he laughs, a low sound, the rumble of thunder in his chest. âfacts do not make a particularly interesting point of view.â water is taken carefully from fountain, cupped in his hand and slid across injured skin. blood stains hands, but slowly, the crimson running from his skin is cleared, cleaned away to reveal a lack of injuries. he moves comfortably, almost lazily to place rings back into place on fingers. âour bodies rot, yes.â for the most part he seems... amused. if you ask orian about his opinion of life, and what comes after, you should never expect a consistent answer. he was raised to believe in a god, and raised his children to do the same. but for this, his answer is simple. âbut energy cannot be created...â the statement one concerning physics, he finds the argument fitting in itâs own way. â- - or destroyed.â he motions, shakes his finger as if to say listen ! âthe uh... the human soul, is little more than energy...â this is not an admission to a belief in the divine, or a lack of belief, but a question to continue the conversation; the beginning of a debate, perhaps. âwhere do we go ? â