Full Name: Seri Hien

Nickname(s): Lux

Titles: Those Whose Eyes Shine at Night

Age: 24

Gender: Androgynous, uses he/she pronouns equally. Chooses not to answer questions regarding it, considering it unimportant.

Species: Human

Sexuality: Demiromantic Demisexual

Height: 6'0

Weight: 150lbs

Appearance:


Personality: XNFJ-A
Lux, despite the general indifference of most of his tribe to outsiders, is rather well-traveled and soft-spoken. He is precise with his words and well wishing and caring to most. While he can be emotional and brooding from time to time, he puts on a brave face for his friends and tries to remain as a spiritual beacon for those who need it, freely offering his advice whether it's warranted or not.
He takes great pride in his own power and has difficulty following orders haphazardly, always putting his altruistic ideals first and foremost.

Powers and Skills: (Will give him changeling and dream divination powers later.)
Lux is skilled with both a glaive and dagger, thinking quickly on his feet in a battle. He is perceptive to the land, finding himself easily in tune with nature and its denizens. His tribe has much knowledge on hunting, surviving off the land, and navigating by stars.

Equipment: As expected of a nomad, Lux travels pretty light, preferring to live off the land and its offerings. He puts little value on personal belongings, really only having an attachment to his steel glaive and daggers. He has various other survival tools on hand made from animal bone, mostly used for hunting or fishing.

Backstory: Hailing from a tribe of mountain dwelling humans along the Helihe/Briydor border who worship the sun goddess Hira and the wind god Tempae. Lux was forced from his home when it was caught in the Grand War. He now travels as a nomad, looking for means to end the brutal war dividing the continent.

Group/Guild: Aros Vi tribe, (Future Messenger of the goddess Nex. Cosmos/Moon)

Other: Likes fishing and swimming. Probably spends too long around water actually, especially at night. Likes stargazing. Dislikes cold or rainy weather.
Themes: x/x
----------------
Full Name: Soterra Nazaryan

Nickname(s): Soh, Terra

Titles: N/A

Age: 19

Gender: Female, she/her

Species: Dark Elf, Lich

Sexuality: Heteroromantic Heterosexual

Height: 5'4

Weight: 130 lbs

Appearance:

Has small, bone-like wings just below her shoulders and beside her exposed spine, hidden by her violet robes and black leather armor.

Personality: INXP-T
Soterra has a gloomy and serious temperament. She's known to not show much of her emotions openly but has a tendency to get caught up in them. She is quiet and reflective, but empathetic and caring to those she knows well. She dislikes conflict, always trying to see things from a logical bend and always seems to have her head in the clouds.

Powers and Skills: Soterra is a lich, able to heal herself from the life energies of her enemies. She is also able to use dark magic to entangle foes in tendrils of shadow. Her powers require her to feed regularly off the souls of living creatures, weakening her powers and causing her to grow pale if she goes too long without doing so. Her status as a messenger grants her nigh immortality, keeping her from aging further.

Equipment: She keeps a few magic spellbooks on hand and some writing scrolls along with a black bladed short sword.

Backstory: Probably died in the war and reborn as a Messenger, idk I'll work it out later.

Group/Guild: Messenger of the Darkness and Death god, Umbris.

Other: Regrets and hates killing people, but she's desensitized at this point. Doesn't always get along with her patron god or his sinister demands, but fears dying again or being tortured for going against his wishes. Likes sweets and birds.
Themes: x/x

----------------
Full Name: Archon

Nickname(s): Arc, Archie, Arco

Titles: The One Who Exists Between Worlds

Age: Immortal

Gender: Male

Species: Eldritch Abomination (largely resembles the average Tiefling, minus the tail)

Sexuality: Demisexual Demiromantic

Height: 5'7 (assumed form)

Weight: Surprisingly weightless. His being doesn't interact with known laws of physics properly.

