About me: Neros hated being an adventurer. He really hated it. The job sorta picked him without the boy ever realizing it. Most young men in his position would jump at the opportunity to save villages and slay ancient evils. But he wasn’t one of them, quite the contrary in fact. He much preferred to be alone, to just vanish from the face of the planet without a trace, but he couldn’t. Every time he thought about going through with it, another threat would rear its ugly head, thrusting him back into the fray of battle once again in a sick cycle of violence and valor. He resented having ever picked up a sword, despised the sight of blood and acrid stench of death. He could feel his sanity cracking with each passing battle, but what could he do? People depended on him, a fact he also resented. As he struggles with his failing mind and the ever increasing pressure of his responsibilities, he doesn’t know how long he’ll last.
