In battle it is said that all hear the voice of death calling to them, and visions of the breaking of the world cloud your vision, thus it is that instinct and chaos merge and unchecked fury takes hold.
For Fuegan however the song and dance of battle is more familiar than any sanctuary. For him, it isn't battle it is War, something that his life has been forged in. The fires of War's Furnace have tempered his body and will. He strides into the fray calm and collected, Axe, Sword, Spear, Fist, Knife, Bow, and Aetheric Energy bend to his will. His eyes pierce like spears, his laugh the rumble of an ancient beast stirring to wrath.
Off of the battlefield you could not find a more gentle caring soul, or a more loyal companion be it for a night of drink and revelry or relaxation away from the troubles of the world.
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