Blind not Broken (open)

[Talbot Linsorim]

Muscles flexed and stretched as she moved in graceful spins and swoops. Sightness eyes were covered with a red cloth- a warning to those not blind. It was Mikon who had pointed out the cloth as she had become restless in her wanderings and room hermiting. She had woken early, walking out on her own, though Mikon had come as he flown on his own. His intention simply to keep an eye on his beloved ward. Having used her sythe as a staff, Talbot found her way to this empty field she had often heard the calng of metal, smelled the scents of sweat and burning- saw the signature of magic's aura.

Her clothing was sparing. She had refused to wear her tights and simply kept the flowing skirt and the wellfit top available. The staff spun and twirled as she dipped and swung. These movements still seemed the same- her feet not having forgotten the long trained movements of long ago and before she could remember. Inhailng and exhaling as if she were one with the flow and motion of the world around her. Her heart beating with the sound of a waterfall so far away, her breaths flowing with the wind, her feet beating against the earth the ferosity of a boulder though making no more sound than a grain of sand shifting free of a dune.

Swaying, spinning her staff, she jumped high- and invisible foe to a sightless warrior being slayed as the glimmer of the metal came down and across in such a blur no eye could have kept track. Landing crouched, she spun low, her invivble foe having now lost legs to her outstretched leg and lifeblood to the blade which would have connected.

Bare feet slowly came together as she stood to her full height, chest rising and falling from the movement. She swayed and put her staff into the ground, leaning against it as she waited. Not a minute passed before she sprang foreward- unbeknowingstly towards another early riser.

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

Torm catches the blow on his ladder, which is held horizontally. It does not shift or recoil upon the impact, but the breeze off her speedy strike stirs up the peripheries of his clothing: his usual tan trench coat and wide-brimmed fedora. Torm had been strolling along idly, and had not noticed the 'attacker' until it was almost too late to block! Now, he notices who it is and is momentarily surprised again. What a coincidence.

"Talbot," he says. Would she recognize his voice? Too late now, but Torm realizes that she doesn't even know his name, while he knows hers. He hopes she doesn't think he's a stalker... "I'm glad I ran into you." Inside, Torm is both amazed and happy to see the woman so alive and vital, after he had last seen her in a pained and disoriented state. It had really bothered him how little of a help he had been in the recovery wing; sometimes concern and a willingness to assist were just not enough. It appeared now that she was blossoming again of her own will and strength. Torm could now see that she was beautiful too; a fact which had been difficult to discern beneath the bandages and injuries that day, and that's aside from the fact that looks are not the sort of thing you're concerned about when someone is literally flipping out from pain and distress.

Torm casually drops his ladder to a relaxed guard. "Can we talk for a moment?"

[Talbot Linsorim]

Breathing heavily, Talbot hopped a few steps back. Her ears wiggled slightly, the sound of that voice- was he the owner of that muffled voice in the hospital wing? She had only been able to wonder about that day- she had only remembered pain and someone trying to help but through the darkness and the deafness- she had been unable to identify who it had been.

Turning the blade of her scythe away from the man, in a gesture of no harm, Talbot nodded, "May I be of assitance, Stranger?"

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

"I won't hold up your training long," Torm says. She really was fearsome with that thing. He pauses for a moment, and then continues. "I just wanted to apologize. I wasn't of much help at all back in the hospital."

"You're recovering well then, I trust?" It is kind of a silly question; she really does appear to be completely on the rise from her recent dejection, but Torm asks anyway because he would like to hear it from her.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Talbot bobbed her head, making only a slight gesture thanks, "It was you then."

Slowly moving foreward, palm outstretched, Talbot's hand rested on Torm's cheek, "I am greatful for your assistance when I woke up. Without your, "she smirked, "meddling in the healer's field I am very sure I would have severly injured someone."

As she spoke, her hand slowly moved- as if she were petting him, but quite the instead she was learning the face of a friend. No one helps someone as he did without intentions of being friends- or without underlying reason.

She nodded, moving her hand away and stepping back, "And as for healing well, yes. I have. Despite my lack of sight, I have adapted quickly to my losses and have yet more to gain- I am sure."

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

Torm grins; he is not weirded out at all by her touch. She is getting to know his face in the way she now was capable of doing. He is not upset or disappointed afer all; that is a relief to Torm.

"I'm glad to hear that. They say that dawn always follows night, and the winds of opportunity blow strongest at that hour," he says. Torm is not sure who they was, but he had heard it somewhere. Haha, maybe it was just from a fortune cookie, but whatever, it works for here.

"So, I'm not sure if we've been properly introduced! Shall we start from the top?" Torm says as she steps back. This is Torm being friendly/silly. He makes a ridiculous bow and puts on a fake accent, saying, "Would a fair lady such as yourself be so kind as to grace me with her name?" She might not perceive the bow, but it's the thought that counts.

[Talbot Linsorim]

Tapping her foot, Talbot saw the bow and shook her head, what an odd fellow. Had a gentle face though, that counted for something important somewhere in her mind. Bowing slightly, stiffly, extending a pale arm in a flare, "Talbot Linsorim, battle mage."

Straightening she continued, "And your name, Good Stranger?"

[Tormaigh MacRagallach]

Torm takes the extended hand in a handshake and rises from his silly pose. "Tormaigh MacRagallach, Artificer and Battlemage. The pleasure is entirely and undoubtedly mine, Talbot." A slight breeze chooses this moment to pick up in the open air of the training grounds, and it rustles the grasses scenically. Torm releases the hand and turns to survey the sky, which is fairly free of clouds, and the morning sun is beginning to climb its way towards its climactic noon seat.

As if in passing, Torm adds nonchalantly, "I trust you've heard about the exam coming up..."

[Talbot Linsorim]

Talbot nodded slightly, "Well I have heard some passing information. I cannot wait to see how well I will fair. For some reason, "she sighed, "These muscles and bones remember far more than I can about anything so far."

These words brought a small depression, which passed quickly as Talbot tilted her head back to enjoy the sunlight, beads of sweat rolled down her neck. How long had she been at this and only wanted to do more- her muscles ached with want to keep moving and she could do no more than deny them their need.

"It's odd- the one person I am most greatful for in what life I can remember and I have to fight them."