The cool air of the barren's evening was always a welcomed reprieve from the scorching sun of the dead-brush plains' usual arid and soul-sucking heat. Doing business in Kalimdor always struck Ash'therion as both bothersome and unnatural, as it was far from the same landscape as his home. For over five hundred years he had fought in the forests and prowled through lush groves, but out in the large expanses of the usual Horde territory he felt almost vulnerable. Couple that with the unusual heat, and you have a fairly irritated Sin'dorei on a near-regular basis. However, this pristine-feeling evening time was perfect for unwinding and relaxing weary bones. A time to nurse the growing tan on his body, find himself a drink, and commit to the evening's most favored pass-time: debauchery.<br/><br/>Ash'therion was a rather tall elf, and dwarfed the goblins in rachet in both height, and mass. A full-blooded warrior to the bone, he was usually armored from head-to-toe in elaborate red and gold plates. Today, however, he took instead to a far more casual leather jerkin with a cloth undershirt that clung to his muscular chest like the massive claymore whose scabbard clung to his back. His gait and posture indicated further of a nobleman, which created an odd duality between his grittiness and his rather posh attitude and demeanor. Like him or not, at least he had a handsome face with a long black beard growing from his chin, along with long and straight black hair that was tied into a stylish topknot.<br/><br/>Roving about the city provided amusement enough for him. Goblins were always a welcomed difference between his homeland-- they were the embodiment of what his society often kept to Murder Row. Here he could let loose and gamble as much as he liked, drink until he dropped, or fuck until he was dry. After such a long journey through the dusty and windswept Horde territory like today, he aimed for all three. His first stop had him in a makeshift casino, playing the odds and drinking along side a few rowdy and drunk orcs who were far too wasted to chide him for his race.<br/><br/>The second stop and three ales in: The Silken Vice. Ash'therion stopped in from time-to-time, and had become something of a regular whenever he was stationed to work in the area. Most of the time he was rather charming and made friends quickly, but enemies even quicker with his blunt and bold wording. He was a rash sort of man, but a playboy at heart. It was scarce he found himself buying an evening with one of the ladies, but they could always tell when he had the intent: his eyes loved to wander. And so he sat, mug of ale in hand at the bar whilst chatting up the barkeep, scanning dutifully for some prey.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>