[D2, EN-MN] Sword Dance of the Spellsinger

[Illiam'iira]

Illiam'iira's brow furrows as sweat drips down her cheek. Her dancing is fast-paced and intense, concentration deep, body-mind-weapon acting together as one. She'd climbed the steps to leave her day behind, and now she's this, this tiny drow girl with a sword as tall as she is twirling, tumbling, and leaping across the stage, her voice supernaturally booming across the hall. It feels good. That's what she hates about the sword; it feels good to wield it.

"With a blade in hand, now you take a stand
Running ever towards that future we’re promised!
So tell me, will this world you build be one to fulfill
All the dreams and hopes your ancestors buried
Within their hearts to survive?"

Tonight she wears a short black satin slip, black tights, black ribbons on her legs and arms. And her brooch. Her brooch. Every so often it rings from her frenetic movement, its bell clear and sweet, a reminder she can't shake off. Instead she focuses on her weapon. The sound her bastard sword makes as it swings through the air. The shine of the mithril, the wave of its blade. It is an extension of herself. A birthright and a burden, and something she loves, even if it frightens her.

"Will you dance among the fray, sing the pain away
Until the day our children are as beloved by the sun
As they are of the darkness?
Creation will obey those whose voices pray, so tell me
All those hopes and dreams your heart's held
So tightly to survive!"

By the time she's done she's covered in sweat and panting. Her head buzzes with the feeling.

D2 Task: Performance: 1d20+8 27