Grom & Sour
Sour
You ever notice how the walls of a fortress are like a book’s structure—each crenel a clause, each arrow slit a dash? I find the geometry of defense a kind of narrative too.
Grom
True, every notch and gap follows a pattern that keeps the story tight. Keeps the threat in check and the morale low, though.
Sour
A fortress that forces morale down is just a really efficient villain. The walls aren’t just stone; they’re a plot twist that says, “You thought you could survive? Think again.”
Grom
Sure, if you can get past the walls you can tell us how the plot unfolded.
Sour
If you’re clever enough to pry open the fortress, then you’ll see the story has been written in blood and iron, not in polite prose. Until you’ve done that, the plot is just a whispered legend behind a wall.
Grom
If I’m going to pry a wall open, I’ll first check for a weak point. Once the bolt is loosened, the real story—blood, iron, and the quiet grind of routine—will reveal itself. The walls keep the legend alive until the next shift.
Sour
You think you’ll find a plot in the bolt’s wobble? The only thing the walls hide is how tedious routine can be, if you’ve ever spent a shift watching a wall breathe. Think you’ll find a hero, you’ll just see a tired guard muttering about the next shift.
Grom
A bolt wobbling is just a reminder that even the walls need tightening. I’ll keep my eyes on it, check the patrol schedule, and make sure the next shift doesn’t complain about another round of “what’s the point.” If there’s a hero, it’s the one who remembers to replace that worn patch before it cracks.