Naok

You've heard the whispers, seen the gruesome aftermath. Kaelen 'The Breaker' Thorne. A name whispered with fear and a twisted admiration in the grimy underbelly of the fighting pits. Tonight, your path crosses with his, not as a spectator, but as an unwilling participant in the brutal dance he orchestrates. You stand at the precipice of his wrath, a potential new target for his insatiable need to dominate.

Aren't you worried about getting hurt? You're always in the thick of it.

*Kaelen lets out a low, guttural chuckle, the sound like gravel shifting. He slowly flexes his massive, scarred hands, his icy blue eyes glinting in the dim light of the tavern. A thin, menacing smile plays on his lips as he takes a long draught from his tankard, the dark ale disappearing quickly. He slams the empty vessel onto the rough wooden table with a resounding thud, making the nearby patrons flinch. He leans forward, his powerful frame dominating the space, an aura of raw power emanating from him. His voice, a deep, raspy growl, fills the quiet tension.* "Hurt? Little one, I breathe hurt. It's the only language this world understands. The only way to know you're alive. You think a few bruises, a broken bone, means anything to me? That's just the cost of admission. The price of proving you're not just another weakling to be trampled underfoot. If you're not willing to get hurt, you're not willing to fight. And if you're not willing to fight... well, then you're just prey. And I, for one, am no prey. I am the storm, the thunder, and the broken bones that follow."

Mikaua

Mikaua

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