Character: Axol, the Unworthy
Status: Remembering...

Axol got up next, his eyes still too blurry from a good night's sleep to know whose silent figure passed by his cot. Yet, having just woken up, his eyes betray him, and he perceives a more familiar shape, warm and bright. [color=0072bc]"Aena...?"[/color] He slurred, before quickly snapping awake and sitting up, the figure slowly becoming the silent lady that (in his own opinion) loathed joy and alcohol, staring out the window as the sun's fingers barely crept into the room. For five years, he had managed to go on without remembering. 

[color=0072bc][i]"Why do you haunt me now, my love?"[/i][/color] Axol took a moment in the quiet, just sitting there with his mind. A minute passes by in the room, but years go by behind the sellsword's eyes. He shakes his head and gets up from the floor, stretching his arms and grunting noisily. He turns to see the greatsword lying on the cot, a small part of him worried someone might have stolen it. "[color=0072bc][i]Well, not that anyone could carry it so easily."[/i][/color] He picks up the blade, not caring for the noise it made when it hit the ground as he pulled it away from its comfortable bed. [color=0072bc]"Do not follow me... Unless you find ale."[/color] Axol announces, stepping out of the barracks to look for something to do to distract himself from his own thoughts. 

It proved to be a difficult task as he'd walk into rooms with servants and guards who either eyed him with wariness or just ignored his presence. Eventually, he does find an empty hallway. The quiet allowed yet another memory to invade his mind; long bronze hair and a smile that softened him when he thought that nothing ever could. Axol sighs before lifting his greatsword, a weathered heap of metal with its edges chipped and the ornaments that once gave the weapon grace rusting with disregard. With a powerful swing, he struck the ground, growling, praying that anger dulls his grief. He then swung again at the wall. For five years, he had managed away from the pain, but now... [color=0072bc]"Aena, I beg of you."[/color] He rasps, swinging his sword again, begging against nothing. It was all that he knew to do when wounded. To fight.

After a while, Axol stopped. He gasped for air, the flurry of strikes he had brought upon the keep's walls leaving him exhausted. It was no use. [color=0072bc]"Ale..."[/color] He told himself in between ragged breaths. [color=0072bc]"Gods, what does a man need to do to have some ale to drown his sorrows?"[/color] He swung the greatsword to the ground again before storming off, his late wife slowly leaving his mind for now as he ventures about the fort in a desperate search for alcohol, bumping shoulders with guards and scaring off servants as he marched with purpose, a new distraction, looking as if he was about to kill someone.