To be blunt, this class had come about as the Goddess wished to assert her dominance. There was no rampant plague of honesty or honour in combat present at the school, very rarely were such textbook warriors observed, but with such slander Eminence P. Haze knew she could act freely and vindictively. The feeling of crushing the meek under her heel, taking stride in dealing blows to her opponent's eyes; she longed for it more than most anything. This was likely brought on by the Goddess recent training, having briefly returned to isolation over summer to further hone her already perfect body; to surpass perfection was to surpass all after all possible opponents.
Arriving at the training area, prompt as ever, she was dressed not in her combat attire but her usual clothing; a perhaps unknown insult to whoever she drafted into this class. She had not sent out her usual scroll based, randomised, drafting for this class... rather she wanted to beat those who thought themselves aspirational, those who wished to train and become strong as she has. She would allow no person to follow the same path she had taken.
She stood in the centre of an arena, a rectangle measuring eight meters long and four meters wide. To the right of the entrance was a weight set and treadmill, to the left was a line of basic training dummies. The walls were painted grey and cleaned daily, formed of some heavy metal coupled with stone; the floor was similar. She would stand staring at the door, handbag over her left shoulder and twirling her golden mace in her right hand; the first to students to walk in this room would join her class. Whether they wanted to or not.
Arriving at the training area, prompt as ever, she was dressed not in her combat attire but her usual clothing; a perhaps unknown insult to whoever she drafted into this class. She had not sent out her usual scroll based, randomised, drafting for this class... rather she wanted to beat those who thought themselves aspirational, those who wished to train and become strong as she has. She would allow no person to follow the same path she had taken.
She stood in the centre of an arena, a rectangle measuring eight meters long and four meters wide. To the right of the entrance was a weight set and treadmill, to the left was a line of basic training dummies. The walls were painted grey and cleaned daily, formed of some heavy metal coupled with stone; the floor was similar. She would stand staring at the door, handbag over her left shoulder and twirling her golden mace in her right hand; the first to students to walk in this room would join her class. Whether they wanted to or not.