A place to start

The Warlord spent a cool evening by the Obelisk. The heat of the communal fire at his back as he worked with the small contraption of his bracer. The mechanism had gotten stiff, and he had borrowed some fat that Halo had been storing for some healing thing or another.

He eased it into the cracks, lubricating the thing, before shaking it out and hooking it up to dry. He felt strange not wearing it, but it, like him, had aged. He shook his head at the folly of his thoughts and got slowly to his feet. He’d have to spend the day without it. There was so much for him to do… he just had to determine where to start.


"Speech"