DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
It was clear that the skills Tal harbored were of his own – any formality might have gone by the wayside due to the climate, terrain, necessities, or simply a lack of training. While his means and strategies were effective, for the fake Sunjata laid in a variety of pieces, there were other things to work upon, to smooth over, and to make far more efficient.
Striding over, the soldier made use of his air incantations by whipping the ax back out of the embedded surface, making note with a light grin, before orchestrating the portions and rubble into the surroundings themselves – a few feet away. There, they seemingly maneuvered on invisible strings and intangible lines, waiting to escalate the newfound game. “You have some good movements,” he started, “but you can tighten them, and be less predictable.” For an animal, this may not have been an issue, but battling an adversary? An opponent who could read the lines of muscle memory? “You can also protect yourself more.”
Snagging at an axe of his own, parting a makeshift crowd that had gathered again by the armory, he strode over to where the floating ruins remained. Demonstrating a satisfactory stance, he grabbed hold of the hilt, holding the armament in front of his frame. “Think of it like a punch, and then a chop at the last moment. You do not want them to know where you intend to go.” He unfurled the motion several times, striking forward with his arm, and then a very quick, sudden, rapid descent, cutting into the bulk of Sunjata’s nose. “You can defend your center as well,” since his limb would be there, blocking his chest, ribs, heart, and lungs.
Then he stepped back after several demonstrations, permitting Tal to try once again.
Striding over, the soldier made use of his air incantations by whipping the ax back out of the embedded surface, making note with a light grin, before orchestrating the portions and rubble into the surroundings themselves – a few feet away. There, they seemingly maneuvered on invisible strings and intangible lines, waiting to escalate the newfound game. “You have some good movements,” he started, “but you can tighten them, and be less predictable.” For an animal, this may not have been an issue, but battling an adversary? An opponent who could read the lines of muscle memory? “You can also protect yourself more.”
Snagging at an axe of his own, parting a makeshift crowd that had gathered again by the armory, he strode over to where the floating ruins remained. Demonstrating a satisfactory stance, he grabbed hold of the hilt, holding the armament in front of his frame. “Think of it like a punch, and then a chop at the last moment. You do not want them to know where you intend to go.” He unfurled the motion several times, striking forward with his arm, and then a very quick, sudden, rapid descent, cutting into the bulk of Sunjata’s nose. “You can defend your center as well,” since his limb would be there, blocking his chest, ribs, heart, and lungs.
Then he stepped back after several demonstrations, permitting Tal to try once again.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
