Departure.

As the sun crept past it's zenith beyond a pale filtering wisp of cloud, he turned his head and glanced back over his shoulder. A single eye of ashen grey the stormy hue of a rain cloud focused back on the shimmering coastline and the jewel that was Ta'Nalfein nestled against it. Home, such a pesky term. It was functional, yes, but hardly appropriate. In this regard nothing felt appropriate, the term was hollow and flat, as dis-interesting as the length of the journey ahead. As much as he loathed travel, he prized the solitude. Turning back away from the shrinking city in the distance to his aft, he focused forward and almost immediately his thoughts began to drift and his gaze fell unfocused.

He was restless, and with business concluded there was no interest in delaying the impulse any longer. The only thing he loathed more than that which could not hold his interest, was unfinished business. For a meticulous and analytic mind business was a simple matter to remedy, and as such was quick to become tiresome and tedious. He was not an accommodating man. He was ill-tempered, he was impulsive, and he was well versed in appearing as anything but these things when the situation demanded it. In the courts? It far too often -did-. But where he ventured the closest things to the courts were disdainful mockeries. This spoke to him. Where he ventured, a blade wet with the fast flow of hot crimson blood across the surface was not concealed in shadow. A tongue poorly-held was measured by individual standards, which held only the value invested in them. Ever calculating, ever appraising, it was his interest that drew him. It was unfinished business which called him back. Within his core a dark heart pounded with a ferocity that surged the blood through his veins with a pulsing rhythm that sang like a siren in his ears.

For a man so alive with blood that pumped searing hot in his veins, encased in that chill and poised cage, what else could that single eye of his be but the smoldering hue of smoke? It was his true nature, and boiling so close to the surface the steam could practically be seen pouring out with his every breath..

With a flick of his fingertips, the burnt stump of his black cigar fell to the roadway. As it rolled in a quick half-circle along the ground it fell to rest with the white banding facing skyward, the lettering reading "Veer Reserve".