Shantania/Supports/JasmineTiva

Rank 1

The young half-elf sits, transfixed, in one of the half-log seats facing the caravan's pop-out stage. Dancing, she thinks, might be a good job for me.

This page is pretty unfinished. Weasel plans to get to it eventually. Probably.

Rank ???

The sullen-faced dancer dabs at her damp brow with a sleeve of her stage outfit. "No. I refuse to teach you this dance," Jasmine says, flatly, but firmly. "It is not a work of beauty."

Tiva hardly even needs to protest; the crocodile tears welling up in her eyes already speak volumes.

"Do you know why I dance? Why I carry my sword up to the stage?" Jasmine asks, her eyes becoming sharp and fierce. "What I do up there isn't dancing, it's a war rehearsal."

"But it looks so cool! So many people could learn so much about it, and..."

"I hate how many people feel like it's something beautiful to watch. If it wasn't keeping us all fed, I'd give it up in an instant."

"But why? Jasmine, your dancing is amazing, inspiring even!"

"Do you want to know why it isn't dancing? Because I never learned to dance." Jasmine blurts it out like she's annoyed to even explain it. "I studied my sword for years. I even became a blade for hire. I kept winning every duel that I never should have been in. I kept practicing, even after I ran away from it all."

Tiva's fake tears seemed poised to give way to real ones. "You ran from..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"The reason I'm even here, with the Caravan, is because the Wagonmaster saw me training and thought I could earn money from it as a dancer." She drew the sword from its decorative scabbard at her hip. "It's not even a prop, look."

"It's real?" Tiva spoke with hushed reverence as her eyes pored over every fold of steel. "It's amazing... No wonder it catches the light just so."

"Wagonmaster's instructions were wise. I do all of my training exercises on that stage. It pays. People throw plenty of tip money. Were it not for that, I'd throw the sword away and never take it up again."