Kiran sat atop the roof of Askr Castle, looking across the landscape. He sighed, glad he wouldn't have to fight any longer. He grasped the weapon in his belt: the Breidablik, the divine weapon that could summon Heroes with a pull of its trigger. He was almost glad the blasted object had quit working, cutting off his supposedly endless supply of battlefield fodder and forcing him to learn how to use the weaponry of this world instead. Nobody had told him that the Orbs the weapon fired were very scarce, but he didn't care. None of that mattered now. He was just glad all the slaughtering was over.<br/><br/>He was simply sitting and watching the dawn now. He saw some people gathering on the field below and knew there was going to be trouble, as Fjorm disliked these impromptu feats of brute strength. He hooked his feet onto the stone railing of the roof, leapt, and landed below where he had been sitting, allowing him to scale down the Castle towards the intruders, who he could tell were getting ready for a joust. He leapt to the ground after a bit, having only a single story to brace for as he rolled to his feet again, right between the two horsemen, who stopped immediately. "Either find some other way to settle this dispute," he called calmly, drawing breidablik. "or I make the War look like a fucking tea party."<br/><br/>To him, it was harmless; he knew that the weapon wouldn't do anything unless loaded, which it wasn't. But everyone else saw the weapon as a symbol of power, of War, and of  destruction. Within a minute, the others were gone, leaving Kiran to sit on the castle steps, alone again. Well, except for the white haired stranger and Fjorm behind him. He decided to find a place where he could truly be alone, somewhere he could think about what to do next in life. He stood and began on the road to the nearest town, uncertain of where the road itself would lead him, metaphorically speaking.