“Your beauty will do more for you than your father can ever teach you,” is what Adrius’ mother always told him. His family has always been strict and rigid, though his mother is the harsher of his two parents. Her eyes would grow cold when she spoke of the sharp lines that turned Adrius’ face into a regal visage.
Hours spent practicing in battle and learning the habits of school-fish balance out the cruel teachings of Adrius’ mother. His father, though the warrior and trader of their family, possesses a much kinder nature than he wife. Mistakes were met with warm laughter and a gentle correction. It’s his father that levelled his pride, rounded out Adrius’ sharp beauty to warm the cold winter of the ego his mother encouraged.
To be wealthy in connections and favor, one had to wear their pride like fashion; but his father always had a distaste for haughtiness.
There are some wounds that might never heal, despite the warmth and affection of another. To this day, Adrius is still a wickedly proud man. Even with his family’s fall from grace, he lifts his chin with the might of a well-swing broadsword. It’s that pride that makes him growl when he realizes it is raining upon the first beach he finds.
“Blasted water,” he swears as his body fights a shift into his land-form. The heavily pouring rain tricks his instincts. He knows he is better trained than that and stalks forward across the beach, black eyes scanning the foliage beyond.