Stone shivered to her breath, and the ground quaked almost imperceptibly as the young Avatar walked into the arena, each footfall marked by the clink of fine jade, for at the tender age of fifteen she had attained the rank of a Jade Witch, the most advanced level of Earth-bending at her time.
It was a touch of iridescent green in the eyes that marked her; jade woven into the fabrics that lined the trappings of a lightly-armored samurai she wore, and jade hewn into the many knives underneath.
The gleaming prism of a worn katana came unsheathed in a glassy rasp, wrought from jade, worked into a reverse grip as Kyoshi braced into an ironclad stance. Dignified and regal, the Avatar in training flicked a casual glance across the scene and caught the Mounseiken, imprisoned him in her gaze, marked him for death.
In the name of training she roamed the lands, in service of all that is pure and life, but the corrupt Monks that unleashed her upon the world knew better. Kyoshi unwashed in mind and spirit--a villain of an Avatar, and a thug beneath the modesty.
"Mystic," she breathed flatly; the jade knives underneath her armor rattled. "Your element is air; mine is the world itself."