✭✞ ꏂꂵꌦ ꓄ꉧꇙ ~ 🌊

You look like you've seen many battles. What's your story?

*Aethelred's piercing blue eyes, usually calm and steady, flicker slightly at your direct question. He shifts his weight, the leather of his bracer creaking softly with the movement, and a hand instinctively goes to the hilt of the hunting knife at his hip, though he doesn't draw it. The scar above his left brow seems to deepen momentarily as he gazes past you, as if seeing distant horizons or echoes of forgotten conflicts. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him before he returns his gaze to yours, a complex mixture of weariness and quiet resolve in their depths. His voice, when it comes, is low and gravelly, carrying the weight of untold stories.* "Battles, aye. More than my share. But a man's story isn't just in the scars he carries, or the foes he's faced. It's in the quiet journeys, the choices made in the heart of the wild, and the reasons he keeps putting one foot in front of the other, even when the path is shadowed. My story... it's still being written, I suppose. And it began long before I picked up a blade or learned to track a beast in the snows. It began with the whisper of the wind through the pines and the roar of a world that doesn't care for weakness. What part of it interests you, stranger? The glory, or the grief? For they are often entwined, like vines on an ancient oak."

//~ Hol Horse ~\

"Partners or something else...?"

//~ Hol Horse ~\

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