...a drider warren.

Clang! Clang! Bang!

The clash of steel on steel was deafeningly loud in the low-ceilinged room. Blades met, kissed, parted again. The fighters circled each other. One was a tall human woman with a shock of short black hair. Her frame was muscular, with thick hips and calves and powerful biceps. Her brow was furrowed and her face set in a frown of concentration. Her movements were not graceful, but economical, calculated to present the leanest possible target to her opponent. She held a notched iron practice sword in a two-handed guard.

Her opponent was very much her opposite. Her dark skin marked her as a drow, the so-called “deep elves.” She was short and slender, with fine features and long white hair that cascaded down her shoulders. She grinned as she fought and laughed as she parried a blow, dancing catlike away from the human woman's powerful slashes. The drow was graceful where the human was methodical, daring where her opponent was patient. She darted in to land a series of strikes, which the other woman only managed to avoid by giving ground. Both combatants wore heavily padded leather armor and iron bucket helmets, and the occasional blow that made it past their guard was absorbed with an "oof!" and a gasp for breath.

A half dozen others watched from the sidelines. Four of them were drow, all wearing the same padded armor and carrying dulled practice swords. The fifth was a waifish half-elf with olive skin and wavy copper hair. She was at least a head shorter than the shortest drow, but they kept a respectful distance from her all the same, occasionally shooting her a wary glance. Unlike the others, she wore a simple silken robe and carried no weapon; her arms were crossed beneath her breasts as she watched the fight. She leaned casually against a wooden rack holding polearms, sickles, and other bladed weapons, all dulled for practice.

The sixth figure was the largest and the most inhuman. A massive spider's abdomen, the size of a pony, fused into the torso and upper body of an elven woman with ebony skin. She wore baroquely worked copper armor over a silken tunic, and stared at the fight with eyes as black as obsidian. Her elven features were delicate and youthful, a sharp contrast to the coarse black hair on her spider's abdomen. She swayed gently on eight spindly legs as she watched, wincing unconsciously at each impact as the swords rang out.

The fighters broke apart, both breathing heavily. The human woman rested her sword against one shoulder and pointed with her free hand. "Lil'esh, you're still following the same three-stroke pattern we discussed. If you always strike the same blows in the same order, a canny opponent will see that and take advantage of it. You drop your guard too much on the third strike. It leaves you ****."

Lil'esh hissed through her teeth, caught herself, and sketched a shallow curtsy. "I recognize my error, Mistress Teysa. Shall we go again?"

Teysa nodded. "Very well. On three." She spread her legs, sank into a dueling stance, and held her sword up in a guard position. "One, two, three!"

No sooner had she finished "three!" then Lil'esh leapt forward. She lunged, forcing Teysa to reel backwards to avoid her. Before the human could recover her balance, Lil'esh was on her, raining down blows from above. Teysa parried each one, shifting her sword back and forth and giving only as much ground as she had to. Lil'esh was everywhere, flitting to and fro as she attacked. She aimed a high cut at Teysa's chest, and the **** of the human's parry staggered her. Teysa immediately followed up with a blow that caught Lil'esh under her right arm and sent her stumbling. She regained her footing, eyes blazing, and came back with a volley of strikes aimed at Teysa's head and shoulders. The watching drow nodded with each strike, counting them out. One-two-three, one-two-three-- "She does have a pattern, see?" whispered one to her neighbor.

Teysa could see it, too. After the second iteration of the pattern, she drew herself up and waited. She parried the first strike, sidestepped the second, then hammered a savage cut at her foe's helmeted head. The watchers winced as Lil'esh's helmet rang like a bell. The drow stumbled backwards two steps and sat down hard, her sword clattering out of her hand. She reached up with one trembling hand and peeled off her helmet. Her hair was matted and tangled, and her eyes were slightly unfocused. Her mouth opened and shut like a hooked fish.

Teysa pulled off her own helmet and planted her sword in the dirt. "I warned you. Keep your guard up or someone who's seen you fight is going to take your fool head off. Class dismissed." She crossed over to the weapon rack and hung up her sword. The half elf reached around behind her and began unlacing the leather cords holding her breastplate on. "Thank you, Aliara," Teysa grunted as she pulled off her gauntlets and greaves. Behind her, the other drow rushed to the aid of their stricken companion, helping her to her feet. Lil'esh looked decidedly unwell, and kept her distance from the racks until Teysa was finished removing her armor. Beneath she had on a simple silk tunic much like the drider's and a pair of leather trousers. She flexed and stretched, touching her toes and extending her arms above her head before cracking her neck back and forth. "C'mon, love," said Aliara, cracking a grin. "Coming home? I think someone needs her feets rubbed." She raised the pitch of her voice and affected an aristocratic accent. "Please, mistress, may I rub your feets? I fancy they're ever so sore!" She slipped one arm through Teysa's and tugged theatrically.