[ he didn't want to break out the golden jaguar suit so soon. it reveals a little too much, but it couldn't be helped. too much was riding on this and it's better to take control of the narrative instead of letting their omnipotent overlords decide when he should reveal himself for a "personal goal". erik adjusts the necklace around his neck and lets the suit wash over him like a second skin.

he swings his swords idly, not that he needs them. he'll be relying on his kinetic energy to push the guards back. a few of them whack him with spears and swords, but it doesn't pierce the suit. erik grins before slamming his palm on the ground, sending the guards flying back.

with that, he sheathes the sword at his back before gesturing for the rest to follow. ]

C'mon, time to move your butts.

[ though erik is a city boy, he's always made sure to accumulate as many skills as necessary. and once he hit his army tours, it became more than necessary to learn how to manage in the wilderness. cooking is not one of his favourite things to do, but the menial, repetition of skinning and salting animal meat and preparing stews was easy enough to do without thinking much. he sits in front of the pot, watching the stew bubble as he cuts little cubes of meat and vegetable and dropping them in.

if anyone approaches, erik gestures to the rough-hewn bowls nearby. ]

Help yourself. Or peel some potatoes because they ain't gonna prepare themselves.

[ he's not sure why he came here. it's not as though he knows anyone buried here. these people's problems were not his problems. erik had no responsibility here. these were things that ran through his head as he sits, looking out at the graveyard. deep down, he knows why he came here. like this place, erik carries graves upon his body. every life he has stolen to reach his goal.

he has no regret there. only respect and solemnity. regret would only cheapen himself. he was fully cognizant of what he was doing when he set upon this path. and now the path has turned to naught. he still wonders what barnes' connection to wakanda was. if wakanda has changed.

if it still had the same sunset.

reaching into his collar, erik pulls out his father's ring, catching it in the moonlight. the vibranium gleams silver. erik huffs, letting it drop, the necklace swinging around his neck. ]

Looks like I'm still a little lost.

[ erik is suited back up, moving with lethal precision. it seems like the guards have upped their ante, so erik needs to respond in kind. no room for doubt on the battlefield. his blood throbs. this is what he was made for. this is the kind of weapon he is. swinging his sword, he cuts a swathe in the guard, making quick work of them. one guard deftly knocks his sword away, lashing out with a magic whip that makes the vibranium itch around his skin. it cuts across his cheek and erik feels the blood slide down his face.

he grins and launches himself at the guard, digging his claws into his shoulder making the guard cry out in pain. with his grip loosened, erik takes the whip easily before slashing his neck.

straightening, erik whistles, eyeing the whip. ]

Oh yeah, I'm keepin' this.

[ got a prompt in mind? dm / hit me up @ timmtams / hit me up @ my plotting comment ]