Sitting at the table, alone, was a tall, pale man. He wore a tabard, upon it was the heraldry of the House Scoril, a once proud family that was greatly diminished after the fall of Suzail. He held a goblet of wine, occaisonally drinking from it but mostly staring within its depths, deep in thought.
Sipping his wine, Taurus Scoril leaned back in his chair, contemplating the future. He was about to finally go into battle, finally able to prove himself to the Crownsilvers, the Queen, his comrades, and most importantly, to himself. He glanced at his comrades, wondering what the future had in store for them.
With Amaunator's blessing, we will make it through the morrow, and in time, we will finally reclaim what is ours: Arabel, Suzail, Wheloon, blessed Marsember...
He got up, feeling the need to stretch his legs. He walked with purpose, even while wandering, as if his legs knew where to take him even before he knew where. His gaze fell upon the Wizard, Zephilonious, who looked lost in his thoughts, much like Taurus had a few moments ago. He took a seat next to the preoccupied mage
"Evening Wizard, what is on your mind?"