Appearance:
(Has two tarlike black tendrils hanging off his shoulders. Uses them as an extra pair of arms. Under his mask, his many red eyes are black and beady, like a spider. He has black claws on his hands and feet and the back of his wrists have sharp spines.)

Personality: ENFP-A
Surprisingly, Archon is a very easy going dude when he isn't inadvertently flaying minds with his attempts to use psionic powers or accidentally speaking in tongues.
He gets along with most people who can handle his burning, excitable curiosity about life, mortals, and the universe.
He doesn't seem to act the part of a typical Eldritch entity, thanks to being born partially out of human soul and spirit. He's a bit eccentric and clingy, but impressionable and easily talked into things. Archon is almost painfully too optimistic at times and seems to have no true sense of danger.
His true otherworldly nature does not seem to concern him so much as hinder his efforts to attempt to befriend those on the mortal plane.

Powers and Skills: He is psionic by nature, though attempts at two way mental communication require a strong mind and spirit, capable of withstanding the chaotic thoughts that generally occupy his headspace at any given moment. He is also able to use a small degree of telekinesis naturally to pick up light objects.
Due to his blessing from Azotl, he is able to both destroy and recreate points of matter around him in a fairly random fashion. Destroying objects takes a tremendous amount of focus to "disintegrate" them and tends to be unreliable, often leaving objects in a half-broken state. He refuses to use this power on any living things (including plants), considering it torturous.
His creation power allows him to rearrange matter from one property to another. (Ex: turning water to sand, replacing someone's arms with wings, etc) but he is only able to focus on one object at a time and he finds the whole process to be exhaustingly tedious.

Equipment: Archon sees no purpose in most worldly belongings. He does however keep a few spare masks and a small lute on hand as well as a few books on the arcane, philosophy, and general magic in a leather bag over his standard black robes.

Backstory: Archon has fleeting memories of a 'past life' in no small part thanks to the shattered soul he was spawned from. He doesn't hold to much of it, much more interested in worldly affairs. While he understands his role as a Messenger of Azotl, he doesn't seem particularly influenced by the gods in one way or another, valuing his studies and observation first and foremost. He hails from the Hefros Underground working as a travelling performer.

Group/Guild: Messenger of Azotl

Other: Probably prone to breaking out in song. Likes animals, birds especially (since they aren't afraid of him.)
Hates scaring people, misplacing his lute, or being left alone, especially if he finds someone interesting.
Themes: x/x

..Somehow now has adopted a pet pigeon named Yzyrr'xost. (Yz for short)

Full Name: Cypress Woods

Nickname(s): Woods

Titles: The Cremator

Age: 22

Gender: Male. He/him pronouns

Species: Vampire. As flammable as a grease rag. Doesn't burn in sunlight, it just hurts his eyes. He isn't going around blood-raping people though, just snacks on raw meat. (Although blood from people does give him a certain kick.) Can see in the dark. Because he's technically dead, he can go up to a week without blood, though at some point his body will start eating itself.

Sexuality: Demisexual

Height: 5'9

Weight: 158 lbs

Appearance: Inky black hair kept in a slender, low, ponytail, reaches his shoulder blades. Sickly pale, bright green eyes with reflective purple-burgandy pupils. Quite a few random scars from god-knows-what. Petite white fangs that aren't actually any bigger than human canine teeth, just incredibly sharp.
Clothes: Worn black leather duster coat with a cropped black fur collar (buttoned up) . Chocolate military shirt underneath. Black cargo pants (made pretty much as close as you can get to fireproof) with the maximum amount of pockets you could have before it didn't actually qualify as a pair of pants anymore. Chocolate nightfall uggs. All of his knives are hidden in his pockets or inside his coat, so you don't see them. Has a leather hood he can snap onto his duster collar incase it rains.

