ORIGIN

If Eridanus wasn't so stimulating, Orion would be Attikias's favorite room. The buildings felt like a second home to him and he enjoyed walking about it with his hands brushing their walls, marvelling at the structures and ash it carried.

The dragon must've done a number on it, as it seemed even worse for wear than the first time he set foot in it.

When he inhaled slowly in a sigh he smelled the musty dust in the air, eyes closed as he took it all in. He wasn't here on just some walking excursion, no, he had a purpose right now, one he needed a flat area for. The Forum was perfect for that. With all the tools he could carry on a metal shield, he'd arrived not long ago with the express purpose to practice. He needed to be better at his work, be able to protect his family, be able to keep them safe from the dangers they faced.

Of course, that was a daunting task for just one man. Still, he'd take it on himself, he'd feed his family and he'd ward off any who dared to attack. If some of his children were here, though, they'd want to join in, and he simply didn't want to have to explain to them what they might go through if they actually followed his instructions in hunting or fighting.

He didn't want them to feel how he did about the deaths at his hands. Let them remain innocent for as long as they can be.

When he opened his eyes, they drifted down to the pile in front of him, a meager offering of the weapons he owned. The spear was lashed against his back as usual but some of the others things were simply too good to fess up, especially with the possibility of reviving them into sharp tools of hurt.

He grimaced at that. He wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of some of this stuff once he actually learned how to wield it. Case in point, a rusted sword that he picked up and held in front of him from among the hammer and other materials- this thing was dangerous, and he didn't want to practice with it among his typical peers. What if he'd hurt them? Hunter was really the only one probably capable of defending himself against the physical attack, but he still didn't want to slip up and make a mistake.

He distracted his mind as he backed up, his eyes never leaving the double-bladed edge of the weapon. It was rusted and probably couldn't slice anymore but it could still hurt. That's what he was after, and he twisted it in his hand as he inspected the possibilities of what could happen with it. The rust probably wouldn't be good in someone's system, but neither was metal anyways. A stab through the armpit seemed a weak spot- but it was guarded by shoulders, and his other arm drifted along his body through this thought.

It felt morbid to contemplate how best to hurt someone like himself. There weren't many, but with Dip, what if there were more? Tossing the sword gently to assuage its weight, he balanced with his tail lashing as he thought out what exactly he wanted to do. It felt weird to have such a short tool compared to the spear, but it left his armored limb open to defend himself and push away attackers, let him grab and keep a hand free. It could work. Squinting, he sliced in the air and watched how his hand reacted to the weight. Good enough, yeah.

Inhaling, he whirled in place and cut the air behind him in a fluid motion, arm too low for his liking. The sword just wasn't natural for him yet and it showed in the movements as he stood back up, changing hands with it for a brief moment.

Maybe if it was complete he wouldn't be having issues. Maybe it was like him- worn and needing revival, needing change, needing so many things yet reliant on others to achieve it. Ah, but he was getting poetic, and he shut his eyes as he sliced in the air again, stumbling briefly before catching himself and the sword to stand again.