[Training] this war is sempiternal

Back into the barracks, into familiarity, into a comfort, a shelter in upcoming storms. The General knew the ins, the outs, every wake of its carved ministrations, his own hallowed sanctum, away from the noise of the void, from the hollowed contortions of blazing furies. For a man who represented protection, fortifications, and perseverance (despite the level of rampant ignorance his latest actions had caused), this world, clustered and coiled in its regimes, in its armory, in its design, was a welcome respite and solace.

The Sword repeated his habitual patterns, checking over progress in designs of defenses, and maneuvering the parchment, papers, elsewhere, rummaging through the wall of weapons and armaments, ensuring everything was returned to its proper place, serrated, etched for continual use, before wandering out onto the grounds. Neat and orderly, targets had already been put away from yesterday’s onslaught, which meant this morning was fresh and new, ripe for more practices in desecration, in movements, in motions.

So he stalked across the grass, unfolding the sheets over several targets and dummies, and pulled them out, presuming they’d be of some use for anyone’s upcoming skirmishes and preparations. Besides, he’d meant to meet Chulane here, after assurances of gaining skills; uncertain about what the man knew at all.