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

[color=crimson][center]Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador[/center][/color]

It'd been hours waiting for the rest of the party to return, and night fell on the empty town. The Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince grew ever restless, not so patiently waiting and growing ever more disturbed that the Black was running around HIS Queen like that and he was forced to wait with his thumb up his ass. He knew the Black had contacted her, as Faeril showed when she looked like she got the wind knocked out of her and he had to catch her. He carried her back to the caravan and dumped her off in Gen and the lot of them, not saying much as he left her in their care. He knew if he opened his mouth it wasn't going to be anything kind, he was too frustrated, so he left himself to his own devices as the rest of them inevitably argued about the situation. 

Xandar left himself to chop some firewood nearby, summoning an axe to his hand and stripping off his shirt as he hacked away on the poor trees that crossed his path. The man seemed like he was literally blowing off steam as his blood boiled, heat erupting from him in the cold air as smoke rolled off his body. The swing of the ax grew swifter, more forceful, becoming less precise as he was more or less just beating the shit out of the trees in pure frustration now. [color=crimson]"I can't wait around like this. This is bullshit. Fuck fate and destiny, I control my fate in my own hands!"[/color] The Eyrien yelled in frustration, swinging his axe and cleaving a tree clean in half, felling it as he sighed heavily, his chest heaving as he breathed in and out. 

[color=crimson]"If they're aren't back by the time the sun comes up, I'm dragging them back myself... That god damn Widow better be right about all this."[/color]