Ever since the Axford Imperial Trials, the Martinez family has been prosecuted endlessly, sometimes even wrongfully so. Although abuse was always present in the judgement of others, corrupting their once good name, never before had they feared so much for themselves.
The dead had been coming back to life. Everything that had ever died. In the Crown Isle, an usurpation had taken place once more. If that wasn't enough, Lorenzo lived under the constant threat of being prosecuted by "loyalists" and rebels alike. He knew he was leaving evidence behind, maybe on purpose at a subconscious level.
So many death threats sent his way. His most recent war declaration. Everything was falling apart. People truly did believe in the figure that publicity had crafted against them, a monster.
He needed to embrace the fact that the Archipelago might fight back, and when they did, if successful, he wouldn't have a chance at a trial. A fair one. No, it'd be Axford all over again.
He stared at Santiago in the eye, his own figure kneeling. He'd have extended a hand, pointing a dagger at the man he called a brother.
They started to spar.
To train.
Eyes, neck, elbows, knees. All parts typically unprotected by armor were targeted. He wasn't training to fight against gangsters, he was training to fight against soldiers; guards; knights.
A couple of hours passed before the familiar image of his cousin, Carlos Martinez, approached. His Viridian and Tyrian training were in tow along with the books upon notebooks of notes and theory which Lorenzo studied from in his days from the military academies he attended.
Oh also, featuring Carlos Martinez (@Perplexed_Aris).
The dead had been coming back to life. Everything that had ever died. In the Crown Isle, an usurpation had taken place once more. If that wasn't enough, Lorenzo lived under the constant threat of being prosecuted by "loyalists" and rebels alike. He knew he was leaving evidence behind, maybe on purpose at a subconscious level.
So many death threats sent his way. His most recent war declaration. Everything was falling apart. People truly did believe in the figure that publicity had crafted against them, a monster.
He needed to embrace the fact that the Archipelago might fight back, and when they did, if successful, he wouldn't have a chance at a trial. A fair one. No, it'd be Axford all over again.
He stared at Santiago in the eye, his own figure kneeling. He'd have extended a hand, pointing a dagger at the man he called a brother.
They started to spar.
To train.
Eyes, neck, elbows, knees. All parts typically unprotected by armor were targeted. He wasn't training to fight against gangsters, he was training to fight against soldiers; guards; knights.
A couple of hours passed before the familiar image of his cousin, Carlos Martinez, approached. His Viridian and Tyrian training were in tow along with the books upon notebooks of notes and theory which Lorenzo studied from in his days from the military academies he attended.
Oh also, featuring Carlos Martinez (@Perplexed_Aris).
