Change everything you are and everything you were
Your number has been called
Quiet again, immersed in his necessities, the portal remained yards away, and the catapult had begun an easy roll along its wheels upon the sloping ground. He could ease off the amount of power and might behind the movements, allowing his head to rise, his shoulders to lower, and arms merely to brace as the machine motioned along, his hands lingering to steer, his motions counteracting any fast, swift measures. “If you want.” Letters and updates, information and news circulating. If Oliver wished to find another place to settle and let everyone know of his whereabouts, for whatever reasons, that was his own agenda. The stoic enterprises of his features failed to alter, perhaps only the lightest inclination of his brow upwards, a familiar quirk of curiosity and intrigue; mere ones really, only pondering where the blacksmith might end up after all these thoughts and conversations about it. If he’d remain because it was what he knew, and the comfort was far more enticing than the unknown. If he’d go elsewhere, ultimately chased out of the Grounds by some other circumstances, or finding his own footing, tracing over new foundations, galvanized finally by some boldness lurking in him.
A shrug undulated through the Sword’s shoulders at the notion of assisting the world, and that reigning in diplomacy wouldn’t always be the best route for everyone. “There are many ways to help people. It does not have to be in diplomacy.”
Another shove along the catapult brought it ever closer to his destination, and distracted by these parameters, the beast turned his head towards the younger man in the slightest bout of confusion. Mostly because, despite all the trainings Deimos had held, Oliver’s proficiency with a weapon had been mediocre at best, and the General wouldn’t have thought to put many into the blacksmith’s hands until he’d practiced for a long, long time. His eyes narrowed, speculation and machinations funneling again behind the piercing gaze, considering and weighing out the options. “What sort of weapon?”
A shrug undulated through the Sword’s shoulders at the notion of assisting the world, and that reigning in diplomacy wouldn’t always be the best route for everyone. “There are many ways to help people. It does not have to be in diplomacy.”
Another shove along the catapult brought it ever closer to his destination, and distracted by these parameters, the beast turned his head towards the younger man in the slightest bout of confusion. Mostly because, despite all the trainings Deimos had held, Oliver’s proficiency with a weapon had been mediocre at best, and the General wouldn’t have thought to put many into the blacksmith’s hands until he’d practiced for a long, long time. His eyes narrowed, speculation and machinations funneling again behind the piercing gaze, considering and weighing out the options. “What sort of weapon?”
DEIMOS
