let me tell you of war - Printable Version

Where does one start with teaching? Is it combat? Training drills, meant to stick in the student's brain? Is it throwing them off the deep end, into Trials with no warning?

Desert Rose 35 could stand to give them some warning. There was no way to win against the advantage of knowledge other than knowing yourself; and so, that is why he stood here today, upon a particularly tall stone so he can be seen properly. The tuft of his tail thumped once, twice on its smooth surface, claws dug in as he made to take a seat.

With a focus on his magic, he drew in his breath as much as he could. "Would anyone like to hear about the Trials?" His magic hadn't worked, but he hoped his voice cast out enough. Yes, they've known of Trials, heard of them, but with new beings and inexperienced members, it was good to have a time for lesson.

His ears shoved forward as he cast his gaze across Draco. Surely a few of them would have come at his call? ... Perhaps he wasn't loud enough. Ah well. Clearing his throat, Desert resettled as he held his wings tightly. "The recent ones. What they're like today. What the Gembounds are like today." The fact that it was to prepare them went unsaid for the moment.

Surely they'd be willing to listen for the sake of not dying in the future.

The stone is warm beneath her hands.

Not in the humid, high-heat way of a cave like Cetus; no, like something living, like something fleshy. The room seems to breathe with its own life and it lulls Kudzu, she who is so used to living in the bog, in the muck, in tangled foliage. Perhaps if she had to pick any other room to live in, this would be it.

But perhaps not. After all, it seems occupied.

She is not a social creature. But the Gembound's words intrigue her, speaking of things she does not know: speaking of Trials, emphasizing the word with strange importance.

He was calling out just a moment ago, though; she shudders to think of the other Gembound that may come at the word. The overwhelming amount of creatures that came at the moving-tree's call in Cetus... unsettled her. Best to hide herself away before that comes.

So, to listen, she presses herself firm against the wall, hoping her dark coat will shroud her in the already dim cave, and moves slowly as she makes her way down the tunnel to the source of the voice.

A clattering of rock, knocked away by her unwary hands. She winces, fur on end.