Personality:Brash and reckless, he fights first and asks questions later. He's rough around the edges and generally snappy. Will never let go of a grudge if you've personally offended him. Very likely to tell you to 'shut the ****** up' if he doesn't like you-- which is most of the time because he's not really into the whole "friends" thing. You have to earn that. Probably a masochist considering he's flammable (more than people usually would be). Don't get him wrong though, if you prove your usefulness he will listen to you willingly, he's not that stupid to think he's the best at everything, and can be reasonable. Driven, passionate-- the type who wants to take lead.


Powers and Skills: Firestarter. Very tight, very precise control . He could fully control every flame of a forestfire if he started it. He can't concentrate the heat or anything though, its just fire. Really. How hot it is depends on how much fuel its consuming. He can burn things at will, even waterlogged items (and bodies), but he can't melt metal or glass or stone. As soon as his fire runs out of fuel it will return to a more reasonable size, think hand sized. He can maintain that size of fire without fuel for as long as he likes. Beyond hand sized, his fire can be put out like any other-- with water etc. He can't control fires he didn't start, and can't put them out by will or whatever. I mean he could if he had a bucket of water, but you get the idea.


Equipment:Knives, knives, and knives. Big knives, small knives, long knives, short knives. He has an insane amount of blades on his person, you don't want to know. Please don't make me think of every single spot he could have a knife on his person and count them. He just always has knives alright? Unless someone did a very uncomfortably (for both parties) thorough check.

Backstory: He grew up fairly close to the Helihe Strongholds capital. He was turned by his father when he was two, so he's basically spent his whole life dead. His father died an untimely death to Cypress' own flames many years later. His mother being dead, and his father a selfish jerk on the run, he was orphaned and grew up in an orphanage. He was recruited into the military when he was twelve, a recent attack leaving the army in need of new blood. The young vampire did work in the forges (dangerous, he almost died again six times) until he was old enough to be trained. Since then he's become a commander, and while he's still devoted to serving country, is growing weary of the ever-lasting war and the impacts its had on the Strongholds lands.

Group/Guild: Verasil's Messenger.

Other:Gryffindor, ENTJ-A, his song. His favorite color is brown. Likes heat. Hates being a vampire and will absolutely not talk about it, and will skin you for asking questions.

He has a horse now, because...idk its medieval times and they dont have magical transporters? xD < Gneiss the stallion.

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Full Name: Wendall Glashur (When-dull Glash-er)

Nickname(s): N/A

Titles: Overgrowth

Age: 22

Gender: Male. He/Him.

Species: Werewolf. Brown ears and tail, kind of bushy but well maintained. Probably looks something like this as a wolf
^Iberian Wolf

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5'8

Weight: 164 lbs

Appearance: His hair is.... hard to explain. Its like Korra's ponytail from Last air bender in the front, and like Neji from Naruto in the back. Over all it only reaches his shoulder blades and itts dull brown. He has very tanned skin and golden eyes with dark pupils that reflect light green. Has a middle-eastern accent. Larger than normal canines, but they're fairly dull, good for tearing not piercing.
Clothes: Chestnut high-waist pants. Dark brown, boat necked crop sweater with cuff slits. Small brown canvas rucksack.

Personality: Kind of quiet, very sensible. He's more of the observer type than the leader type. He rarely looses his temper, but he's never cold to people. Just polite and respectful, preferring to deal with problems silently instead of creating a big fuss by just solving it with brute force. Not judge-y at all, and doesn't bother holding petty grudges against others--he sees it as pointless, nothing good comes out of them. Now of course this doesn't apply to the Gods manipulation, thats not petty. Kind of a big lowkey mother hen. He also acts kind of like a therapist, since he doesn't judge and has a calm demeanor people seek him out to rant.


Powers and Skills: Controls plants? (Roughly.) (Also I've always had this scene in my head where to defend Cypress from a fireball he creates a giant rushing wall of plants and roots and stuff. It looks pretty cool in my head xD) He mostly likes roots though, because they're everywhere and can be huge, and are easy to manipulate unlike... tree branches with leaves.

