[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=olive][center]Thunder's Whisper[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/5rLbbTt.png[/img]
 [sub][i]Location: Tavern
Interacting With: [@Bluetommy] Lorne[/i][/sub][/center] [hr][hr]

Thunder's Whisper had made the mistake of wearing his armor into the confines of a human settlement... ever staring and questioning to as why he was wearing the bark and leaves of a tree; as if he was some mad man. Could they not tell it was for protection and furthermore camouflage? They really were naive beings. Where they got the audacity to gawk merely for being different he wondered, for he never commented on many's impractical light cloths and brightly colored fabrics. Although none could see it, a frown was present on his face. His distaste faded however, as he turned his attention to more pressing matters.

What was once locks of long brown hair turned white as fresh as the snow he stood upon while his formerly brown eyes turned blue. This change in features represented the embodying of the [i]Aspect of the Ancients[/i]. This was a primal force that allowed him to sense the presence of powerful creatures and other great anomalies, even over great distances. Using that and other magic ensured him that he was on the correct path. But following wasn't going to be enough, if they held any hope of lifting this lands horrid curse and saving the people of Adarla before the tides of war buried them in a frozen tomb, he would need to cut it off soon.

[i]Speaking of cutting off...[/i] Whisper mused as he focused on the ensuing duel in the distance.

The female combatant was foreign to him, yet the palpability of her authority was enough to signal a status of importance in some facet; good or bad, he could not decipher. On the other hand, the rather handsome man who wielded a blade imbued with runic magic, was no doubt a recognizable figure to many of Adarla. The Messiah; another man lost to the ceases cycle of injustice and violence that mankind were no less privy too. Blinded by war and politics, or their jaded ideas of "freedom" to deal with the greater problem that lay before them.

[color=Olive]"The Permafrost."[/color] he whispered. The name he coined for the perpetual winter fit rather well in his opinion.

The duel raged on. Blade pitied against blade. Ideology against ideology. Just as their authority seemed to give off a pressure, so did their principals, values, and goals with each move.

Clearly they lacked moral fiber though, as they dueled on despite the collateral damage it caused; seemingly oblivious the fate of the beam of magic callously launched into a crowded tavern. Yet Whisper saw. Despite long since relinquishing hold of his Aspect, he needed it not to watch as the orphaned magic cut through one of the tavern patrons.

Lives where in danger, yet while stopping the duel was imperative, possibly saving a life held priority.

Undeterred by the power and savagery being tossed around him, Whisper casually skirted around the invisible arenas edge, content to letting the combatants continue their petty squabble for now. 

With ease he slipped into the tavern proper, his 5'11 wooden and leafy stature no doubt garnering some attention from onlookers not so keen on the battle outside. Almost immediately he laid eyes on the injured victim and was just as quickly by his side. A cavernous hole in the man's chest told Whisper all he needed to know.

The natural order had claimed this man.

Whisper moved to grant the man his final rights, returning his soul to which it was granted, but paused. Realization dawned over him and withdrew his hand.

[color=Olive]"Pardon this one for his presumptuousness, a being un-death this one now understands you are. No true harm has reached your body."[/color] True enough. Indeed only superficial harm marred his being. His unnatural status was anathema to him, but he by no means displayed it.