[center][color=crimson][h2]Xandar Markov[/h2][/color][/center]

[color=crimson][center]Location: Ashkevron residence, front yard -> Down the cliff -> Nearby woods[/center][/color]

With a quick nod, taking in the comments and talk of the others he turned around and steadily made his way towards the edge of the cliff. The warlord prince decided to ignore the comments and looks about his outfit, as it was really only natural for him to be dressed as such. even if it wasn't overwhelmingly warm, he knew he would be radiating heat by the end of his activities. He didn't really know if anybody was going to come with him to help, nor did he care. He was more than capable of cutting plenty of firewood for them in a short amount of time, as he was no stranger to this activity. He'd been doing it for hundreds of years at this point, and he's cut as many trees down as he had people. 

The descent was a quick one, as he simply hopped of the cliff and made a rather swift descent, letting gravity do most of the work. When he reached close to the ground below he spread his large wings out, giving a mighty downward stroke of his wings to stop himself, landing gracefully on both feet as he took around his surroundings. The trees around him offered some decent shade, which was much appreciated, but things started to get hot quick as he went right to work. He spun the large ax in his right hand, whistling softly as he Ebon-Grey Jewel glinted in the dim light. He channeled a psychic blast into the edge of the ax, swing it and bringing his left hand for more control as he made a very baseball like swing. There was a loud splitting sound, and he pierced straight through the entire tree in one swing, the whole thing suddenly collapsing and landing with a "thud". 

Xandar chuckled softly to himself, seeing he overdid it a bit as he calmly walked over to start chopping the tree into usable logs of firewood. He continued to focus his craft through the ax, making precise and powerful blasts to help cut the wood cleanly. Each swing was better than the last, refining his work to a cutting edge as he learned to work with less powerful blasts and making them just as effective. A powerful blast could do much destruction to everything around it, but a controlled, refined, and precise blast could be much more lethal even if less powerful. Even with a simple task such as chopping wood, he used this time to train himself, ever ready for a fight. His wasn't fighting for himself anymore. He was fighting for others. And that kind of fuel made the fire in him burn brighter than any wood fire he could ever make.