remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
With the barracks completed but otherwise empty of contents, the Sword had applied himself early in the morning. He’d begun along the front room, inspecting the table for anything glaring or out of place, hands unfolding to embellish a map similar to the one he’d created for Wessex, which felt like lifetimes ago when it’d been barely a season, of the Hollowed Grounds, placing it like chess pieces and boards across the sanction. Thereafter, he settled in and amongst the armory, adjusting pieces here and there, shifting, designing, and altering different swords, daggers, and knives, hanging a few along the wall that might’ve taken up too much room otherwise. By the time he’d marched onto the training grounds, gathering his sights at the targets, at the lines of potential, the slightest of smirks had embedded itself along his mouth; free and liberated to be amused by the scorching annals of prowess. On more whims than anything else, he crouched a fair distance away from one of the painted bullseyes, gilded glow along his palms just another hint of something brewing in his mind. A shape formed beneath his touch, one seemingly ancient in its existence, but a contortion out of his memory, out of his experiences, out of the fringes of the battlefield: a catapult. It was of moderate size; no need for a massive siege engine in the middle of their fields, but the wheeled, wooden ballistic device was savored all the same, meant to launch projectiles without any other means but physics. Could it be utilized for greater assaults, if necessary, down the road? The General shrugged at the notion, keeping any diabolical endeavors under wraps, and aimed to test it. He didn’t contort or unravel any cannons, but several stones resting nearby made great work of stored, potential energy; placed in the threshold, while he tugged back on the handle, releasing it towards the target.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
