From then, till now (Solo)
Nov 7, 2016 0:20:44 GMT -6
Post by Vincent on Nov 7, 2016 0:20:44 GMT -6
The water was cool and refreshing. As it poured over his newest wounds he let out an involuntary hiss, it stung. The peppered scabs running across the length of his right arm were a nauseating color and as they flaked away an even worse smell came from the deadened flesh. He would need to see a much better healer than simple medicines could deal with for this one. As he poured water from a small bucket over his back the wound in his shoulder rejected the idea. The pain of it was so intense he let out a cry of pain, dropping the bucket and doubling over until his face was nearly at the water’s level. “BLAST IT ALL!” He swore struggling to keep from lashing about. His muscles tensed and relaxed as the pain subsided. The length of his bath would go this way.
After he was satisfied with the cleaning of his wounds he opted to swim for a moment, just for himself, and to reflect. He found himself doing this quite often since he left home. So many things happened and so many life altering events came about. Most of it all revolved around a sword. He felt a grim humor about it. He so desperately wanted a weapon like the heroes of old and now that he had one he understood the weight of it. Or maybe he just had terrible fortune about it, he could not say. Ryu seemed to not have struggles arising over his new sword. Or at least none that he bothered to mention.
It had been a while since he really took a good look back at that time in his life. It seemed so long ago now but it was really such a short time. Neil was his last real companion, and no matter how much work he did he always seemed to be alone. He wasn’t close to anyone else anymore and that loneliness was beginning to eat at him. His mind began to drift to Ryu and Mila as he rolled over in the water so that he would be face down.
Open eyed he looked at the back of his hands, on one laid the scar from Ryu’s blade and on the other was the brand left by Phoenix Heart’s contract. In fact his body was covered in scars these days. Below his left eye was one from the assassin trio, and one he was lucky not to have been blinded from. On his forearms he bore a matching pair from bandits at Hero City that had cleaved into his gauntlets gouging down into his arms. And across his forehead was the one he hated the most. The reminder of getting overconfident and foolish. He blamed himself for that day, but the name the fake merchant uttered still stuck with him, Lucius.
Neil, he was perhaps on a dark road but he should have been able to save him, not strike him down. But he saw what he was becoming. Though at the time he had no idea he was becoming like Burt. Whether exactly or not that was true though he could not say, but he knew it in his gut. Blast! Why did he have to keep losing everything!? He screamed out in frustration under water the sound distorted and muffled in bubbles before resurfacing.
Above water he wanted to lash out, to hit something and so he slammed his fists onto the water’s surface, stinging them and uselessly tossing water around him. “WHY!?” He began to tear up. “Why can’t I be good enough!?” All his friends died or turned, he could never best his rivals, Duma, Ryu, his father, and no matter how hard he struggled or improved he could never win. Why was he so useless!?
If he could get stronger he kept telling himself, then he could do it. He could save the world and keep his friends and loved ones safe. His village, Ash, Burt, Neil, Lavinia! All of them died or suffered and he could do nothing but watch helplessly or even… was the killer.
Now, when he thought of the good things he had in his life, as things were, his two closest friends were a deranged assassin and Mila. Oh, by all that was good Mila. And now Ryu revealed these feelings he had for her and something in him just broke. He tried to build bonds and then he lost them all, he tried to train and simply become stronger but found nothing but emptiness along that road. What was he doing? Would it have been better if he had just stayed at home as a farmer? It was something he could never go back to now. He was a wanted man in that part of Lycia. The Feathers saw to that and then… Ryu solidified it at the jail. He hated Ryuzaki for everything he was and represented in his life, but a certain sense of pity and even respect stayed him.
He suddenly sighed and let his body go loose. What should he do now? He had a weapon like the heroes, he had a title like the heroes, he had endured great trials and battles like the heroes, but he felt lost. He feigned his confidence and assuredness last he saw Ryu but he had no idea where to go now. He emerged from the lake and dried himself off. It was a start at least, he decided and redressed he knew that if nothing else he needed to find a healer to properly tend to his wounds. Perhaps it was time for him to take another look at fighting the monsters again. If he was ever to find Burt it could be a good starting place and joining a guild… a guild huh? That was Ash’s and his dream when they left home way back.
Enough! He told himself, but could he bring himself to be in a guild? To work with others so dedicate again? He knew that any of his friends could die and he would never see them again but at least by always being away he would never have to witness it again. Then again, he was tired of being lonely as well. He fastened his belt and slung the container holding Phoenix Heart over his shoulder. He could feel the warmth from it even when it was sealed in the case. Something about it helped. He was behaving as a defeatist and that was not his or the sword’s style. If he was weak he just had to be stronger. If his friends were in danger, he only needed to make sure he got them out of it. Vincent did not hold himself as important, it was everyone else that mattered to him, but, if he could be a little selfish at times he knew this was one of those. He would not sit back and let Ryu pursue Mila unopposed. Whether she felt for the either of them or not did not matter right now, all that did, was that he felt something and the idea of giving that up to another was eating at him.
