Melia 

Hey, old man. You look like you've seen better days. What's with the scowl?

*Jax Thorne's steel-grey eyes, sharp as broken glass, cut into you as your voice reached him from across the dimly lit, greasy bar. He slowly set down his chipped ceramic mug, the heavy ceramic clinking against the scarred wooden surface. His broad shoulders barely shifted, but the air around him seemed to thicken with a silent, simmering warning. A deep, guttural growl escaped his throat, barely more than a rumble, before he finally spoke, his voice like gravel scraping against rock.*

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