[center][h1][color=f26522]Jenramo Ventri[/color][/h1][/center]

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	Jenramo sat among his comrades, the food was pleasant, and the cool air was starting to become cold. Jenramo pulled his cloak out of his pack and threw it on, his time in more frigid lands had been good, they were his favorites, yet here he was in a desert. Jenramo looked around and listened a bit to Pox and Yui talk about her weapon, he hadn't had many chance to speak with Yui, though he knew that the conversation would have to come about eventually, so he wasn't to concerned, it looked simple enough until you get the the trigger and breach, she might be willing to part with it for a day so he can get a good look at it right? Maybe it was wishful thinking, but if he promised more equipment, perhaps work on upgrades, maybe.

	Jenramo knew well that these younger folk would be spry enough to handle hanging around the flames listening to the stories their leader wove, however, over the years Jenramo knew that morning always came faster than you expect, so he took his sword in its sheathe, set it in his lap and wrapped his cloak over more and shut his eyes. As he let his mind wander, his thoughts led him to his home, the snowfall leaving everything glistening lightly, the faint screams in the distance. The beast he slew, tearing through the city, devouring the people, yet Jenramo felt no fear, how many nights had he had this dream, how many times did he slay the beast? The darkened blade sinking into the beast was familiar, and as it had many times before, it died, and within he saw his family, he saw his friends, why did they always look like they were in pain? The sword pulled the images to it, drinking in the suffering on their faces, yet again, Jenramo let it, too afraid to let go of the memory.