EREBOS

They’d spent too many days locked in foolishness. He could only see and realize it now, after Kisamoa (Kaos) had revealed his true nature, after he’d enticed and ensnared, after he’d tricked and deceived, after he’d coaxed them all through wiles and duplicity (greed, the most inspiring vice of all) - weakness had exploited their hearts and minds, left them boneless and insipid, stupid and ineffectual.
 
While the prince only wanted to grief for the father he’d lost, he knew, realized deep down in the marrow of his bones and the searing potency of his blood, that he couldn’t be consumed by agony, by misery, while the rest of the world strived to overcome their greatest adversary.
 
All of them needed to be strong. All of them needed to be effective. All of them needed to be conniving, specious pieces of potency and fortitude.
 
His responsibilities yielded to his soldiers, his warriors, his tenacious, unwinding demons and infidels, the swords drawn, the rapiers slashing, the cutlasses extended, ready, eager for the fray. But it couldn’t end there, not now, not ever, when havoc had spilled across the realm and they’d been left with no answers, no ways, no methods, no means to destroy it. So Erebos, the young General, the mighty, the proud, the stalwart, made it a personal mission to ensure each member of the Basin could protect and shield their bodies, their minds, and their souls.
 
He ignored Orsino’s laughter ringing through his ears. He disregarded the monumental venture of such schemes and tasks. The boy merely set out on his promises and convictions across the spring vestiges, along melting snow and ice, amidst the bloom and rise of shoots and leaves while the world threatened to falter (because they couldn’t afford to).
 
One of the healers, Mortuus Nox, had expressed interest in practicing skills, in testing his potency, in pledging towards strength and malice – and the youth could only admire him for such appeal and efforts, and ensured a lofty grin gleamed upon his features when he greeted the fellow beast outside his chosen cave. “Mortuus Nox,” he lowered his head and spoke into the echoing aperture, pondering if the occupant residing within was presently up to the task, willing to join in a duel, in learning the finer arts of swordplay and violence. His voice resounded again, a crashing wake of tenacity and vigor; forcefulness displayed through the etching of his battle-honed muscles. “Do you still wish to spar?”


[413 words. 0/3. Training Spar: Erebos vs. Mortuus Nox
Surroundings: Currently outside Mortuus Nox’s cave, warm spring day, melting snow and ice on the grounds. Around mid-morning.
Mortuus may have first move!]