Imenry's eyes flickered from the dagger to Elsa at her question, no expression showing on her face or in the grey depths of her gaze. "I've known of some... but those who trained in the art, learning to wield a blade with the same precision with which they could call on magic. I won't lie to you. However glamorous or exciting you might think it is to be a warrior, it's not something you can learn easily. You can train, but you also have to concentrate on gaining physical strength. If you're serious about this, it's something you can do on your own. Tie weights to your legs and wrists and run, spar when you can, hand to hand, with the dagger, and with weighted practice weapons. You will need to strength not only for the wielding of a blade, but to wear the armor that you will need if you are to fight alongside a warrior. You should purchase a light mail from the smith and try to get used to wearing it."
Drawing the claymore from her sheathe she tilted her head slightly, listening to Elsa's explanations. if she felt something for her, it wasn't pity. Maybe whatever her former life was, it wasn't worth remembering. Sometimes Imenry wished she could forget the day her parents died, only that she would not give up all the good memories that had come before. "Looked like him, I suppose that is possible."
It was impossible for Elsa to have known Brennan unless it was within the past few years. And Elsa didn't sound Orlesian, so it seemed doubly unlikely. "You know this language, as well as your own. It stands to reason you've been fairly well educated in that case," she said. "If you were from Ferelden I'd think you'd been raised in a tower." Mages seemed to have books and teachers, if little else, including freedom, in these lands.
Brandishing the claymore in front of her she stared evenly at the woman. "Come at me, and try to stab me with your blade. Do not hold back. It is unlikely you will actually manage to touch me."