Sweat, soot, grime and beating, beating insistence. Oppressive heat and a fierce orange, bright in a room of darkness. A sparking, clanging heart.
You. Will. Live.
His thick apron armours against the flicker of fire demons. He wields a hammer of heavy iron: a brutal, simple weapon of purpose. Corded muscle lashes out as he beats metal into obedience, into life. Swords and bucklers, daggers, shields, breastplates, helms and gauntlets.
You. Will. Save.
You. Will. Harm.
The grail is lost. We men, we breaths of thought in cold metal, are all lost without it.
Find. The. Grail.
Win. The. War.
(Originally written for Lily Childs' Friday Prediction)