<div class="floatright">(http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2013/049/b/8/cleric_copy_by_yamao-d5vddiv.jpg)</div>"Care with your words, halfling," the half-elf clad in full plate of an off-white, almost silvery hue said darkly, echoing Vwyn's words. "The gods have been gone so long that they might as well be dead. Probably are dead," he added dourly in a softer voice before looking up. "If they weren't, they'd have put a stop to the nightmare raging throughout this world centuries ago. First the blight, then the demons, according to the books. Why didn't they stop it, if they weren't stopped themselves? Which just means they're dead and gone--or might as well be, effectively," he muttered, half to himself but still loudly enough for others to hear. He sighs, mostly to himself, as introductions are requested and answers in the same voice, "Anton. Of the Hidderock settlement--or at least, where it had been," his voice took on a deeper timbre, the pitch changing in anger.<br/><br/>The tiefling then spoke up, and his smoldering eyes turned to her. There was something repulsed and haunted in that gaze, but he hid the disgust and anger that welled up within his core easily, adept at masking his intentions and turning to sweeter words when the need for it arose--though that happened seldomly these days. He seemed armed to the teeth--though that could be said of many of the party. Hanging loosely at his belt was a light crossbow, a few scrolls obviously of magical origin filled a bandolier at his chest marking him as someone who was probably a spellcaster, but the heavy shield at one hand, the morningstar adorning his other hip, and the large tower shield that covered his backpack told of something else. Still, he should have been enormously strong to carry all of these without too much trouble, yet he looked anything but it, simply average as far as his body strength was concerned. Some sort of magic then...<br/><br/>Only a moment had passed, and his gaze turned to the elf. He was of elvish heritage himself, though that had been his mother, his father entirely human. He wondered how little she had experienced of the world to wear such an easy smile, and on one hand wanted to protect it and make sure she retained it... while another wanted to show her what the world was truly capable of, wipe the look from her face with a sharp slap, rip her clothes from her body, and have his way with her right there and then unheeding of the consequences and those around them. He quickly moved his gaze away, showing none of his inner turmoil to the others. So engaged with himself he barely heard her mutter to the deer, but as his gaze tracked once more amongst the others he noticed the tiny dragon at her shoulder. He could have sworn that it knew his thoughts and was glaring at him, but... that could not be right, could it? No, he was just imagining it. He rebuked himself for his thoughts despite the fact that they were stuck in his own head and resolved to push them down farther. At least as long as the spirits left him be, he would be fine for now.<br/><br/>"As I was saying before," he said with a small cough, "I'm a prime example of how the gods are gone," he says bitterly. "I pay homage to none of them--barely remember their names, if it comes to that. And yet I am able to heal others and perform other 'miracles' that they say only those believers who dedicated themselves to the gods would be able to do," he shrugged. "I have a few other tricks up my gauntlet, and you'll probably get a chance to see them sooner or later if any of us survive the first leg of this journey," he added the last fragment suddenly sounding fatigued and tired at the prospect of walking for hours for days on end.