remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
The General didn’t have any expectations, despite the team’s initial rally around archery. Each weapon held a different skillset, technique, and tactic, though it’d be intriguing and insightful to see how they approached newfound, foreign expertise, or strived through something embedded in familiarity.As he roamed, Deimos wasn’t surprised to see Jigano’s long rapier smoothly impart its wounds upon the dummy. The beast studied his form, tilting his head a fraction in quiet perusal. “Faster?” An inclination of a challenge, and with nothing to parry upon, alternating speeds might be well-worth the practice, never certain of which enemy or adversary they were bound to meet up with next.
Steps and procession took him towards Weaver, eager to see her implementation of the scythe again (an intriguing form of munition, ever-appreciative of its double-edged contortions). Somewhere within the lunge though was an error, and his eyes narrowed in speculation at her feinting. Perhaps there’d simply been too much force, or the angle was all wrong, for as she came upwards, the scythe ended up caught in the dummy. “Ordinarily, this might not be a problem,” he chuckled, moving forward to assist in getting it out of the wayward straw. The adversary would have been cut apart and perished before she would need to remove it from their form. “Try again?” And he stepped back to watch for a moment, to see how she applied herself to the same maneuvers, or twisted it into another formation.
Thereafter, he motioned next to Oliver, the examination of the youth’s moves back in refrain. The replication of the General’s moves weren’t perfect, but Deimos didn’t expect that either. The beast had had multiple lifetimes of war, invasions, battles, and skirmishes to render his muscles into oeuvres of scorching, blistering canvases. Sure enough, the angle of Oliver’s blade ensured that only the side of the dummy, along the curve of its shoulder, would take a hit, then bounce away. Tones, not gruff but plain, simple, unfurled from the mountain. “Step forward more,” he instructed. “Straighten your hips.”
Passing through, last but certainly not least, was Evie. With some semblance of pride for the woman who’d once hadn’t even been keen to hold a set of throwing knives, he watched as her blade came slashing into the target’s shoulders and across their makeshift chest. He raised his brows again, the depths of a smile for her. “Full of surprises today. Well done.” A nod of acknowledgment, before he proceeded back in front of them.
“Now for a simple defensive move.” There he took up his blade, waiting for their attention. “We will just do the movements for now, and then we can practice with one another.” After the last set, Deimos wanted to ensure they knew the fluidity of the motions before bounding off each other, even if two of them were just wooden, training munitions. Coming towards his model target, he pretended as if the unmoving opponent was coming for him – leaning back, a gradual shift and off to the right, before swinging his blade down. “You want to aim your sword for theirs, and maintain pressure.” So the other couldn’t rise up, couldn’t volley back, couldn’t come and conquer. “Then you reorient yours,” and here he made an adequate adjustment through his arm, repeating the motion several times so it was visible, tangible, to each individual. “Then you aim for the head or throat,” and he motioned forward on a potent thrust – going cleanly through the target’s neck.
Once he’d completed the set of maneuvers over and over again, he ceased, nodding his head for them to attempt.
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Try a defensive move on the dummy!
No post order!
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
