EREBOS

There’d been several days in between his promotion from Soldier to General where he admitted to being intimidated.
 
What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to act? Where did he draw the line from silly, mercenary soldier (driving down the ramparts, blowing past munitions, to overcome what he wanted to destroy, with no forethought towards the herd) to leering General? When did he protect? When did he guard? What did they patrol? How was he to ensure strength and fortitude in their shields, in their protectors, in their guardians, when the herd was listless, lifeless?
 
The most aggravating of all ground at his gears, memories of the herd meeting lingering through his ears: what had he been thinking?
 
But perhaps this was a test, an examination, an intriguing scrutiny of his abilities – a youth could fight, but could he lead? The boy had to grow into a man. The prince had to be something other than a regal, shadowy little figure, jutting out from the horizon, drifting on mercurial pursuits and vengeful schemes. The scion had to be something other than a devil, possessed by silly antics and treacherous dreams. Erebos had to step up and become part of the empire, or be lost, drowned, nameless, and nothing within it.
 
So, along the peaks and valleys, down into the desolate region of melting snow and the boundless entry of spring, the warrior and his kitsune entrenched themselves within the heavy rain and slippery knolls. While Orsino complained about the setting (ridiculous, he hissed, shaking his body more than once to try and rid it of the merciless chill, and the beast almost cackled in reply), he lingered along the showers, felt unburdened as his gaze became shrouded in dampened forelock, pretended to be Poseidon heralding and summoning an incoming storm: a tempest brewing behind the lengths of his Cheshire grin. He’d be a master. He’d be a titan. He’d shown them the way.
 
Or, maybe, his opponent would accomplish the task, and Erebos would be cowed and diminished, defeated again.
 
“Arion!” He bellowed into the overwhelming mist, watching for the arrival of their newest Corporal, narrowing his eyes as more droplets threatened to cascade into his vision. “Are you ready?” He shouted again, the grin still in place, the merriment, the danger, still coiled between his veins and along his lungs – because he wanted to see what the world had in store for him, for them, and what would become of the Basin’s small, merry band of soldiers, destined to protect and serve from whatever dangers lurked within their midst.

[Erebos vs. Arion Teaching Spar
0/3. 433 words. Arion may have the first attack!
Setting: Late Frostfall/Early Birdsong, in the middle of the Basin (near the greenhouse, slightly above the unfreezing lake). Heavy rain showers with mist. The snow has begun to melt, and in some areas its still fairly slippery/icy.]