Equipment: A bag of seeds, because plants you know? And a flask of water. Some beef jerky. He keeps all this stuff in his rucksack.

Backstory: N/A I assume he becomes a Messenger just because of how powerful he is. He's not really the type to do noble deeds of any sort, especially ones regarding war. Ill work on it more later.

Group/Guild: Belos's Messenger

Other: Hufflepuff. INFJ-A. Likes the smell of metal. Dislikes the smell of blood because it makes him hungry.


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Full Name: Casey Hernandez

Nickname(s): Cassi (only by old men who can't hear).

Titles: The Angel, Angelita (a joke about his gender)

Age: 21

Gender: Male. He/Him.

Species: For all the talk about angels, he is human.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 5'7

Weight: 149

Appearance: Messy auburn hair, tan skin, baby blue eyes, a beauty mark on his left upper lip, and wayfarer glasses. The region he comes from is rather hot, so his clothes are a bit on the light side. Black tanktop, a russet red cloak with a folded collar , and a banged up leather messanger bag he keeps all of his stuff in. He wears dark brown cargo shorts with black tights underneath and scuffed up light brown felt boots. Add on a worn leather braid that he calls a necklace, and some black fingerless gloves to match his tanktop and we're all good.

Personality: Casey is shy. Meek. He's easily entertained and not the brightest person-- but he tries his best. His intentions are always good, even if they dont turn out that way sometimes. He's easy to embarrass and rather humble about himself. He's also very gullible. Has a habit of stuttering that he's not quite over yet. (He doesn't really show it, but he's kind of a hopeless romantic.) Naive, innocent, he will heal you even if your a criminal. He won't approve of your carreer of course, but he feels its his duty to save anyone he can-- even if he doesn't personally believe or agree on the others opinions. Can be a bit like a five year-old. Very 'sensitive' (read: crybaby, snowflake.) Polite, has excellent manners.


Powers and Skills:
Can heal major wounds such as stabs, slashes, piercings, and internal damage. Fractured, broken, and cracked bones can be healed, but only if they are still relatively in place. He can't heal deafness, blindness, or crippled limbs. He cannot reattach limbs even if he has them fresh, the best he can do it close the wound.

The victims drawback: Your going to feel incredibly drowsy and may pass out, you will always have a spotty/hazy memory. But other than that, you'll be good as new. (So nobody knows what he looks like or even what gender he is-- hence 'Angelita')

His drawback is: His healing won't work on that person/persons again for a week. The wound has to be fresh (within the day), if you damage a wound again to "make it fresh" the healing will be spotty at best, it won't completely heal, and might just end up making things worse so its not recommended. He can't use it on multiple people at once and has a five minute cooldown between heals. So in a situation where he has two injured people, he will have to prioritize one and hope the other will still be alive in five minutes.

The types of people he can't heal/save: Ones whose heart has stopped beating. Decapitation. Brain damage. Poisoned wounds/and/or people. Someone whose lost too much blood.
.

Equipment: A sewing kit, a journal, and a dog-eared romance novel. Oh and small rations, oh what he gives to be human.(because he's not like Wendall, who can just hunt for a squirrel or something, and not like Cypress who eats sparingly.) A small crystal that glows when he shakes it. (Like a glowstick-- except magical.)

Backstory:Casey grew up on Rostar's coast as the son of a sailor and a seamstress. When he was five his village got attacked by an unknown entity-- causing his family yo be separated. He was put into an orphanage in the neighboring village until he was thirteen. Having gotten wind of another attack coming, the orphanage attempted to send the children to Ruskar to save them. And after that it all roughly went like this: Immigrated to Ruskar when he was 13, got lost like the klutz he is and ended up on Helihe's border. Luckily Cypress found him (while the vampire was still just a rookie field guard) and secretly redirected the boy back to Ruskar. Casey sent a few letters during the first year to Cypress, letting him know how it went, but stopped shortly after. Since then Casey (who actually just forgot to write to Cypress. Because he is a scatterbrain) has developed his powers and goes around secretly healing victims of the war-- directly and indirectly impacted. (Which is how he got the title: Angel.)

