Chimera Fields see, i try & look up to the sky,

looking for a spar! roughen up this old man pls

the muscles of a mercenary's son do not go unworked.

roaring billows of winters harsh snows surround the man draped in shadows as a river of red fights to burn its image into similarly scarlet eyes, into a mind that once was shrouded in darkness akin to his appearance ; dark, broad-shouldered and a remnant of what once was. of a distant, echoing memory. fleeting from him, now. running.

and so on the eve of his fifth year, under the light of his midnight lady and within the harsh snows of wintertime, the lorekeeper seeks a fight. his jaw is tight, throat burning with what feels to be thorns, barbs that sharpen with every swallow. any attempted word would be pointless, all he knew is that there was something within him - something harsher than any snowstorm the winters could bring - that must be exorcised.

a sanguine thirst that had not been satisfied for far too long.