Yet his eyes, focused as they were on the distant Northern Wall of Ascalon, did not have the luxury of enjoying this unparralled day; perhaps might not have seen so much of the inherent beauty even were they not so filled with an almost dire determination. Moments before, he had been watching one skirimish or another between human and Charr, a dozen of which he could easily see from his vantage point, high on this cliff. Yet, his attention had been drawn to the wall; always to the wall, was his attention drawn. The Wall was an imposing structure, a thing to be respected. How many times had he seen hordes of Charr throw themselves against that wall to be, in turn, thrown back? How many Charr had he seen, full of the stength and power born in a seeming inevitable victory, fall broken and useless before that insurmountable barrier? Countless.
Today, though, felt...different. He had heard mutterings from his fellows. Rumors always swirled about some secret weapon or another, one that would finally break the Wall, and ruin the people of Ascalon, and yet, he could not make himself shake that feeling. Turning his gaze only reluctantly away from the Wall, Brulg Ashbringer looked for the path that would take him down from the cliff where his warband awaited him. Passing a small, clear pool, Brulg paused to stare down at the still waters, studying his own, familiar if rarely seen, features. Even amongst Charr, he was large, and well-made. His own black eyes peered back up from the water at him. As a pup, he had never gotten a chance to see himself clearly; no mirrors adorned his home, and any such pools as this rarely had the chance to still itself to such mirror-like qualities. It had been many years, indeed, before he had been able to recognize himself, as himself. But, then, what did his eyes see now, reflected in the calm, serene waters of this pool? A grim face, dour in expression; normally dark, tanish fur bleached to a much whiter color by long days in the sun. Scars crossed his left cheek, memories of battles long past accompanied by those of battles not entirely too far gone. Burns from past...mistakes. On each side of his face, horns, thick at the base, that curved down and forward to a fine tip below the frontward thrust of his jowls.
There was no room in the pool for the rest of him, but still he knew what was there. A small smile twisted his lips at that thought; how could he not? He had lived in this body his entire life. But, still, an image of the rest of him came easily enough to mind, when dredged forth. He was big; accounted of a goodly size even amongst his own kind. His claws were big enough and sharp enough to match his bulk, though worn enough to show some age. His armor was plain enough, though layered with black lacquer, and decorated with the insignia of his home, near the Gloomfire Temple far and away north, a goodly distance. In one small bag hanging from his waist he would find a small carving, a little statuette, smoothly made, of those his kind called gods; the statuette was a small enough weight hanging from his belt, but it was enough that he -could- feel, know it was still there. His axe topped his entire ensemble off; a beast in itself to cause awe among friend and foe alike, a creature of metal made only for killing, a chore which it did more than well enough.
Tearing his gaze away from his reflection, he turned once more to move down the path. His warband was waiting. Time waited for no man, and it certainly didn't for the Charr.
ooc
Just thought I'd try roleplaying from a Charr perspective. We'll see where thsi takes me
. This will be a slow enough roleplay; I'll probably create one for my actual GW character, Vedruk, another day, though it, too, will be slow-posting.