we shall heal our wounds, collect our dead
In the streets of Haulani stands the large skeleton of a building. Its stone framework is still sturdy, its frames and archways more than suitable to hold windows and doors; as some would say, the bones are good. And that's all Ronin needs to suit his purposes, honestly. There might be hole in the roof crawling with ivy and the interior might be little more than char and ash, but fuck, he'll make it work. He has to.
The heat in the air is stifling at this time of day, and though there's plenty of shadow to hide in, Ronin is still sweating as he rolls out the blueprint he'd drawn up the day before. A training hall in the making - currently little more than a gutted nothing of a building, granted - and a place for people to come and learn or teach others. It's something he's been intending to make for a while, and finally, perhaps, he's been given the push he needs to do it.
Weighing down one edge of the blueprint with an axe, of call things, to stop the parchment from curling back up, and a rock on the other side, Ronin straightens and huffs out a long, slow breath, pondering on where exactly he ought to begin.
The heat in the air is stifling at this time of day, and though there's plenty of shadow to hide in, Ronin is still sweating as he rolls out the blueprint he'd drawn up the day before. A training hall in the making - currently little more than a gutted nothing of a building, granted - and a place for people to come and learn or teach others. It's something he's been intending to make for a while, and finally, perhaps, he's been given the push he needs to do it.
Weighing down one edge of the blueprint with an axe, of call things, to stop the parchment from curling back up, and a rock on the other side, Ronin straightens and huffs out a long, slow breath, pondering on where exactly he ought to begin.
THE WHITE KNIGHT
and continue fighting
