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- His aether is lightning-aspected.
- Vestibulum auctor dapibus neque.
- Nunc dignissim risus id metus.
- Cras ornare tristique elit.
"I will carve my own destiny."
Avroix has very expressive ears; they can swivel almost vertical pointing up or down, give or take a few degrees. Also, for an elezen, (even of duskwight descent) he is agonizingly short.
Avroix is, by every definition, a child that was forced to grow up far too quickly. The tragedies of his past have taught him to be calculating, questioning, and careful; while he is filed under ‘lawful good’ when it comes to alignments, he is also strongly opinionated and stubborn.
Avroix has a smaller stature than most Elezen tend to, with his overall features being very feminine. His hair is generally kept at shoulder length and layered, but he has been known to grow it out well past his waist, or wear extensions if such frivolities are affordable.
Despite his effeminate appearance, Avroix is combat trained, and thus has muscle definition, primarily in the thighs, calves, and abdominal areas.
Cold, biting winds swept through the wreckage, seeking to fan the dragon’s fire that ate voraciously at what remained of the Coerthan village. Long past were the battle cries, the symphony of sounds that bespoke of anguish and steel; all that remained was the chilling air and the silence the snows brought. Ishgard stood mighty in the distance, her walls unscathed this time; and like the snows, she only offered silence. Such were the first few verses of the Dragonsong War.
A small child, left to clutch at a body that resembled his long since gone mother, peered towards the city with bright, golden eyes. He was too young to understand, too young to fully grasp that it was he against the world; a survivor of tragedy, and the last of his blood. It would be several days before he was found, nearly frozen to death, and brought to a nearby encampment.
-
Avroix woke with a start, eyes peering around the dragoon’s barracks. Something had woken him, but what that something was, he wasn’t sure- the only thing that greeted him was the soft howling of the northern winds outside, and the sounds of slumber from his sleeping comrades. He brought his hand up to rub at his eyes, frowning gently. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and rose, making his way to the door, and slipped through.
Ishgard slept… for the most part. The warm orange glows of bonfires down in the Brume illuminated the side of the Forgotten Knight, the sounds of drunken brawls muffled by the comings of a storm. And high above towered the Vault, housing the Knight’s Twelve and the Archbishop himself...
… And deep within those sacred halls, his destiny.
Attack me on Art Fight!
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See a board of aesthetics over on Pinterest!
Get a feel for my character through music!
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