The sky bent down in a marshmallow streak of cream and cerulean. Her head was large with the knowing of it, and she raised a dusty hand to greet the sky. Heaven was but the first to enjoy her conversation. She sat upon a weather worn peak of Mt. Radoghir, wearing the linen dress her second mother spun her. The wind was next, and the song it sang tempted a wandering leaf to join the dialogue. A single jay tweeted from a tree nearby. Finally, a smattering of sparrows lent their laughs to the communer upon the peak. She was, after all, named after one of their own.
Dunsparrow frowned up at the sky, "I came seeking peace."
"Peace is a trick of men," said the sky.
"It is the shiver of a limb before it lets you go into the turmoil of freedom," added the wandering leaf.
The rock that had hitherto remained silent decided to rudely interrupt their observations. "I am always at peace."
"...and like my brother rock, you will amount to nothing and affect nothing if you achieve your peace," chirped a sparrow.
She narrowed her eyes at the land that sprawled below her, following it to the fog covered sea of the north. Her father was a reaver, a man who spent a life at war. Her mothers were enigmas, for they were women, and which bore her was as much a mystery as they were.
The humble jay landed on her teacup. "You're lying."
Dunsparrow narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You did not come seeking peace. You came to seek knowledge. The fires of your father are in you, and so are the madness and mayhem of your mothers. Your father was Destruction. Your first mother was Chameleon, and your second mother was Shadow. They were both fickle. You, however, are Curiosity. Yours is the 'why and how'. Theirs was the 'what'." It took a sip of her tea. "Try the leaves of the red bush. This Earl Grey sours with altitude." His wisdom imparted, the Jay flew away.
Sky furrowed his cloudy brow. "Blunt, but right. That is your life's purpose, I think."
All the other inhabitants of Radoghir peak nodded in assent. When teatime ended, Dunsparrow began her descent into the worlds of men. Her will, given to her by the peak of Radoghir, was iron. She would found an academic order dedicated to hows and whys of battle. Why does a man become a great fighter? How does a master swordsman hone his craft? Why does the spear man move backward? How does an archer's arrow land true?
In time, the monks and nuns of Radoghir would be called something else entirely: Linebreakers, the Bearers of Martial Knowledge.
Prospects:
Willing to endure boring practice and experimentation sessions in the name of mastery.
Willing to fail a lot, in order to win (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parrondo%27s_paradox).
Eager to participate in building an information base (such as notes on using a specific weapon) or creative projects for the organization (such as the clan banner, advertising, role-play, or videos, etc.)