One born with magic who, one day after many, many years suddenly finds himself without his abilities would not make for a very happy individual. Even more so if this particular individual had tasted of power and then found himself thrust aside from his power in any capacity. Ashley found himself among those few who understood the loss of both, and the agitation of not having a purpose was grating on him hard.
He did not know where he fit in, or what would best suit him; he had aligned himself to the place that he had always bled for; and had died for twice. But the old alliances were dead, as were the lands themselves, and so when an old man finds himself wiling away the hours looking for something to do, he will eventually get restless. And so this is what has become of him. Ashley spends his days walking. Breathing. Cursing his situation. He is looking for something new; someone he perhaps once knew an age ago.
He seeks an audience with the great King Eight.
ashley
how many times can I break ‘til I shatter?
(Really sorry its so short. Looking for some new story bits for him and I’m running out of the angsty “I don’t have my magic anymore” posts)
@[Eight]