... In the memory, the person—they weren't a fan of swords, despite wielding them. And they considered themselves to be a sword as well—a role they felt they played even here, despite things being peaceful.
They couldn't get used to it, so they wanted to leave.
[ They do seem to stop and consider it, their form - which has been much more solid lately - turning fuzzier at the edges, more shadow than anything. Pink eyes open and close along the skin, and then back to nothingness. ]
I cannot say that it does. The feeling of being a weapon alone, but ... it does not strike me as anything familiar.
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They couldn't get used to it, so they wanted to leave.
[...]
Does any of this seem familiar?
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I cannot say that it does. The feeling of being a weapon alone, but ... it does not strike me as anything familiar.
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I suppose you wouldn't remember anyone who had a master of some kind...?
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