[h3][color=bedded][b][center]Thomas Richard Harrison[/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] Campgrounds, conveniently placed nearby an orc army.
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] N/a.
[/indent][/center]

From beyond the rim,
Death is but a light afar,
A world of lost Stars.

It was complete. The tattoo at the base of his neck shifting its ink from the network mesh of lunar crescent to the outer esoteric markings encircling them all. The myriad of stars represented by the indescript writings, which signified nothing and everything at the same time. It was the nature of the stars after all, for those constellar beings were not always there, but mere ghosts of the past, their planes of being long since dead and obliterated. Nothing more remains save for a light which crawls through the void, reaching our eyes as if to be we remember its memory. How many were already like this? Old dying stars, and yet new ones formed from the ashes of the old. It was the cycle, all things had cycles, and even if they did not, it would only be a matter of time before the cycle of cycling continues. 

Too deep. Too deep into thought, into the blackness, into the darkness. To delve into obscurity was to fade into it. To sink evermore into oblivion, and enlightened. That music. Not the silence which his blackened heart yearned for, but atrocious and boisterous to the scholarly ear. Yes it was a lovely tune, but because it was lovely, it was to be despised. Just as how a rose is a thing of beauty to give to one's beloved, and yet, serves no purpose as cut from the plant it shall wither and die. And so too would the one you had given it to. It was impractical, the short span of a life was wasted on meaningless pursuits of love and affection. Love was not needed to propagate. And affection was not needed during propagation. From the dust of the dead, new life shall be, there was something cruel in the tenderness and a beauty from pain. Now, it ends, his concentration disturbed, impossible to ascend into the next phase until the song was said and done.

Thomas opened his eyes, a scowl to his brow as an elderly crease furrowed his youth. Fine, so let it be. Rising wordlessly in his cold silence, taking his new staff in hand and rubbing his forehead in displeasure he walked away from the present company. Casting off his red robes without much care if anyone had wonder what he was up to as he pulled them over his head to swap for a darker shade, one with a higher collar but simpler colouration. There the brooding boy sat alone to ponder the case of the restless undead. Uncaring eyes affixed to some point in the distance, he had lost his mood to reattune, and his mood to meditate. There were greater cosmic mysteries to answer.

Why has fate rolled them together as so?