He was weak, he was alone, and lost much, but he knew it, he wanted to fight against it. He began to laugh, a forced laugh but he needed to be joyful. If he was going to be like a hero from the old tales he needed to not be so somber. He wanted to give others hope? He needed to embody it. All these doubts and pain he felt did not matter. He was mercenary, a sword for higher, and coming hero. If he could not let it go then he could bury it; and after the better part of a year he was finally ready to go home to Lycia.
[End Thread]
After he was satisfied with the cleaning of his wounds he opted to swim for a moment, just for himself, and to reflect. He found himself doing this quite often since he left home. So many things happened and so many life altering events came about. Most of it all revolved around a sword. He felt a grim humor about it. He so desperately wanted a weapon like the heroes of old and now that he had one he understood the weight of it. Or maybe he just had terrible fortune about it, he could not say. Ryu seemed to not have struggles arising over his new sword. Or at least none that he bothered to mention.
It had been a while since he really took a good look back at that time in his life. It seemed so long ago now but it was really such a short time. Neil was his last real companion, and no matter how much work he did he always seemed to be alone. He wasn’t close to anyone else anymore and that loneliness was beginning to eat at him. His mind began to drift to Ryu and Mila as he rolled over in the water so that he would be face down.
Open eyed he looked at the back of his hands, on one laid the scar from Ryu’s blade and on the other was the brand left by Phoenix Heart’s contract. In fact his body was covered in scars these days. Below his left eye was one from the assassin trio, and one he was lucky not to have been blinded from. On his forearms he bore a matching pair from bandits at Hero City that had cleaved into his gauntlets gouging down into his arms. And across his forehead was the one he hated the most. The reminder of getting overconfident and foolish. He blamed himself for that day, but the name the fake merchant uttered still stuck with him, Lucius.
Neil, he was perhaps on a dark road but he should have been able to save him, not strike him down. But he saw what he was becoming. Though at the time he had no idea he was becoming like Burt. Whether exactly or not that was true though he could not say, but he knew it in his gut. Blast! Why did he have to keep losing everything!? He screamed out in frustration under water the sound distorted and muffled in bubbles before resurfacing.
Above water he wanted to lash out, to hit something and so he slammed his fists onto the water’s surface, stinging them and uselessly tossing water around him. “WHY!?” He began to tear up. “Why can’t I be good enough!?” All his friends died or turned, he could never best his rivals, Duma, Ryu, his father, and no matter how hard he struggled or improved he could never win. Why was he so useless!?
If he could get stronger he kept telling himself, then he could do it. He could save the world and keep his friends and loved ones safe. His village, Ash, Burt, Neil, Lavinia! All of them died or suffered and he could do nothing but watch helplessly or even… was the killer.
Now, when he thought of the good things he had in his life, as things were, his two closest friends were a deranged assassin and Mila. Oh, by all that was good Mila. And now Ryu revealed these feelings he had for her and something in him just broke. He tried to build bonds and then he lost them all, he tried to train and simply become stronger but found nothing but emptiness along that road. What was he doing? Would it have been better if he had just stayed at home as a farmer? It was something he could never go back to now. He was a wanted man in that part of Lycia. The Feathers saw to that and then… Ryu solidified it at the jail. He hated Ryuzaki for everything he was and represented in his life, but a certain sense of pity and even respect stayed him.
He suddenly sighed and let his body go loose. What should he do now? He had a weapon like the heroes, he had a title like the heroes, he had endured great trials and battles like the heroes, but he felt lost. He feigned his confidence and assuredness last he saw Ryu but he had no idea where to go now. He emerged from the lake and dried himself off. It was a start at least, he decided and redressed he knew that if nothing else he needed to find a healer to properly tend to his wounds. Perhaps it was time for him to take another look at fighting the monsters again. If he was ever to find Burt it could be a good starting place and joining a guild… a guild huh? That was Ash’s and his dream when they left home way back.
Enough! He told himself, but could he bring himself to be in a guild? To work with others so dedicate again? He knew that any of his friends could die and he would never see them again but at least by always being away he would never have to witness it again. Then again, he was tired of being lonely as well. He fastened his belt and slung the container holding Phoenix Heart over his shoulder. He could feel the warmth from it even when it was sealed in the case. Something about it helped. He was behaving as a defeatist and that was not his or the sword’s style. If he was weak he just had to be stronger. If his friends were in danger, he only needed to make sure he got them out of it. Vincent did not hold himself as important, it was everyone else that mattered to him, but, if he could be a little selfish at times he knew this was one of those. He would not sit back and let Ryu pursue Mila unopposed. Whether she felt for the either of them or not did not matter right now, all that did, was that he felt something and the idea of giving that up to another was eating at him.
He was weak, he was alone, and lost much, but he knew it, he wanted to fight against it. He began to laugh, a forced laugh but he needed to be joyful. If he was going to be like a hero from the old tales he needed to not be so somber. He wanted to give others hope? He needed to embody it. All these doubts and pain he felt did not matter. He was mercenary, a sword for higher, and coming hero. If he could not let it go then he could bury it; and after the better part of a year he was finally ready to go home to Lycia.
[End Thread]