Homecoming (Semi Open)

[Wyatt]

OOC: Semi Open means if you think you have a reason to be here, PM me.)

IC:

It had been over a year since Wyatt had been home. Time just flew by, but he knew he had to go back and tell them all of his stories. After all, it wasn't like he could try to send a messenger or something, he wasn't a noble. And so, his boots pressed down on the long path from Sacae into the territory of Laus. He knew these roads well, and managed to avoid towns as he took the shortest route towards his hometown.

As night fell on the journey, Wyatt became aware of a very ominous quiet. Sometimes, he would hear shuffling in the brush, but never anything more then that. The daylight brought with it a renewed desire to reach home, and his pace would quicken from day to day.

And finally, the day he'd awaited. He'd passed a sign post he'd seen a hundred times, he was within a days travel. He'd be home soon.

He could already smell the forge, was his dad up and working already? He was only an hour or so out now, so of course the all to familiar smell would travel this far. He smiled as his boots picked up their pace once again.

[Wyatt]

Wyatt trudged up the last hill the blocked his home from view. He was so excited now he broke into a run. Just a...few feet more and he'd crest the hill. Then he'd see the home he left behind.

When he finally did come over the hill, his axe fell from his grasp as he stared as what was before him. Ruins...dead and deserted...He remained there for but a moment more before he resumed running, this time not in excitement, but in dread.

"Damn it...please be ok." He said, knowing full well the impossibility of such a thing.

[Wyatt]

The house was dark, the entire village was silent. There was no warmth beneath this roof, and for once, there was no smoke coming from it's chimney. Wyatt stood at the destroyed door, totally at a loss. What could have done this? Bandits? The Ertuian Army? Those...wolves? This seemed beyond any of them. The door was broken halfway off of it's hinges, and Wyatt entered the house. He would never say he was scared, he would not admit it. He looked about the now dark room, with a long dormant forge in the side. Seeing the pit without even coals and embers glowing was a saddening sight. It had never been dark...ever.

"Hello?" He called, among the debris. Someone had to be alive, they just had to. Silence was the only response he was afforded though. He looked about the house, and saw one door, still mostly closed. All the others were thrown open and ripped off. This was...the door to his little sister's room?

He moved to the door, and tried to open it. He found that he couldn't, it seemed stuck on something. Putting his shoulder to the door, he pushed, and felt it give way with a crash. There had been a dresser on the other side of it. Had someone been trying to barricade themselves in here?

As soon as the door opened, the scent of death and decay flooded into Wyatt's nostrils, nearly causing him to pass out. He regained his senses long enough to look into the room, and wished he hadn't.

The vomit he left on the floor of the main room of the house was the least of anyone's concerns, as he struggled to not break down at what he'd just seen. His sister...little Alinda...she was...

A sound from the room stole his thoughts away. Movement? Bracing himself for the site again, he looked back in, and nearly cried out in fear.

Alinda was on her feat. Her chest ripped open, entrails hanging out, eyes in a vacant stare as she shuffled towards Wyatt.

The dead...rising from the grave? It had happened! The Ostian's weren't lying!

Some part of him saw his sister, saw the girl he'd watched after and taken care of for years. The girl who he'd taught how to count, who he'd protected from the older boys...his little sister.

But this...thing...was not his sister, no more then a suit of armor was a soldier. Wyatt grabbed his Axe from his back and gripped it so hard his knuckles went white. She'd done it, hadn't she? She locked herself in her room, so she couldn't hurt anyone else...

With a cry of anguish, Wyatt raised the axe high and brought it down as his arms had done so many times before.

[Wyatt]

That sound would never leave him. The sight of his little sister, lying crumpled on the ground because of his axe. He'd never be able to forget that...

But now...he had to go. No time to sit here and mourn. If this was happening here, the capital had to know what was going on. He'd have to bring the message to them, in case nobody else did. He was about to leave when a glimmer off of the dusty anvil caught his eyes. What was that...a scratch in the metal? The forge had never had a scratch, his father had maintained it perfectly at all times. Wyatt looked at it, and saw an odd combination of letters. Let's see...U...no..W..Y..A..T..What the?! He'd been taught at least to recognize his own name, but it had been so long since he'd seen it. Underneath his name was the family's crest, an anvil with a sword skewering it. Wyatt remembered thinking it odd, every time he saw this crest the sword was pointing a different way. This time it was...pointing to the forge oven?

Wyatt moved over to the large metal door and opened it. The forge was cold, so unfamiliar to him, but something told him that this was a message for him. He sifted through the ash, soot and coals in the oven to try and find something of note. As he moved his hand, he felt it give, and saw that the base of the forge was not really a base...it was removable.

Wyatt pulled out the large slab of metal that was the base of the forge, and underneath it was a small book. He opened it, and scoffed to himself. Why would his father leave him something he couldn't read?

Wyatt was about to leave, when he noticed something...that piece of metal...He looked over it, it wasn't like any material he'd ever seen before. On it was the family crest again, sword pointing down. The book had the same design. It was a large piece of metal, but something told Wyatt he should take it with him. So he strapped it to his back, and moved towards the door with the book in his pocket.

This was what his father had left to him, now he just needed to find someone who could read it.