"It is the burden of the old generation, to pass on their knowledge to the younger generation. Yet so many people refused to do this, out of fear that the younger generation would rise up and surpass their elders. They schemed and plotted, kept the younger generation in willful ignorance, all so they could hang on to their own positions. What tomfoolery it was, to stunt the growth of one's own future just for short-term benefits." - Nec Aarin, the Bone Lord, circa 27 VA.

For the entire week that followed, the Bone Lord spoiled his "grandchildren" as he brought them around his lichdom to see the sights. Nobody was privy to his identity with him in his mortal guise, other than his trusted servants, who all naturally kept their silence as ordered.

Once the week ended though, the Bone Lord summoned Aideen and Diarmuid to his throne room the first thing in the morning. Aoife also stood besides her master and looked tenderly at her children as they came in. She was dressed in the black robes of a necromancer, lined in silver, as befitting her status, a personal disciple of the Bone Lord himself.

"You are prompt, that is good," said the Bone Lord, still in his mortal guise. With a flick of his finger, a fog of death magic enveloped his form, and within moments, the adorable mortal guise was no more. He was once more in his skeletal form, with green, piercingly bright soulfires in his eye sockets. "You children remembered how I talked with your father that you could use better training? I am making good of that promise. Follow me."

Aideen and Diarmuid nodded, and followed behind the Bone Lord and Aoife as they were led towards a large open courtyard. There they found Dietven awaiting them, and by his side two other men.

To Dietven's left stood a fit old human - Aodeen guessed him to be in his seventies, if not more -, with a bald head and long mustache and beard, who nonetheless eyed Aideen and Diarmuid with brilliant, sharp eyes as he kept his hands behind his back.

The other figure was a massive therian man, easily another third as tall as Aideen, and still a full head taller than Diarmuid. Clearly a full-blooded specimen, the massive man had short, black fur all over his bulky, muscular form, and hands that resembled paws, as well as digitigrade legs. His head resembled that of a large predatory cat, and he transfixed them with a stare from his yellow, slitted eyes.

"Children, these two, and Drietven, will be responsible for your training for the next five years to come. Get to know them well," said the Bone Lord to Aideen and Diarmuid. "Drietven, please introduce them to the dear children."

"This gentleman to my left is Huang Ren-Gui, formerly from the Huan Confederate," said Drietven as he introduced the bald old human to his left. "You might not have heard of it, but it lies in an archipelago far, far away to the northwest. Practically on the other side of the world."

"Milady Aideen, as nobody has an inkling about your… new affinity, I fear we are unable to provide a teacher to guide your way, so you would need to rely on yourself for that," explained the elven butler patiently. "What instructor Ren-Gui here will tutor you in, is on self-defense, both armed and unarmed, so that you will never be caught defenseless again."

Aideen nodded to Drietven's words, as the logic he stated was sound. Whatever the new affinity that dwelled within her was, she clearly felt that it was not too dissimilar to life affinity, that her healing prowess was probably greater than before on some fields, yet greatly diminished in others. She would need to experiment further to find out more about the affinity, no, her affinity.

As for self defense… it had crossed her mind *many* times that she should have been more diligent in those classes when she was younger. The thought - and regret - of which came to her during the time she struggled in the soul puppet's hand while it murdered her in cold blood. Now that she had another chance, she was all for the teachings the old man could offer her.

"Meanwhile, this gentleman her is Myrddin deVreys, captain of the Death's Hand, and the most competent death mage amongst their number," said Drietven as he introduced the large, hulking therian man to his right. "Young master Diarmuid, while your mother and his holiness are amongst the greatest practitioners of death magic known, they specialize in the manipulation of Undeath. Captain deVreys here on the other hand is the most talented mage in the direct application of death magic amongst those in our service. As such, he will help direct your talents, young master."

Diarmuid bowed slightly to the massive panther-therian man, who nodded in return. Even as an experienced warrior, the sight of the massive man before him couldn't help but intimidate Diarmuid a bit.

"As for me, young master, my humble self shall serve as your sparring partner in the arts martial. We can start now if that is fine with you," said Drietven with another polite bow. "Please do not go easy on me. My wife and daughter are both of the Life affinity, and would be ready to assist should I be incapacitated to the point of being unable to cast magic on myself."

"Uhh… sure then, I guess?" Said Diarmuid as he pulled out his large two-handed battle axe from his storage ring and held it in the ready position. "I assume we train here? If so, ready when you are."

"I almost forgot to mention, young master and milady, but since we have healers waiting and ready, we will not take it easy on you either. Please excuse our offense," said the elven butler. From his own storage ring, the tall, slender elf pulled out a pair of curved swords, scimitars if Aideen remembered right, and that brought memories of stories from her younger days.

"Sir Drietven," Aideen asked before her brother and Drietven began to spar. "Aren't elves dual wielding a pair of scimitars a bit too cliché nowadays?"

"A… cliché?" Asked the elven butler with some stupefaction. "Pardon me, milady, but I am afraid I'm unfamiliar with that term."

"It means something overused. A stereotypical thing, you can say, the sort people use in stories when they lack imagination."

"Oh, that," said Drietven in understanding. "Yes, we do have a word for that as well. We call that a Drizzit."