Group/Guild: N/A. Native to Rostar but immigrated to Ruskar.

Other: Hufflepuff. Likes people and fruit (particulary melons), dislikes fish.

Cypress hated the rain.

Okay well maybe hate wasn't the right word, but he certainly disliked the water soaking into his boots, and the wet mud that clung to the bottom of them. The squishy sound the ground made under his shoes, and the steady stream of water that ran down his hood a slicked up his back, making his leather coat slippery and uncomfortable.

He trudged through the downpour, half-assedly sweeping the wrecked town.

It was nearly all rubble, the recent mudslide not making it better. Well atleast this rain has put out the fires... the vampire thought. ...most of them anyway. He headed in the opposite direction of the smoking two-story.

This town had just been another victim of the Grand War. One of many, and certainly not the last, by the looks of things, he suspected the sea god had been the source of this tragedy. Or atleast a key player. The green eyed man grit his teeth. If that pansy thought a little rain would smother their fires, he must have seaweed for a brain.

Cypress walked into one of the few remaining buildings, the one he had spotted the moment he arrived. The cracked tile held enough water to puddle but the vampire decided to go through it anyway, watching the mud on his boots turn it brown (his boots were already waterlogged anyway, there wasn't much he could do at this point). He peered up the stairwell, but decided not to test the swollen wood.

"Is anyone up there?" He called over the rain. No reply.

He sighed.

The vampire had been sent to check for survivors (well-- mostly just report back which god did it but--), and so far it'd seemed like a pointless mission to him. Anyone who had been here during the attack was probably killed and thrown into the sea, and if anyone survived they'd fled as soon as possible.

(sorry was working on art, what area we starting in?)

A young woman, no older than 19, had gotten caught in the midst of things from the look of things. She was huddled inside the remains of the building with her back against a splintered and torched wooden pillar with a collection of water-logged and torched corpses beside her.
Her purple hair and dark robes were drenched and mud soaked as if she had been near drowned herself, but by some stroke of fate or other act of divine intervention, she was no worse for the wear.

She eyed Cypress with uneasy eyes, not wanting to announce her own presence yet to a war-hardened man that would, no doubt, kill her.
But she was tired.. So tired. Fighting now wasn't much of an option either after the kind of day she had had. So much for her studies..

She figured a town this far off the main capitol would be well shielded from the fighting, but as typical, Kingdom soldiers had a way of gunking everything up.

(The coast of Helihe? Across from the desert? Sorry I fell asleep xD)

Cypress left the stairwell, lighting a small fire in his palm. It licked at his fingers hungrily, just millimetres away from the skin. He directed it next to him, effectively creating a lantern as he rounded the corner. He could see fine, the dark wasn't an issue, but he liked the warmth.

Ugh, there was a body behind the stairwell.

He went back the other way, having spotted a basement earlier. Water trickled down the stone steps lazily and he treaded carefully as he made his way down. The room was small-- a few chairs strung about and an upturned table in the middle, he swept his fire around, warm light casting a grotesque shadow on a women's clammy face, the walls around her coated in soot

Dead. She was dead too. Brown eyes glassy and wide open, her dress almost completely eaten away by the flames. A torched rack of wine bottles lay broken next to her, the origin of a sour smell.

The water wasn't as bad as he thought it might have been, only a thin layer gracing the floor.

He took a few steps in, grabbing a chair. The vampire was about to turn around when something growled at him. Instinctively he turned toward the noise, the small fire next to him moving ahead and bursting.

