A blade ill-kept will go to rust. Stay alert. Study your environment, if you haven't already. Learn how to defend yourself, if you don't already know. Don't waste the privilege of living where others have succumbed to the End.
Above all else, find someone you can trust.
[And with that frustratingly cryptic message, Nel sets aside her record and shuffles her feet to a proper martial stance. Not one a non-Elicoorian would recognize, though they might find familiarity in its applied form. Someone as small as her needs to rely on agility and flexibility where considerably larger opponents are concerned.
Her underarmor is already sticking from perspiration, the belted breeches less so. She's gone barefoot and gloveless to execute routine after routine in the
Green. Join? Creep on? Interrupt?]