<div class="floatleft">(https://img00.deviantart.net/c62f/i/2017/260/f/2/felannar_commission_by_tamikaproud-dbm5te2.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Oxenbridge Hewitt</span></span><br/>Character Sheet (https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1383223)<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The pugilist was listless as he stared out into the wet night.  Disinterest swelled behind his eye, and it was not even stirred by the hideous jolt that nearly removed him from his seat.  No remark emerged, however.<br/><br/>As the girls chattered, Oxenbridge readjusted himself in his seat, wrapping his broad arms around his chest in an effort to keep warm.  Unlike the women, he was at least half-naked, but there was very little fat on his figure to keep him warm.  But regardless of how much cover he acquired, it would be impossible for him to be rid of that chilling coldness in his soul.  The gift of hellfire, that.<br/><br/>He shifted his gaze from that which lay beyond the pane of glass and looked upon his reflection.  And he saw that man looking at him... that man that had been in the tavern.  The one that had sat nearby prior to Malia, Mina, and Cris's sacrifice.  The one that had spoken to him.   Ox struggled to remember what he had said to him.  But it was in vain.  He couldn't remember.  Too many blows to the head.<br/><br/>The elven pugilist then stirred, his eyes narrowing with caged fury.<br/><br/>"You," he said with a menacing snarl.  He crawled over Malia and Mina in the tight compartment to make his way to him, his shoulders rolling with the swagger of a wrestler ready to lunge.   "You were there!<em>And you knew that this was going to happen.</em>"  He then looked down at his left leg, startled that he felt no pain from where he had been skewered earlier in the evening.  He flexed his knee attentively, and then placed his whole weight on it.<br/><br/>"What the fuck?" he spat.