who we are and all that we're trying to be
Sculpted from the arts of patience, nonchalance, and reserve, he waited for the suggestions, presuming impending lacerations were coming his way; an accepted result of training, no matter which form. Blindfolds, however, hadn’t been a portion of the machinations spinning in his head, and he tilted the cranium almost sideways in his confusion, listening before completely dismantling the idea. Once the bard finished, he could understand the logic behind it; senses corded away to heighten others, relying not simply on sight, but other possibilities, calculations, parameters meant to ensure damage and demolition when circumstances struck. He pondered it for a moment, and only because he hadn’t fought in this accord yet – but logical foundations won out any other apprehensions. The Sword figured the teeth, the vitriol, the acrimony, couldn’t be much different from all the alternative figments segmented in his blood.
Ordinarily his goals would be to maim, rip, tear, and plunge, or offer tutelage, instruction, and sagacity. Here would be a venture into uncharted terrain, and he pondered over the notions of dodging or tagging something he couldn’t see. I will try to tag you as well, in the midst of evasion – though the latter would likely be the biggest issue.
Before long though, the ivory blindfold slipped over his eyes, coming to a cease and desist on the start of his muzzle; some snort ensued, bridges of amusement before some ridiculous assimilation. Ready; he proclaimed, the ambition of his senses stretching, ears swiveling in all directions, hound body braced above the ground, feet honed and ready to move, to maneuver, to escape.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
