The Training Grounds

"Oh?," Shirvan replied, amused even as his keen eyes took note of Nieve's state. He himself was not one for regrets, but the arousal still burned within and made certain that the fellow goddesses' curves proved quite a distraction. Still, to love, to fight, was it not all the same to a creature of such passions as the Silverhair? "You think it a matter of winning or losing, do you?"

Chuckling briefly, the honey-eyed man suddenly leaped forward, his blade rushing with a quick swipe toward Nieve's beautiful face; a feint! With a sudden twist, a shift of weight, Shirvan cut his jump short, bent his legs and rather came from beneath with a swift, straight stab.

"When it comes to practice, I find it better when all involved win!" And in other things as well, but too much tongue-waggling in combat could prove a dangerous distraction.

Dasque's Chamber

Shirvan would have raised an eyebrow, but he had learned not to question the strange fancies that took his sister at times. They had been made from the same light, had they not? Witness to each other's creation, there was nothing beneath those clothes that he had not already seen. Had some of the other children of Baz'Auran infected her with their strange inclinations towards shame?

Still, he turned. It was but a simple request, after all. "All things must end, eventually. A creator might outlive its creation, but the same holds true for the opposite. Only time will tell." An honest response, but also a harsh truth; Shirvan was not one to speak false assurances to his twin sister.