Eladrin were not a race known for their stalwart and impressive builds. And, even for an eladrin, Nalkyr did not have an imposing cut. The Tempest technique called for a kind of litheness, a lightness of step and quickness of foot. It was, Nalkyr supposed, a double edged sword.
The buffeting winds carried Nalkyr forward, and had it not been for a quick and inelegant scrabble to his right, the young warrior would have crashed right into Caim. The footing beneath him was far from stable, and Nalkyr threw his stance out wide as he skittered forward. He dropped his center of gravity, arcing both feyblades to either side as guides, carving shallow lines into the cold surface.
There is no correct way to move, only that which is effective and that which is ineffective. Remember this, even through all your practice.
Nalkyr suppressed a grin. His uncle had been a veritable goldmine of wisdom. The young eladrin dug both feyblade points in the ice, using them as traction to throw himself forward into a roll. He came up at a dead sprint. Ahead and to the left, a white dragon.
Nalkyr had always wanted to fight a dragon. His enthusiasm for the adventuring life was quick to return, it seemed.
The young warrior launched himself forward with a practiced twitch of his legs, vaulting another patch of icy terrain. He landed in a roll, again, though the sheer cliffside loomed in front of him. Nalkyr jumped again coming out of the roll, planting one booted foot against the cliffside and shoving off to his right. He paused, feeling the grips of his weapons and the snow beneath his boots.
Before him, the dragon. Nalkyr grinned.
[sblock=Actions]
Start of Turn: Wind slides to R-13
Move: to R-8
Move: to S-6
[/sblock]
OOC:
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Keeping Nalkyr out of range so he can charge or somesuch next turn.
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