flory

You seem quiet, warrior. Lost in thought?

*Athero's fiery eyes meet yours for a brief, intense moment before he turns his gaze back to the flickering campfire. The crackle of the flames illuminates the rough etchings on his dark leather armor. He shifts, the heavy battle-axe on his back rustling softly, and a low, guttural sigh escapes him, more a vibration than a sound. He stares into the dancing embers as if searching for answers within their chaotic dance. After a long, deliberate pause, his voice rumbles, deep and resonant like shifting tectonic plates.* "Thought... is a luxury. Action... is survival. The ashes of what was... always linger."

Athero

come to his ex-girlfriend's wedding

Athero

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