"I served in the Second War, with the Alliance." And he looks down to his cup, remembering that. Recalling the soldier whose name he would never forget, but he could hardly bring himself to say, anymore. And how foolish he had been. Certainly, he had the years of a man, but he was almost a mere child, with all the naivete in his soul, back then.
"After that, I defended Silvermoon against the undead."
Lot of good that did everyone, he thought, bitterly, though he didn't say it with shame.
"I was injured when Silvermoon fell." There's almost pride in his voice. To Kirian, there is no more worthy way to be injured than defending one's homeland, to fight or something one believes in.
Even his scar, he is not ashamed of. It's doubt, it's pity, that he hates. A scar meant that one survived whatever tried to kill them. They would never be the same, no, but in some ways, it was better to live in spite of that.
He took a drink, smiling to himself. "I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty with a sword. My blades are a bit shorter these days, though..." He gestured, remembering his cane. "...I like to have one close, just in case."
"But no, I was aiding in training the new Spellbreakers in defensive magic and using spells cast on enemies."
He chuckles to himself, quietly, for a few moments.
"My greatest secret, I suppose, is that I'm no great mage. My skills were always more in defensive magic...though I've no skill with the light, either." A nod. "I'm a Magister simply because they wish to bolster their numbers, and because I have a mind for theory. Thankfully, the Magistrix who allowed me to apprentice with her was fairly patient as I bumbled through conjuring."
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Back when he still proudly wore blue and gold.
"I served in the Second War, with the Alliance." And he looks down to his cup, remembering that. Recalling the soldier whose name he would never forget, but he could hardly bring himself to say, anymore. And how foolish he had been. Certainly, he had the years of a man, but he was almost a mere child, with all the naivete in his soul, back then.
"After that, I defended Silvermoon against the undead."
Lot of good that did everyone, he thought, bitterly, though he didn't say it with shame.
"I was injured when Silvermoon fell." There's almost pride in his voice. To Kirian, there is no more worthy way to be injured than defending one's homeland, to fight or something one believes in.
Even his scar, he is not ashamed of. It's doubt, it's pity, that he hates. A scar meant that one survived whatever tried to kill them. They would never be the same, no, but in some ways, it was better to live in spite of that.
He took a drink, smiling to himself. "I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty with a sword. My blades are a bit shorter these days, though..." He gestured, remembering his cane. "...I like to have one close, just in case."
"But no, I was aiding in training the new Spellbreakers in defensive magic and using spells cast on enemies."
He chuckles to himself, quietly, for a few moments.
"My greatest secret, I suppose, is that I'm no great mage. My skills were always more in defensive magic...though I've no skill with the light, either." A nod. "I'm a Magister simply because they wish to bolster their numbers, and because I have a mind for theory. Thankfully, the Magistrix who allowed me to apprentice with her was fairly patient as I bumbled through conjuring."