Prologue Pt. 1

Aarkleon's twin swords flashed through the air as he danced in the growing morning light, the blades of eldritch essence growing longer or shorter at his will. The daggers he held allowed him to transfer his innate magical energies into them producing blades of magnificent power that he had learned to control almost without thought. He trained every morning so that his eldritch powered blades would become extensions of himself, requiring no concentration to produce or alter, so that he would not be distracted from his foe. Aarkleon slashed and stabbed, twisting in the air, fighting an army of imaginary enemies. Sweat flew from his arms and hair, his movements so precise and yet to any onlooker they would have seemed random and unplanned. This was his D'Qashal, the fighting dance taught to every Alesyl warrior. Every person's different and yet all sharing the same grace, beauty and deadly accuracy...