Post by trace on Jul 9, 2018 17:07:54 GMT
He was a child once. That much he knows, even if it was so long ago that many of his memories are now nothing but a blur. Despite this, there are some things he remembers, like visiting Father.
Not everyone got to visit Father, that was reserved for only a select few, but he was one of his favourites, even as a child. Father saw his strength and his resolve, even then. He would be allowed an hour every now and then, and he waited patiently for that time to come. Mother wasn't pleased, of course, but she rarely was. A sour woman, that one, despite her station in life.
One day, while visiting father, he finally answered a question that had been burning in him for some time now.
"Why do we protect them, when they are so much weaker than us?"
Father had looked at him with what he would later realise was surprise. Surprise that one of his chosen would even consider such a question when the answer, at least in Father's eyes, was so clearly obvious.
"They are not weaker than you child, they are merely young and still learning. We protect them so that they can find their place and determine their own fate. They have freedom, and an endless amount of possibilities, and that is in itself a strength."
He considered that for a long time, even into adulthood. It would not be for a long time until he came to a realisation.
Father was wrong, these people were weak, and they did not deserve their protection.
And thus the war began.
< *** >
"Christ."
He woke with his head feeling like it had been split in two. Far from a new feeling, Trace had gotten used to waking up in some strange bed in some strange part of town. Usually there was a strange woman next to him though, and as he rolled over in the wooden bed he found himself alone. That'd be disappointing if he had time to focus on it, but clearly that wasn't the kind of day he was going to have.
He felt it the moment his head stopped spinning. The stench of magic. The feeling of the divine as it reverberated through his skin. He stumbled over to the window, tore open the curtains and looked out onto an unfamiliar city. He tried to remember what had happened last night, whether he'd somehow been caught and hadn't remembered, but no, it had been a night like any other. Whatever had brought him here was powerful enough to do it without him knowing. That in itself was something worth being concerned about.
Then a thought struck him. He reached into his jacket pocket, just to make sure it was still there. It was, which was enough for him to breath a sigh of relief. The small wooden box, engraved with carvings that nobody else would be able to make out. And there, on the table beside the bed, was his knife, with the stone red handle that had the exact same markings. So whatever had dragged him into this strange city was nice enough to let him keep the only two things that he owned.
At least that was something.
Something felt off, more off than being brought to a city that swam in magic that is, like something was watching him through the dark. It was enough to make him make a swift decision.
"I don't know if you're listening, whatever you are, but I'm just going to assume you are and assume you had some reason for bringing me here. Well, I hope it was a good reason, because I don't like being messed around with."
He took his knife from the table, tucked his wooden box back in his jacket with the intention of finding somewhere to hide it for the extent of his stay, and he headed for the door, knowing exactly what he was going to do next for the first time in what felt like forever. He would leave this room and go out into the city. He would find whatever it was that had brought him here against his will...
And he would rip it apart, piece by piece, whatever it may be.
Not everyone got to visit Father, that was reserved for only a select few, but he was one of his favourites, even as a child. Father saw his strength and his resolve, even then. He would be allowed an hour every now and then, and he waited patiently for that time to come. Mother wasn't pleased, of course, but she rarely was. A sour woman, that one, despite her station in life.
One day, while visiting father, he finally answered a question that had been burning in him for some time now.
"Why do we protect them, when they are so much weaker than us?"
Father had looked at him with what he would later realise was surprise. Surprise that one of his chosen would even consider such a question when the answer, at least in Father's eyes, was so clearly obvious.
"They are not weaker than you child, they are merely young and still learning. We protect them so that they can find their place and determine their own fate. They have freedom, and an endless amount of possibilities, and that is in itself a strength."
He considered that for a long time, even into adulthood. It would not be for a long time until he came to a realisation.
Father was wrong, these people were weak, and they did not deserve their protection.
And thus the war began.
< *** >
"Christ."
He woke with his head feeling like it had been split in two. Far from a new feeling, Trace had gotten used to waking up in some strange bed in some strange part of town. Usually there was a strange woman next to him though, and as he rolled over in the wooden bed he found himself alone. That'd be disappointing if he had time to focus on it, but clearly that wasn't the kind of day he was going to have.
He felt it the moment his head stopped spinning. The stench of magic. The feeling of the divine as it reverberated through his skin. He stumbled over to the window, tore open the curtains and looked out onto an unfamiliar city. He tried to remember what had happened last night, whether he'd somehow been caught and hadn't remembered, but no, it had been a night like any other. Whatever had brought him here was powerful enough to do it without him knowing. That in itself was something worth being concerned about.
Then a thought struck him. He reached into his jacket pocket, just to make sure it was still there. It was, which was enough for him to breath a sigh of relief. The small wooden box, engraved with carvings that nobody else would be able to make out. And there, on the table beside the bed, was his knife, with the stone red handle that had the exact same markings. So whatever had dragged him into this strange city was nice enough to let him keep the only two things that he owned.
At least that was something.
Something felt off, more off than being brought to a city that swam in magic that is, like something was watching him through the dark. It was enough to make him make a swift decision.
"I don't know if you're listening, whatever you are, but I'm just going to assume you are and assume you had some reason for bringing me here. Well, I hope it was a good reason, because I don't like being messed around with."
He took his knife from the table, tucked his wooden box back in his jacket with the intention of finding somewhere to hide it for the extent of his stay, and he headed for the door, knowing exactly what he was going to do next for the first time in what felt like forever. He would leave this room and go out into the city. He would find whatever it was that had brought him here against his will...
And he would rip it apart, piece by piece, whatever it may be.