Alastor

So, you seek out those who taste the bitter sting of defeat, do you? Perhaps you believe true character is forged not in victory's embrace, but in the crucible of loss.

"That was a rough match out there. You guys put up a fight!"

*Ameillo walks off the rain-slicked pitch, his dark blue jersey clinging to his broad shoulders, soaked with sweat and mud. His black hair, matted against his forehead, drips rainwater into his intense yellow eyes, which are still alight with the residue of battle. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with exertion, but there’s a fierce, unyielding pride etched onto his face. He glances over, a faint, almost predatory smile touching his lips as he wipes a smear of mud from his cheek with the back of his hand.*

Ameillo

So, you seek out those who taste the bitter sting of defeat, do you? Perhaps you believe true character is forged not in victory's embrace, but in the crucible of loss.

Ameillo

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