Post by Deleted on Dec 6, 2015 10:06:02 GMT -5
Sweat rolled down his face, his muscles strained as he raised his hammer, it fell, clanging against the metal that was white hot on the anvil. Sparks flew in every direction as he continued to pound on it. The man worked shirtless, not flinching or wincing as the sparks hit his bare skin. The large mountain of a man stood there in the wee hours of the morning as he pounded on the metal. He picked it up, the hot metal with the tongs as he then picked up the white hot metal and dumped it in the water barrel beside the forge. The steam hissed and curled as it hit the cool air. The doors to the forge were cracked open slightly, but at near three in the morning, he was still fast at work. He blinked as he then pulled out the hot metal before dunking it again into the water. IT was cool to the touch, well, for a child of Vulcan. Ronan could touch high heat and it would feel cool to him, unlike most other people. He sat down at the whetstone, putting it between his massive legs as he worked to rub the blade into a sharp edge. It seemed that there was more and more work to do despite the time of peace.
He had felt so worn out since he had come back from the Government facility. He couldn't even manage a flame with the forge. Everything about his powers made him exhausted. He didn't want to kill those people, he didn't want anything to do with them. But they had taken his family, his brother, his little sister. THey meant the world to him. Until now, he never had anything to call his own. He was Centurion, someone in charge of the fifth cohort. They wern't the best cohort, but he was doing everything that he could to make them better. He wanted to fix everything, he wanted to help everyone. But if he kept feeling so worn out, he couldn't do anything to help anyone else. As he sat there, listening to the scraping sound of metal on stone, it was rhythmic, like it was some sort of tune. IT was mesmerizing. He felt his shoulders sag, as if there was a massive weight attatched to them. Everything burned, but not in a heat sort of way. It was that feeling after you trained so hard to the point of exhaustion.
He had felt so worn out since he had come back from the Government facility. He couldn't even manage a flame with the forge. Everything about his powers made him exhausted. He didn't want to kill those people, he didn't want anything to do with them. But they had taken his family, his brother, his little sister. THey meant the world to him. Until now, he never had anything to call his own. He was Centurion, someone in charge of the fifth cohort. They wern't the best cohort, but he was doing everything that he could to make them better. He wanted to fix everything, he wanted to help everyone. But if he kept feeling so worn out, he couldn't do anything to help anyone else. As he sat there, listening to the scraping sound of metal on stone, it was rhythmic, like it was some sort of tune. IT was mesmerizing. He felt his shoulders sag, as if there was a massive weight attatched to them. Everything burned, but not in a heat sort of way. It was that feeling after you trained so hard to the point of exhaustion.