He wasn't a warrior, never had been—there had never been any need for him to be one. Sure, there were those within the barrier who practiced combat of all sorts, keeping alive a lost art or merely hacking away at others to stay alive themselves. Wessex was proof of it: she'd been a warrior long before the Outlanders came, a rough creature who wasn't afraid to bite.
Rory, though—Rory had a bow for hunting, and a pike for when things went wrong while hunting. He had a knife for skinning and cutting and all sorts of things (honestly, all sorts of knives). But being a warrior? Wielding a sword, maybe? Coordinated fighting, intent on—what, hurting other people?
Not his area of expertise.
So he came to the Monster Hunters Guild, again slightly overcome by the same feeling as last time he stepped onto its grounds. Here was Rory, the hapless Natural, and there were Deimos and Kiada, the honed, skilled Outlanders.
He swallowed the feeling, nodding to them both and to the stranger before ceasing to move—merely waiting.
Rory, though—Rory had a bow for hunting, and a pike for when things went wrong while hunting. He had a knife for skinning and cutting and all sorts of things (honestly, all sorts of knives). But being a warrior? Wielding a sword, maybe? Coordinated fighting, intent on—what, hurting other people?
Not his area of expertise.
So he came to the Monster Hunters Guild, again slightly overcome by the same feeling as last time he stepped onto its grounds. Here was Rory, the hapless Natural, and there were Deimos and Kiada, the honed, skilled Outlanders.
He swallowed the feeling, nodding to them both and to the stranger before ceasing to move—merely waiting.
