Drift (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sword_redemption) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 10:36 am
sword_redemption) wrote in re_alignment_logs2013-01-03 10:36 am
Entry tags:
I felt like destroying something beautiful
Who: Drift and open
What: Catharsis
When Nowish
Where Outside Vector's place
Warnings Damage to harmless innocent geology and if you look slantwise, suicidal tendencies maybe?
It's morning--or what passes for it here. And there's a sharp, ringing sound, of metal on stone, and then another. They keep coming, sometimes a quick flurry, sometimes one, or two at a time, like the blows are calculated.
Drift's standing in a rough circle, blades drawn, in a loose version of an old Decepticon training ring. On the main vectors of the circle, at the perimeter stand rough pillars of stone: crystal and schist, nodules of manganese and pyrite.
Fool's gold. It's fitting.
There are sparks, as the metal of Drift's blades strike flint in the sedimentary stones, or larger sparks, as he slices into the strange quartz of this place. His style isn't like Wing's--Wing's bladework is elegant, almost dancer-like: Drift's is sharp and explosive, honed less on a pretty, underground practice floor than in the thick of combat.
He's fighting something here. Not enemies, but himself.
After a moment, he throws the two short blades aside, their blades ringing on the stone, and draws the Great Sword. There's a blaze of light, like sunlight or flame, from the golden gem in its hilt, and bright energy skitters down the blade, filling the glyphs like liquid light, as he moves to attack one of the mindless chunks of stone again, his face set and resolute.
What: Catharsis
When Nowish
Where Outside Vector's place
Warnings Damage to harmless innocent geology and if you look slantwise, suicidal tendencies maybe?
It's morning--or what passes for it here. And there's a sharp, ringing sound, of metal on stone, and then another. They keep coming, sometimes a quick flurry, sometimes one, or two at a time, like the blows are calculated.
Drift's standing in a rough circle, blades drawn, in a loose version of an old Decepticon training ring. On the main vectors of the circle, at the perimeter stand rough pillars of stone: crystal and schist, nodules of manganese and pyrite.
Fool's gold. It's fitting.
There are sparks, as the metal of Drift's blades strike flint in the sedimentary stones, or larger sparks, as he slices into the strange quartz of this place. His style isn't like Wing's--Wing's bladework is elegant, almost dancer-like: Drift's is sharp and explosive, honed less on a pretty, underground practice floor than in the thick of combat.
He's fighting something here. Not enemies, but himself.
After a moment, he throws the two short blades aside, their blades ringing on the stone, and draws the Great Sword. There's a blaze of light, like sunlight or flame, from the golden gem in its hilt, and bright energy skitters down the blade, filling the glyphs like liquid light, as he moves to attack one of the mindless chunks of stone again, his face set and resolute.
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