What is to come? ((Closed))

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What is to come? ((Closed))

Post by Sarpedon Illicon on Tue Apr 07, 2015 4:39 pm

Saar rolled his shoulders, wiping his face down, cleaning off the sweat the dripped from his brow. There was a time where he'd look at himself in disgust; he used to be able to do so much more than what he did now. He had a partner though, he had Sil. Neither of them could ever accept defeat in anything, and seeing their brother keeping pace, they'd both stretch themselves to their limits, straining and struggling to best each other. There was that spirit of competition that drove them both, that kindled the fires of their souls and fueled their passion, their dedication. Too many people saw Rugby as "just a game", and were blind to the opportunities it presented. Playing the sport did so much; to succeed you had to be strong, fast, agile. You had to be flexible, physically and mentally. You had to adapt quickly, you had to adapt on your feet and improvise. You had to have the right mentality, to have the heart to not give up when behind and struggle on and turn the game around. You had to work well with your team mates. You had to understand strategy and tactics. You had to develop a presence, you had to play the mind game; tackle them hard and fair early and they'll hesitate the next time, letting you hit them even harder. You had to find the weak links in their chain, and you had to have the ruthlessness to snap it in half.

Nine months. Nine months since they'd come and taken him away. Nine months since his candle had been extinguished. Nine months since Charon had guided his soul down to the Elyssian Fields. If Minos and the others judged otherwise... there would surely be a reckoning. The run had been long, intense and exhausting, but Saar now stood before the altar of Mars, staring at the offering bowl - iron; practical and strong, but beautiful reliefs were etched into its curved surface depicting battle after battle eternally waging war across the dark metal- empty and silent, sitting in the centre of the temple, expectant. Demanding. Stepping forward, Saar pulled the dagger Mars had gifted him and slashed it across his palm, unflinching. Pausing when nothing dripped down into the bowl, he sighed. Sheathing it, he drew his gladius and repeated the gesture, watching the crimson flow down into the bowl. My blood for you Mars, as your blood runs through mine. My blood for you Sil, as you gave yours for me. His voice was low, rough, too afraid it would crack.

Sil could not be replaced, never. But he'd gone too long without a sparring partner, without a training partner. He had a duty to Rome - to Camp Jupiter, to Mars, to Sil- to be the best he could be. Denying himself the advantage of a partner out of respect for Sil did nothing but hurt himself and Rome. At least it wasn't going to be hard to find one; Cicero embodied everything Saar respected about Rome and was the perfect candidate. And yet... the hours had added up, working together in the gym with Sil. Doing those exercises, spotting, mocking, taunting, encouraging... it felt wrong to do it to anyone else. Yet it was his duty, and that came first. Squeezing a few more drops into the bowl, Saar knelt down before the altar, carefully laying his sword upon the pantellic marble facing that tiled the floor of the temple, and unhooked his canteen from his belt. Pouring the clear water over the wound and the blade, cleaning them, he hooked it back and drew out a roll of linen bandage, wrapping it around his palm. Fumbling around in his pouch, the blonde demigod pulled out the pin to hold it in place, before flexing the hand lightly, testing his work. A small adjustment here, a small tweak there, and Saar grunted in satisfaction. Drawing the oily rag that had a home in his pockets, gently, he began shining the metal blade to a gleam. The work was quiet, honest and gave him time to think while his body worked on auto pilot.

This feud, this conflict, this divide between the two demigod camps had gone on long enough. How had the Praetors let their personal feelings get in the way of harmony and cooperation between the camps when it hurt their camp so much. The Romans didn't have a son of Vulcan around, and whoever was doing their smith work was an amateur at best. Most of the good stuff they had came from the Greeks, and if that was to continue, relations between the camps would have to improve, lest things sour badly for the Romans. One cannot fight without weapons, and the Greeks held the supply. Even beyond that, the feud had long standing repercussions that wounded the development of the camp. It was not all Greeks who brought down the Camp in San Francisco, just as it was the Greeks who helped give the survivors a refuge, a place to rebuild. Saar's knowledge on the inter camp relations beyond that was limited, but if the Romans were ever going to return to the power they once possessed, then they had two options.

The first being conquer and assimilate the Greeks into their lives as part of their region of control as the original Romans had done. Their were so many things wrong with that option, Saar didn't even bother considering it an option. The second, was to end the hostility between the camps and work in unison. That option had to be the one with the higher likelihood to succeed, surely! If not, then there was something seriously wrong with both camps, stemming from the bottom to the very core of each society: their leaders. The fact that this poison had been allowed to fester was testimony to how unfit the Praetors were, and if they would not offer the olive branch out of whatever past wrong they held close to their heart, then he would, consequences be damned. Saar had to do what was best for the Romans, and if it meant sacrificing himself to bring harmony between the camps...

So be it.
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