After
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~I haven't missed this~
Commander Rexotic Silversmith stood leaning against the battlements of Ashraven's Flight. The former Rogue's castle was being refitted by a crack team of military engineers. All of the sixty some odd soldiers around the fortress had brightly glowing, cyan eyes. The Old Slayer was silent as he gazed out over the swirling ash of Forinthry. His eyes scanned all around, but never rested on the body under a sheet by his side.
He may not miss it, but Rex knew his place in the world, and this was it. Leading troops, planning, putting his heart into every single move he made. He loved chess. His eyes scanned around once more, and he accidentally caught the figure by his side in the corner of his vision, but he snapped his head away in an instant. Work, work was on his mind, not revenge. Work.
And work was war, and war was where Rex thrived.