Vale of the Eternal Blossoms
A tiny, two-story house stood in the southern corner of Alakhai's farmstead, a project she had worked on for many months after being gifted the land itself. The ground floor was composed of her cooking space, along with a secondhand recliner she had bought from an elven friend. That recliner had been her second project: reupholstering it from the original, but very tattered, red silk to a plush fur that she had harvested from wolves in the Storm Peaks. The second story was purely a narrow loft, furnished with just bedding. With no mate and rarely a visitor, the space was more than adequate for the solitary Pandaren.
Alakhai's main visitor was an ethereal she had rescued and befriended. The creatures name was chaotic upon her tongue, and it -- he? -- cringed whenever she said it; finally she announced that he would be Frank, because his favorite phrase had been, "If I could speak frankly." The ethereal had made some sound, which Alakhai took as acquiesce on the soul-trader's part.
Yesterday afternoon, Alakhai stood within a circle dotted with training dummies, in a spot just beyond her garden. A weapon rack was stationed between the garden and the circle, upon which she stored variety of axes and staves that she had collected from various exploits. Recently she had added a few new items, oddly enough gifts from Frank: a massive bastard sword, a smaller scimitar and finally a bulky shield. When Frank approached the circle that sunny day, Alakhai was standing before one of the jointed dummies, the small sword in one hand and the shield strapped to her other arm.
He watched, arms over his chest, as she danced around, juking the swinging arms of the wooden monstrosity. She still moved with fluidity, though now she raised her shield to take blows rather than accepting them and shaking off the tremor of power that struck her. With a sudden burst, she lashed out at a second dummy set up closely, and wove between them, parrying and blocking their wooden assault. The style of fighting was vastly different from the more mediative style she had been raised using, though she would be hard pressed to call one better than the other.
"You look almost comfortable now, Alakhai," Frank's voice rasped from behind her. She twisted about, hearing him, and instinctively lifted the shield to brace from another swinging wooden arm. Hearing the arm deflected away, she tucked and rolled toward the ethereal.
"Afternoon, Frank," she said, hanging the sword and shield on the rack. Flexing her right hand, Alakhai frowned at the calluses she could feel forming. "I've been seeking environments to test myself and what I've learned, but I haven't sought to bring them--" she paused, nodding toward the sword and shield, "--out with the Ten Storms."
The ethereal stood silent, his head cocking to the side.
Alakhai shifted on her feet. "I don't know. I just don't want to fail in front of them."
Frank scoffed.
"Next week," she said, tapping her fingers against the face of the shield before turning toward her house. "Next week."