Whoa, you let your feet run wild
Time has come as we all go down
The Sword had lived amongst times of lines drawn in the sand, waiting for either an adversary or ally to cross it – when war was inevitable, one vicious, stupid strike away from unfurling across the masses. This one seemed to be venturing and volleying in the same measure – the same players, the same characters, drawing forward to see when and where another would partake. Asinine, perhaps, given timeframes and limitations, teetering on brinks and edges. Given the latest information on relic gathering, considering the one found in the Sea of Glass, how many times would opposing sides clash and embark, before the conflict started right then and there? His answering snort was just that – a rumble of something between past lives and overtures that weren’t the same. “I much preferred our furtive ones.” But there’d be nothing about that here.
He was about to throw in some retort about training quite often, given the time and expanse to do so (when he wasn’t hunting, gathering, snagging at information, plotting, exploring, and the like), when the buzz of static snagged at his shoulder. Grumbling low, either a warning that she’d pressed too far or that he was about to, he shifted along the path once more, avoiding her measures as it slunk and zapped at the water nearby. Listening to the hiss and sizzle, his brows furrowed – before he unleashed his own set of barrages and assaults, taking hold of the swamp water and casting it towards her in a stream of murk and grime.
He was about to throw in some retort about training quite often, given the time and expanse to do so (when he wasn’t hunting, gathering, snagging at information, plotting, exploring, and the like), when the buzz of static snagged at his shoulder. Grumbling low, either a warning that she’d pressed too far or that he was about to, he shifted along the path once more, avoiding her measures as it slunk and zapped at the water nearby. Listening to the hiss and sizzle, his brows furrowed – before he unleashed his own set of barrages and assaults, taking hold of the swamp water and casting it towards her in a stream of murk and grime.
Yeah but for the fall—oh, my—
Do you dare to look them right in the eyes?
DEIMOS
