with an arrow in her back. Sari's head on a pike. Kara…Kara beaten to death, by Varra's own hands. Drogan congratulating her on a job well done, praising her for finally taking the step, and killing her family herself, rather than allowing her organizations to do it.

A gasp escaped her as strong hands grabbed her by the waist, pulling her out of the river and onto the nearby land. Her fists were clenched in an instant, but they stopped, only centimeters away from a familiar dwarf's wizened face.

She swallowed hard, bringing her fists away from his spectacles. She didn't need to say it. He didn't need to acknowledge it. She could have killed him right then, had she not stopped herself.

"What, by the gods, do you think you're doing, lass?" His voice was gentle, despite his scold.

"I…I was meditating, Master." She replied, her voice holding a tremor as she moved to stand up.

Bowing to her…master, she voiced, "I apologize for my actions. I was startled."

"Come now, lass, there's no need to bow." Drogan smiled wryly, tipping her chin up as far as he could reach. "I don't need you to be eye-level with me, after all."

"I'm sorry."

"And stop apologizing." He commanded, walking with her through the snow. "Now then, do you know why I came looking for you?"

"Because of Mischa and Xanos?"

"Yes." The dwarf shook his head. "But we can discuss that later. For now, I have something more important to speak about with you."

"What could be more important?" She asked before she could stop herself.

Rather than scolding her for speaking out of turn, as her sensais would have done, Drogan smiled, brushing a few stray flecks of snow out of his beard.

"Well, my dear, there is the matter of your final test…"

Description
Cold air whipped through the long strands of her hair as she made her way through the snowy pass. It was miserably cold outside, she noted. Colder than the winters she'd suffered through in Wa. This winter did not have icy rain, or unspeakable snowstorms. No, it had snowfall that trickled down gently at first, but did not cease, soon forming heavy blankets of white powder upon the muddy ground. The slow process had managed to cloak the entire world in white, forcing her boots to sink deep into the sleet before she could take another step, making her normally graceful strides turn into a lumbering stomp.

But she would not allow the cold to bother her. After all, her sensais had made her spend hours standing in that same icy rain, without moving, many times before. What was a little snow to that?

She tugged her robes closer to her body, but soon slapped her hands away. That was weakness. It was acknowledging any sort of discomfort. Her sensai would have broken her fingers for such a motion, then lectured her about the strict discipline of her order. Monks were meant to endure, after all.

Besides, this day was not about the cold. It was about getting away, from the town that cast her odd looks, because of her unique heritage. Even without her dark, drow coloring, and her father's silver eyes, she would have been foreign enough, with her mother's Kara-turan features dominating her form. The high cheek bones, the almond-shaped eyes, and most notably, the thick, silky black hair that hung over her back, straight as twine.

It had grown out to her waist in the past few months. Normally, she kept it shorter for practicality's sake, but for some reason…she couldn't bare to cut it again. Genkei had loved it long, always running his rough hands through it, even though she protested that the grime in his fingers would make it greasy and clumped.

She swallowed at the memory of it. What would he have said if he'd seen her last training session? That poor paladin could barely defend herself with her fists. She was a slight, tender thing, preferring to cast spells rather than wield swords and fists. And the half-orc. As arrogant as he was, as strong as he was, she'd grabbed him by the wrist and brought him to his knees within the space of a minute, tears threatening to leak from his eyes.

Genkai would probably laugh, now that she thought of it. He had never been a sensitive man. He would have made some comment about how the arrogant mage finally got what he deserved. After all, the half-orc had made it a point of bothering her, always speaking of how his human blood gave him magic and spells, while all she got from hers was narrowed eyes. How he was stronger than her, even though she was supposed to be some sort of powerful warrior. What kind of warrior couldn't use a sword properly, he'd taunt, every time she dropped her weapon in blades practices. How she was nothing more than a leech, always scraping and bowing to Drogan—though he did the same, and how her being quiet amongst meals with the other students merely showed that she thought she was better than them.

But her samurai was not brutal…who knew what he would have said about the little paladin, if he'd seen the bruises on her face.

She thought of what the others would say. The masters at her monastery…they'd scold her endlessly, lecturing patience and restraint. Kara would be stunned, and ask what the hell had come over her. Diana and Sari would follow suit. Ili would arch her eyebrows in that…that way of hers, like she knew something no one else did. Alexandra…Alexandra might just have understood. She had blood that often tempted her anger, after all.

A scowl crossed her face as she stepped over the carcass of a deer, slaughtered quickly by starving wolves and bears. Gods…how many people on that list had passed on? And well before their time? Too many. Far too many. And how many more would pass on, hmm?

Her samurai had plunged his blades into his own gut, to spare her from any dishonor she would receive from her monastery. Instead, she'd been thrown out of the order, but it was a fair trade, for her life. The Harpers had murdered her sister, all because of her blood, and left her little daughter an orphan. And Ili was slain by her own student, something the monk couldn't imagine doing. She had been part of the monastery, part of the Harpers, but instead of rebelling…she simply left both organizations. Like an obsequious, little coward.