A dog whimpered, shying away from the fire with its tail tucked between its legs. Water sloshed around its legs as it scrambled to get away from the flames, only to fall into the puddle. Cypress clicked his tongue in annoyance, slipping a knife out from the inside of his duster and approaching the animal. The canines leg was wrapped in rope. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a fishing net-- maybe it was stored down here? The vampire barked at the dog to shut up as it whined and yelped, obviously afraid of the man and his fire approaching.

Cypress grabbed the net (he was smart enough not to grab the dogs leg, as it was within biting range) and cut it off with a few harsh tears. The canine was still for a moment "Go on, Mutt! Scat!" the green eyed man scolded, pocketing his blade. The dog didn't need any further motivation as it slipped up the slick stone stairs, claws scratching and echoing all the way as it bolted out of the house.

He reclaimed the chair he'd grabbed earlier and broke a few legs off, tossing them at the dead woman and then making his way over to one of the intact wine racks.

Some people described wine as 'blood-red'.

It looked nothing like blood if you asked him

The vampire picked up a bottle of red wine and popped the cork with a smaller knife. Dammit he bent the blade. He walked back over to the women's corpse and poured half of it on her, taking a swig for himself. It was nasty.

Fire. He thought, and his lantern helped itself to the women's corpse.

These people wouldn't get a burial. Nobody was going to come for the bodies. This was the best Cypress could do for them.

The man quickly went back upstairs, taking the bottle and the other part of the chair with him. He closed the hatch hastily, smoke already creeping up in smooth tendrils, the smell of burnt hair was one that stayed with you for days. He wanted to leave before that happened.

He did the same with the body by the stairwell, leaving the empty wine bottle next to the corpse and walking out the door.

(sleep is important, no worries
Kinda feel bad writing these long posts knowing it's only a matter of time until I start just going with short dialogue ones, lmao.
So used to cutting down my post length because of lazy people, hope this isn't too much.)

Soterra took a breath of relief that she had not been spotted and uneasily got to her feet on sight of the funeral pyre beside her.
She had no desires to be among the dead and with the roving commander gone, she felt free to escape before the flames caught her too, shielding her mouth from the smoke with her forearm.
She made her way outside to the coast front, nestling under a snapped palm, coughing up a bit of seawater up as she eyed the rocky beach and the ruined town.
It was clear to her now that there had been some sort of tidal wave and even now she swore she could feel Lythar's fury still clinging to the sea air. Soterra was thankful to have survived such a tragedy, but as she stood in the rain and against the salty air, she began to wonder how.

The Stronghold's towns were supposed to be well protection from the ocean thanks to the natural hills and rock formations in the air, but it seemed there was nothing quite impenetrable to a god. No doubt the islanders of Etrana would revel in their victory, but she was tired.. Oh so tired.
Nowhere in the land seemed safe from pillaging anymore from the growing threat of conquest. Even now, she was forced to travel far from Dreystan and far from her own watchful god's protection.

Or so she thought, muffling a squeak of surprise as he suddenly appeared before her in a wisp of smoke and shadow. Umbris shielded himself and her from the rain with a makeshift umbrella of shroud, brushing himself off and giving the woman a light brush on the face with his clawed hands.
"You are never far from me, most faithful. Your devotion to knowledge and my glory has served you well and here, it has rewarded you. In ways, I have saved your soul for a moment from the slippery clutches of an untimely death."

Soterra was stunned to have seen a god, let alone one as fickle as Umbris appear before her, feeling her heart race. The people of Dreystan had long grown wary of him and his dark embrace in the past, but none wished to anger a celestial with so much power over their own lifelines. Many offerings were made in his name to keep him sated and his whims at bay and, in time, his attention fell elsewhere to other nations, only rumored to step out of his domain to stay the hands of Dreystan's rulers in the war.
But.. Never like this. She had never heard of him visiting a common woman, let alone anyone like her. Yet she could feel the hand of the veiled, winged demon in front of her, cold.. but strangely comforting.
"..Why?" She managed to choke out to him past her slowly calming nerves.

