[Training] I still don't want to be here

DEIMOS And in your darkest hour, I hold secrets flame The monolith meandered back inside, amongst and amidst the warmth, closing the door behind them before it could escape through the open aperture. Another glance towards Zuriel and her preferred hearth showed the fire maintaining its blissful conflagration, so there was no further need to tend it. Instead of stopping and ceasing along the front parlor as he’d done earlier, he continued down hallways, turning his head over his shoulder towards Sah. “The armory is this way.” He waited, then threaded within the training facility, bypassing the various apartments, before they came to a large door. He made no comment over the notions of things missed – there were so many aspects, so many semblances, he’d lost through the years, that he could only nod, promote understanding in the depths of his familiar silence. Opening the frame revealed a massive stockade and shelving of the aforementioned weapons, metal and shining, serrated and edged with brutality. From blades, to bows, to staffs, to axes and other bits in between, it might’ve been an overwhelming sight for one not accustomed. For a heathen, for a fiend, for a man who’d spent a majority of his lives as a warrior, it was familiar; set him at ease. Deimos ceased his movement as they wandered by sets of armor and bracers, to a section of wooden training implements. “Perhaps with these. That way you can practice without hurting yourself, or anyone else.” Not meant to be offensive, just a statement of fact – claws and swords were similar in some aspects, and readily different in others. He wasn’t going to permit any of his soldiers to be mauled, nor Sah, simply due to a lack of depth and knowledge. “When I was first trained, we all started with this.” And he pointed to a simple, archaic looking sword – enough to do the trick for a beginner. master of nothing place; of recoil and grace