Sindal's swordplay was... a glimpse of perfection?
It was... satisfying to see.
It was... a satisfying and peaceful feeling... that such occurrences could exist.
It was difficult-- nigh impossible for Tycondrius to comprehend what he was seeing.
But there was one notion he immediately understood.
It was *not* a Blade Dance.
There was no chaos. There was no order. There wasn't even a stink of her Elven ancestors.
There was... no form?
A formless sword art?
It was a paradox-- the theory behind it, impossible... and even if it was possible, mastering such an art was certainly outside the Realm of mortal limitations.
Tempest attempted to renew her dual-sword assault. It was a textbook strategy, utilizing a second sword instead of a shield or buckler, increasing the rate of offensive strikes aiming to overwhelm a single opponent.
