and all their words for glory, well they always sounded empty
The knife sinks into the gourd he’s chosen and he watches from his peripheral as Wessex launches with her and dragon as one to take down a few more. It’s synchronized in a way that Varus is quietly envious of, but he has nothing to say when it comes to utilizing everything at one's disposal. So the knife sinks into the gourd, followed by another, and then Varus is launching himself at his own chosen pumpkin.
In a flash he’s drawing the knives clean through the hissing creatures, drawing up to whirl and throw it at another set, one nailing the edge of its mouth while the other slices straight through a smaller one and plinks into the earth beneath it, the handle warbling with the momentum he’d thrown it with. And then? He’s moving to gather those knives up too.
In a flash he’s drawing the knives clean through the hissing creatures, drawing up to whirl and throw it at another set, one nailing the edge of its mouth while the other slices straight through a smaller one and plinks into the earth beneath it, the handle warbling with the momentum he’d thrown it with. And then? He’s moving to gather those knives up too.
VARUS
