Like fluids used to write with, caped in charcoal. The jagged quill, that was formerly submerged under the sheets, once dejected now created presence with azure panache. Emerald green eyes followed the isolated room filled with an assembly of all kinds of precious past relics. Though something in particular stood out from the rest. Chalky, decrepit and auburn: the chest was opened in a single motion by two confidant hands of grey varnish. A single glance was all it took to stir up distant memories, as if they only occurred weeks ago. But these were decades away. Almost a century. Glaring daggers were quite literally weapons of steel, whispering amongst each other, reminiscing about the past gleefully. It was one weapon specifically that reflected a certain scene from Tamazusa's mind.
Dating back to the years of Gahl's reform. Where Tamazusa trained for many years to impress both her father and mother.
'Time to show me your worth, Tamazusa. It would be a shame to let down your parents. Especially your wounded father.' A sharp voice that could cut through even the hardest of stones addressed Tamazusa.
Tamazusa didn't have an answer, nor did she think it was wise to give one. She skulked for a moment as she analysed her foe, of which was laced with many blades of different designs. This opponent was far from ordinary. A Sanguine slave that was used for skirmishes. He had wicked features that made shadows retreat as he made his battle stance. Many could identify the bloodthirsty captive was a seasoned warrior due to the multitude of scars that were imprinted all over the pale body, making intimidation an easy task unintentionally. Tamazusa was perspiring from her pores. Nervously raising her crossbow in order to claim a swift victory. But it would not take a single glance to finish off such a fierce enemy. Nonetheless, trajectory was set after few hesitations. Scratching slowly against sour reserves of earth, anticipating all of Tamazusa's movements. Those eyes were not her only audience. Gahl's orbs adjusted to get a better view. From within her mentor wanted to see bloodshed.
'On with it.' And with that single command from Gahl, the mayhem began.
Swords twisted in every angle, blood spewed upon every crack. Though in the very end all it resulted to was a single glance upon a single weapon on one single day.
Chalky, decrepit and auburn: the chest was closed in a single motion by two sluggish hands of grey varnish.
