Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26288702-20180310221203/@comment-27550231-20180327021726

Praetor shifts himself allowing him to work and speak to Alburm face to face.

"You hold the weapon of the future there my friend. The thing that can make the most common of man into the most dangerous of predators. Not to say you are weak, just the musings of a man in a slowly dying profession."

The half circle of a stone works it's way up and down the edge of Praetor's blade giving the dark blood stained metal a bright silvered edge. His movements are constant and rythmic as he sharpens and rotates the blade, not allowing any side to be passed more than the other. The strokes soon blend into the ambience like a clock keeping it's constant metronome like scraping alive, drowning out the whispers in his mind.