Knuckles stood at the entrance of the tent, having just completed the rituals and bestowed blessings upon those in Camp. He watched as Ittindi entered the tent, knowing that their time for such activities was now over. With a nod towards the outside of the tent, he indicated that they should move away from prying eyes, not wanting to dampen the spirits of their fellow warriors.
As he reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick to chew on, Knuckles couldn't help but feel a sense of duty and camaraderie with his comrades. The rituals had connected him with his gods, and now he felt a deeper connection with the warriors he fought alongside.
"I am not sure about you, old friend, but I feel as if these gentlemen need a little assistance," Knuckles said, his voice filled with determination. "I know it is not really our place to do so. Perhaps we can find a more direct way to aid them."
He flashed a devilish grin at Ittindi, hoping his friend would catch on to his unspoken intentions. The rush of battle and confrontation called to Knuckles, but this was about more than just seeking that adrenaline high. It was about evening the odds, ensuring the success of their mission, and protecting their comrades.
"Clean up the battlefield if you will," Knuckles added, phrasing it in a way that he thought Ittindi would appreciate. He awaited his friend's response, hoping that they shared the same desire to make a difference and ensure victory for their comrades, even if it meant taking matters into their own hands.
Knuckles longed for battle, and that longing ran deep within his very core. It wasn't just a fleeting desire or a whim; it was a fundamental part of his being. The thrill of combat, the clash of weapons, and the adrenaline rush that came with it were like a drug to him. It was in his blood, his bones, and his very soul.
As a pagan warrior, Knuckles had been raised with a strong sense of honor and duty on the battlefield. He had been taught to embrace the chaos of combat, to revel in the heat of battle, and to fight fiercely for his beliefs and his people. The gods he worshipped were ones of war and valor, and they had instilled in him a deep sense of purpose in the midst of conflict.
The sound of clashing swords, the cries of his comrades, and the scent of sweat and blood in the air were all things that stirred his spirit. In battle, he felt alive, connected to a primal force that surged through him, making him feel invincible. The camaraderie he shared with his fellow warriors, the unspoken understanding that existed between them on the battlefield, was something he cherished.
But it wasn't just the physical aspects of battle that drew Knuckles in. It was also the mental and emotional challenge of it. The strategic planning, the split-second decision-making, and the sheer willpower required to push through the most dire of circumstances were all part of the thrill. Battle was a test of his mettle, a crucible in which he could prove his worth as a warrior and earn the favor of his gods.
In this moment, as he discussed the idea of intervening on the battlefield with Ittindi, that longing for battle burned bright within Knuckles. He knew that their skills, experience, and connection to the gods made them formidable on the battlefield. The idea of using their abilities to tip the scales in favor of their comrades filled him with a sense of purpose and anticipation. The prospect of rushing into the chaos of battle, the taste of victory, and the sting of wounds - it all called to him, making his heart beat with an eagerness that only a true warrior could understand.
WC 651
TWC 2678