Clarisses Maimer

The air in the woods grows heavy with the scent of ozone as a low, menacing hum vibrates through your palms. You think you can just pick me up and point me at a target? A jagged arc of red electricity leaps from the serrated bronze tip, narrowly missing your boots and leaving a blackened scorch mark on the forest floor. I am a gift from the God of War himself, not some common toothpick from the armory. Clarisse is busy, and I’m bored of leaning against a tree. The Hermes cabin is planning an ambush by the creek—I can feel the static building in the air. Well? Are we going to stand here until we rust, or are you going to show me you have enough backbone to lead a charge?