"You will serve me, of course. Your people may fear me. And rightfully so, but I do not let any of your offerings go unheeded. There are.. grave times ahead for many, I fear. To gather and escort so many damned souls caught in this war would be a daunting task, even for myself.
I will need help, of course. But I also wish to keep more sets of eyes and ears on this realm, an easy task for a woman so familiar with travelling. Would you accept?"

Soterra hesitated for a moment before nodding as she felt her vision blur and tears well up in her eyes. She could feel the sea water ache painfully in her lungs for the first time, clutched at her chest. "..Yes.. Please. I do not want to die."

He knelt down to kiss her lightly on the forehead, tracing his hands down her arms to lock fingers with her for a moment as he held her in an embrace in his feathered wings.
"Then you will live on as my messenger. Do not wear your status without caution in these lands. There are still many of those that wish our people's demise."
He gave her a smile and let go of her as Soterra sputtered for a moment and coughed up soot and water, clutching at the mud and sand as she pitched forward, suddenly unable to maintain her own weight. She nearly panicked as she felt her heart stop as her lungs cleared, confused for a moment as her awareness remained after it was over. She rose her eyes back on Umbris as she felt something shift at her back and a sparked well of dark energy rise up in her.

"Go now, sweetest Soterra. You carry my blessing. We will remain in touch." The demon said with a bit of amusement as he vanished in a whirl of twisting shroud, leaving the woman to process the experience as she stared blankly at the ocean, seated in the sand, with a hand at her own neck, feeling for any sort of pulse.

(nah its fine xD As long as you don't expect me to write super long posts all the time also. Below is case and point. Btw I've updated Cypress' title and ability section. I thought the title was more fitting, and now i've got his ability sorted out for this rp/world. Usually I'm up till 4am, so it kind of bothers me that I fell asleep so fast tbh xD Especially because it was saturday and I'd slept in.)

Cypress walked back out of town, Stronghold Guards sigil's jangling happily in a pouch on his hip. All the ID's of the Guards who died. He'd collected them from the few bodies left in the streets.

He sighed, rubbing his head tiredly, smearing around the cold water on his face. Back to the capital, he was heading back to the capital. Back to the capital to turn the ID's in, after that he had to oversee some rookie Guards classes and check in with the blacksmiths. The ID's would need to be melted into new ones, given to the next recruits.

It was an unreliable way to count causalities. He had been counting himself-- a very long time ago. But he'd lost count, he didn't know who actually collected the numbers, and at this point he didn't want to know.

God-damn he swore he wasn't a commander, just a glorified cleaning crew.

The man could feel only one fire smoldering now, all twenty-four others having ran out of fuel. Twenty-five. This town was supposed to be a few hundred.

Maybe he should have been happy he didn't have to torch more bodies.

.
.
.
Now where did he leave his horse?

(one of my all time favorite posts I've made on here was literally two words. I got my fair share of one liners too and not everything needs to be a flowery essay, so I am not picky at all with post length as long as I have something to work with description wise.
Also idk my sleep cycle is all over the place, I fall asleep in the middle of the day sometimes even)

Exhausted by the whole ordeal and suddenly hungry, Soterra picked herself off the sand and decided to make her way back into the capital, pulling her wet hood over her hair and counting her coins as she walked.
She still had enough to spend a few nights in an inn while she recouped and tried to figure out a plan from here.

Her water-logged appearance got her some attention as she made her way into the capital, pushing past stares as she made her way into the inn and set a few coin on the counter.
"A room for the night.. Please."
She said, her voice ragged and her eyes tearing up.

The innkeeper gave her a slight stare before accepting the coin, sliding her a key, and slipping into the back to avoid further conversation with the elven woman.
Soterra clutched the key in hand for a moment, resting her hand on her bag before opting to make her way up to her room to bathe before she headed out again for food, the thing that seemed to cling at the forefront of her mind.