Whiskeyjack
The Stoic Commander of Broken Dreams
Commanding ruins, raising ghosts, burying the dead. Still standing.
I've buried more friends than most kings. Marched through mud and magic, watched boys become legends and then corpses. I don't speak much. Words don't change the weight of a fallen comrade, and silence keeps the ghosts quieter. But if you're still breathing, and still one of mine, I'll see you through the night.
What I'm Into: Quick Ben's muttering, Kalam’s blade, Fiddler’s last barrel, Paran’s slow burn, a fire with no names spoken
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