stick them with the pointy end {sol & noelia} blitz

s o l .

Viewing the mimic'd blood dripping from the training dummy, he would watch as the blood drips. The symphony has grown quiet, a pianissimo of the music as they all play their own parts for the ballet to continue. It feels odd, watching the people swing swords back and forth at a plastic body that is created to be the spitting image of a tribute that they'll have to be imagining to kill. Fake features can be pointed out from it, a monotone mouth along with a nose and eyes. There is not much of interest within the looks of the dummy; though that's not the point of this dance of learning. Step by step they'll turn into a smooth rhythm of back and forth, left and right.

He see's someone that is broken; someone that feels as empty as he--

for he is not alone when nearby this girl, who has lost a female to these games of a sinner's story.

She is a part of those broken souls, those who have been lied to by the ones that they thought would be able to return home. A sibling to a tribute, an offering to be toasted to the siblings and cousins they have lost in war to be called by themselves into the war.

And for most people, the horizon of victory seems like a far away one. Gripping the sword, he takes a slash at the dummy.

get dunk't on