With healing magics and potions relatively available on an adventurer's wages, patching poor Ivy up after a near fatal stabbing was a snap. The mental damage though, that would prove a much harder wound to knit. A brush with death does a lot to rattle the nerves, after all.

So does being, well, sort of kidnapped.

As does one's kidnapper declaring you her new apprentice.

And yet, little Ivy soldiered on regardless, with stiff upper lip and heavy bags under his eyes. Today was the first day of his training, and his first step towards what would soon become his new lifelong profession.

"I assure you," he says with a stretch of the shoulders and rolling of the neck, "that we elves are as limber as we look. Even in my current state, I do not think that I am likely to cramp, ma'am." He hesistates, mid way through bending to touch his toes. "Um, thank you for your concern, though."

Standing back upright, he asks, "what do you have in mind for this? And, um. Why do it at all?"