"The fight will never end. And so, we must march on."
Esmerion awoke to the cries of a rioting crowd.
Immediately, he shoots upright and searches the room with wide eyes. Surprise warms his heart and he sinks back down as a result. There's very little reason for him to be so frantic.
Familiarity fills his nose, worming its way through his system to tickle his senses and soul. It carries with it a feeling of comfort and promise that has long since been forgotten. Like the warmth of a winter-made nest of quilts and pillows, a wafting scent of something fresh. A sense he hasn't felt since a darker time.
Cautiously, he eases out of the squat building and leaves behind the warm Troll abode with a silent promise to return. It's only once he's out on the street that he realises that he has no idea where he is. But with the scent of someone well known to him and the quieting roars of a gathering, it's easy to find the place he needs to be.
With a small smile, he ducks under the arm of the familiar scent, bumping his head against their palm. Draal blinks in surprise, but accepts this action and shifts slightly to allow the youth more room to sidle up. Neither are concerned by the gathering, which has broken up somewhat.
"What's goin' on?" Esmerion queries with mild confusion. He does generally know what is happening, he just wants to confirm.
"The Trollhunter has rallied Trollmarket," the warrior claims with a tone of pride. "He is preparing us for a fight against Angor Rot."
The youth nods slowly, his distant gaze drawing over to the retreating group. He understands that this will be massive, and that this will take most of their strength. He remembers similar times from his own history when they had to prepare for battle. None are pleasant.
"Show me the armoury."
《《》》
Esmerion growls sourly, twirling a short sword in his hand. It's definitely been a while since he last wielded a blade. The hilt feels wrong in his grasp and the balance is off, though he can still parry with it.
"Something wrong?" Draal cocks his head over the the weapon racks, a battle axe in his hands.
He hums, practicing several thrusts with the blade, "'Feels off."
Draal nods and places down his weapon of choice to assist, "Stretch out your sword-arm. It might be that your grip and strength has changed since you last wielded a sword."
The youth ducks his head in gratitude as the warrior studies his natural stance. It has easily been several centuries since he last handled his own blade, so quite a lot is bound to have changed.
"Try..." Draal replaces his short sword with another blade from the rack, a two-handed greatsword. "This."
Esmerion corrects his grip and plays with the balance of the sword, sliding into position along the hilt. The weapon's blade is waved in a manner akin to lapping ocean-waters; a promise of injury whispering along its edge. Two guards, carved of ivory tusks, find their position on the hilt, the largest placed as a crossguard at the base of the blade while the other rests just shy of the middle of the hilt.
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《Dogears》Trollhunters/Merlin
Fanfiction"All that glitters is not gold, but all that is pure most certainly is." The Dark Ages are over. Camelot has been lost. Killahead is scattered. Those that remember recall bright days filled with the laughter of young boys, one with a crown on his he...
