Syed Amir was wondering for perhaps the thousandth time what in hells name he was even doing here. His cold blue eyes were like ice focused forwards and his movements smooth and practiced. The hard set to his shoulders, the straight back and head held high all speaking of a dispassion and uncaring nature he didn't really feel. Cold. Distant. That's what he wanted to project. Like he didn't care one wit if he lived or died. The truth was far removed from that. He cared a great deal. He didn't want to die. He just wasn't afraid to. He wasn't afraid to kill, or defend or do what it took to survive. He'd live through this. That's all he cared about. His loyalties were simple. Survive. Live. Move on. Always moving. Do what it takes and just keep going.<br/><br/>Syed looked old he knew that, even at thirty he looked more like he was forty. The lines worn into his face from the many years and weather beaten from the work of his life. The long blond hair that cascaded down his shoulders. Tinged almost white from the sun's bleaching. The scars that were evident on his thick frame. The solid muscles that were more like those of soldiers then mages. It all gave him an appearance of battle readiness. An appearance that this wasn't a man to mess with. That he was for all intensive purpose a man of action. In a way he was. Having spent his years working before he was drafted into this cursed war Syed had always been muscular and strong. He used it to his advantage here.<br/><br/>He might not like the war, might not like the life of a soldier, but he liked to fight. He was good at it. He enjoyed the skill and power it required. The dominance. It was glorious. He enjoyed it. He found that he even enjoyed this walking. The trek and the adventure. The camps and life in general that was never really the same. Always on edge. Always weary. Always watching. Always ready. He didn't' however like war. The pure physical training of his body he had enjoyed. The pure physical skill of a soldier, the discipline and stamina. It had been to his liking. But the war. The killing. It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't some grand adventure as he'd believed it would be. How wrong he had been. How foolish and naif.<br/><br/>He still found himself daydream at times as he'd travel with the group. At night by the fires listening to the banter and talk. Not always participating in it even if he wanted to. He was drawn by the wayward thoughts that streamed through his mind even now as they made their way towards their goal. He was daydreaming of open skies and freedom. What he'd always wanted. Yearned for. Freedom. He wanted to fly away like the birds in the distance. Fly free. To be completely and utterly free. To wheel in great circles over the open fields they walked through. To dive for that elusive prey just on the edge of vision...<br/><br/>His thoughts were suddenly slammed back to the present by the voice of their leader speaking of their mission. Syed had to listen. Listening hard to focus on the words rather then the tantalizing images his mind so easily provided. He kept those cold blue eyes focused on the bird's flight even as he paid attention. The thrill of the hunt becoming to mix with his dreary weariness. He was just beginning to sort out those thoughts when the thundered words echoed in his ears.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold">WE ARE A STORM TO BRING AN END TO THEIR FIRE!<br/>THAT'S RIGHT!'<br/>MARCH!</span></div><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">So this was the beginning of his end.</span>He sighed to himself. And as he began to march. As always before. He let the cold deadly smile curve his sharp angular features until he looked as though he ached for the blood of his enemies. Far from the truth that may be, but the look suited his appearance well. The look was like a shield behind which he could hide his trepidation at this endeavour and it's likelihood of death. Syed did not want to die. He wanted to live and he would survive. That is after all what he was good at. Surviving.