Her hand clenched into a tight fist, her nails digging harshly into her palm. Just what did this dwarf have in store for her? How long until she would witness another death? Another deceased love one to throw on a funeral pyre. How long until she left this damnable school? He knew what he was doing, asking her to spar with her fellow students. He knew that she was a better fighter, and trained to be deadly. Just what the hell was he trying to prove?

A howl hissed through her teeth at that moment, and she slammed her fist into a nearby tree, a large slit appearing in the rotting wood. Her hand should have hurt, but it was too numb from cold to do so.

By the hells, what was she doing? She was completely out of control! No monk should behave like this! Like some impulsive, uncivilized barbarian!

"Get it together, Varra." She whispered to herself, running trembling black fingers through her thick hair.

A man's deep guffaw sounded behind her, and she whipped around, seeing three men approach her. Their dirty clothes and unshaved faces marked them as wanderers, while the poorly made blades, clubs, and bows they held declared them as bandits.

"Poor lass, lost in the snow." The leader chuckled at her, brandishing his knife. "Put an arrow in 'er, eh?"

She actually smiled as the archer raised his bow. It was a cruel parody of a smile, the one an evil wizard would wear before putting a curse on a village. The arrow pierced the arrow, heading straight for her right eye. But she held up her hand, and with a quick motion, caught the missile between her fingers, snapping the wood in half.

The leader rushed her not a moment later, but she crouched down, sending him right over her back and into the snow. A kick was leveled to his chest, easily splintering his ribs, as another blow crushed his lungs.

The club-wielder swung at her once his leader went down, and she ducked, her foot shooting out and toppling him. He was up in a moment, and tried to rush her, only to end up with his face in the snow, her hands locked to his arm, and giving his wrist a painful twist.

Bones cracked beneath her hands and feet as she finished off the second man. The archer, though, she took her time with him, easily yanking the bow out of his hand, and the quiver off his back. He made the fatal mistake of trying to grab her hair, and she smiled as she took hold of his wrist, holding it before her silver gaze like a fine cloak, eager to inspect the craftmanship and any possible flaws.

A scream left him as she pinched down on the web between his fingers, dug her nails into the tender veins of his wrist, bent his fingers back far beyond their normal scale, snapped his little finger over his palm, and finally began the process of breaking his knuckles, one by one.

"Please…please stop."

She halted, hearing the desperation in his voice, seeing the tears make cold trails over his face.

"Leave." Her voice finally broke out, cold and strong as a well-crafted knife, despite the way that her stomach was churning.

The moment he scampered off, she let out a curse, seeing the bruised and broken bodies of his comrades. What was wrong with her?! They…they were just bandits! Stupid highwaymen! Bullies who she KNEW wouldn't last a chance against her…and yet…she…she toyed with them. Tortured them. Made them into playthings for her deadly skills.

Cursing bitterly, she stormed through the pass, not stopping until she reached the nearby stream. A waterfall poured into the shallow water, the pressure just enough to resist the layers of ice that had covered most of the water in the area.

Taking a deep breath, she tread through the water, the cold biting deep into her ankles, before she stood beneath the water, and clasped her hands together. She nearly bit her tongue in half at first, shocked by the undiluted pressure of the cold water, as it seeped deep into her long hair and loose-fitting robes, numbing her to the core.

Her muscles relaxed gradually, goaded by the urging of her mind, and the years of practice. Meditation came easily to her, after all. She was naturally calm, though today was not a good indicator of her nature, and had grasped the concept with moderate difficulty. Unlike staff and hand fighting, of course.

But as she settled into a cerebral calm, the images in her mind were anything but relaxing. Two katanas in a Genkei's chest. Swords digging deep into Alexandra's back. Two knives plunged into Ili's abdomen. The bruises on Mischa's face. The panic in the bandit's eyes.

Her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. A nasty smile on Drogan's lips. Diana with an arrow in her back. Sari's head on a pike. Kara…Kara beaten to death, by Varra's own hands. Drogan congratulating her on a job well done, praising her for finally taking the step, and killing her family herself, rather than allowing her organizations to do it.

A gasp escaped her as strong hands grabbed her by the waist, pulling her out of the river and onto the nearby land. Her fists were clenched in an instant, but they stopped, only centimeters away from a familiar dwarf's wizened face.

She swallowed hard, bringing her fists away from his spectacles. She didn't need to say it. He didn't need to acknowledge it. She could have killed him right then, had she not stopped herself.

"What, by the gods, do you think you're doing, lass?" His voice was gentle, despite his scold.

"I…I was meditating, Master." She replied, her voice holding a tremor as she moved to stand up.

Bowing to her…master, she voiced, "I apologize for my actions. I was startled."

"Come now, lass, there's no need to bow." Drogan smiled wryly, tipping her chin up as far as he could reach. "I don't need you to be eye-level with me, after all."

"I'm sorry."

"And stop apologizing." He commanded, walking with her through the snow. "Now then, do you know why I came looking for you?"

"Because of Mischa and Xanos?"

"Yes." The dwarf shook his head. "But we can discuss that later. For now, I have something more important to speak about with you."

"What could be more important?" She asked before she could stop herself.

Rather than scolding her for speaking out of turn, as her sensais would have done, Drogan smiled, brushing a few stray flecks of snow out of his beard.

"Well, my dear, there is the matter of your final test…"