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Estinien + Ysayle
Jul. 20th, 2016 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dravanicide[With the others asleep, or so Estinien assumes as such, he quietly sneaks away from the now dwindling campfire. Though, less so would you call it a campfire than a pile of weakly glowing embers barely clinging to life. Nevertheless, not being able to sleep easy, as he never has been able to since childhood, he decides to patrol the area around them.
With so many dragons nearby, his senses are rather flooded, and as such he rather relies upon his own eyes to detect any would be threats. However, he also knows it's scantly just that, that his mind is elsewhere with the meeting of Hraesvelgr on the horizon, and if naught comes of that, then too a showdown with Nidhogg. At long last, his thirst for vengeance may yet be sated. The thought is comforting, to be sure, but with his beliefs, and the foundations there of being shaken so thoroughly, he is rather besides himself with his thoughts.
He's almost disappointed that there doesn't seem to be any dragons threatening to march upon the camp. It'd be a welcomed stress relief to fell one of the beasts, even if it might result in Iceheart's shrill mewling. However, since that does not seem to be the case, he instead decides to spend this sleepless night training (not unlike the days when he first joined the Knights Dragoon) with his Gae Bolg, a handful a yalms outside of their camp.
Those days, being a young lad with scant a thought in his head save for vengeance, are still burned into his mind. His training, rigorous and scarring as it were, promised to never leave him. How could it? When his anger, his hatred—his trauma was used to fuel him, to make him that much more focused, that much more deadly. That much closer to vengeance. The reminder of what he had lost, what others could lose, that Nidhogg and his brood were responsible...
His movements, precise and calculated, speak of years of training. He moves with ease with his practiced jabs and thrusts, and as his mind goes back to that place, near as horrifying as when his village was razed to the ground, what with being forced to relive it again and again, it's almost as if he's in a trance. It was all part of the training, to fan the flames of his contempt. To open that emotional wound so that it may gush forth with utter rancor, not unlike that of Nidhogg's own. So that he may become a better weapon in lieu of his own self preservation.
With his focus being poured into his practice, and his thoughts leaving him elsewhere mentally, he scant will realize the approach of another—for how could he, when he's so utterly consumed with the past, presently.]
With so many dragons nearby, his senses are rather flooded, and as such he rather relies upon his own eyes to detect any would be threats. However, he also knows it's scantly just that, that his mind is elsewhere with the meeting of Hraesvelgr on the horizon, and if naught comes of that, then too a showdown with Nidhogg. At long last, his thirst for vengeance may yet be sated. The thought is comforting, to be sure, but with his beliefs, and the foundations there of being shaken so thoroughly, he is rather besides himself with his thoughts.
He's almost disappointed that there doesn't seem to be any dragons threatening to march upon the camp. It'd be a welcomed stress relief to fell one of the beasts, even if it might result in Iceheart's shrill mewling. However, since that does not seem to be the case, he instead decides to spend this sleepless night training (not unlike the days when he first joined the Knights Dragoon) with his Gae Bolg, a handful a yalms outside of their camp.
Those days, being a young lad with scant a thought in his head save for vengeance, are still burned into his mind. His training, rigorous and scarring as it were, promised to never leave him. How could it? When his anger, his hatred—his trauma was used to fuel him, to make him that much more focused, that much more deadly. That much closer to vengeance. The reminder of what he had lost, what others could lose, that Nidhogg and his brood were responsible...
His movements, precise and calculated, speak of years of training. He moves with ease with his practiced jabs and thrusts, and as his mind goes back to that place, near as horrifying as when his village was razed to the ground, what with being forced to relive it again and again, it's almost as if he's in a trance. It was all part of the training, to fan the flames of his contempt. To open that emotional wound so that it may gush forth with utter rancor, not unlike that of Nidhogg's own. So that he may become a better weapon in lieu of his own self preservation.
With his focus being poured into his practice, and his thoughts leaving him elsewhere mentally, he scant will realize the approach of another—for how could he, when he's so utterly consumed with the past, presently.]