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The General kept himself busy, attuned, mind blank, focused on nothing and everything all at once – to cease and desist would mean thoughts would become riveted on torment, on vengeance, on death and demise. Instead, it was left perilously drifting between dastardly measures and conniving movements, staying several steps ahead of those he was accompanying, trying to decipher which road to follow, which path to take, which pebbled trail would lead them down to folly, ruin, triumph, or glory. The prince lined his motions with practiced charisma, with finessed charms, launching from frosted puddles to melting rime, bantering back and forth over the methods to his madness. “Patrolling our borders is a necessity,” he chanted, pausing to glance back at his companions, the legions of warriors he was set to train, waiting for some rebuttal, some quip, some snarky remark about the dullness of this current work, winking before they could deliver their snickers or taunts. “In these trying times, we can never be too careful.” The words slipped from his mouth with presence, with magnetism, with a bold, feverish fervor (because there was a part of him, sprung from youth, from exuberance, that just wanted to yield to the unspoken savagery within his frame and race across the grounds, not a care in the world) – but they were astute and accurate too. He didn’t want them going down towards the Spectral Marsh without a keen eye, without a notion of sensing danger, without precise calculation towards the kingdom around them. There’d been too much treachery resting in the unknown, in the chaos swirling between fallen gods and bedlam-riddles bones, monsters springing and rising from the catacombs, an empire meant to be severed, brought back to life by their own actions.
Erebos ceased his motions then, while they were nestled along the outcrop of fir and pine, standing amidst their fine troops like an ardent warrior, ready for the brink of battle, fervent for the fight, for the promise of foretold, darker days. His gaze swept over them, each soldier one by one, a bright, ebullient grin unfurled across his mouth, a force to be reckoned with for its allure, for its candidness, for the Cheshire sway. “Take a moment and look around the Steppe.” His black fox followed suit, lingering along the warrior’s hind limbs, tails lashing from side to side, a court of rebellion constantly fastened to his features. The youth tilted his head, ears turning, on the alert, on the brink of being riveted, of being fascinated, by their abilities to hone in on the possible peril, precariousness, or uncertainty haunting the poignant edges and fringes of mountaintops and valleys. His voice took a more curious turn, lofting and lilting it for everyone to encompass, to hold, to point them in their chosen directions. “What do you see?”
[Patrol for Basin soldiers and anyone else who expressed interest/wants to join! I'll be posting again in about a week's time. -wink wink- Feel free to be creative.]
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[O] clear your throat and face the world [patrol]
