"Sometimes I ask myself, what have I become? Lately, I've been pleading with the Gods to make me stop, but they never do."
One breath, find your opening.
Two breaths, become an animal.
Three breaths, hold on, no matter what.
Four breaths, let the Gods judge him.
In four breaths, a man's life was taken. Why kill a man who meant so much to you? For that, we need to go back to the beginning. Beyond the scorched dunes of Shaqq-Turnaal within the Mayasa Empire, years ago, there stood the infamous fortress of Altaqq. Regalian convoys scattered throughout the wastes as they marched upon the defensive outpost, and there, amongst the fiery blaze of war stood two unlikely friends. Pierre, an Ithanian-Regal boy from Basta, and Colin, straight from the heartlands of Kintyr. They marched for hours with the archers' brigade, chatting about girls, dreaming of going home, and tossing around those heartless jokes that only the other archers seemed to laugh at. It was hard to miss—they were just kids, really, still figuring out the world and who they wanted to be. So far the Second Songaskian War had been a fantasy for any seasoned warrior, Pierre and Colin witnessed little bloodshed, and even then, never involved themselves as the Regalian Machine as it rumbled through the ancient desert.
Though, soon enough the marching came to a sudden halt on the historical roadway, the sounds of voices started up again, archers talking over one another, some even standing on eachothers shoulders to try and see what was going, but to no avail. Most others emptied their canteens of water down their gullet. "I think we're receiving orders." one of the lead archers said, catching a glimpse of something with his spyglass. "Hopefully the Dragonkin have realized the error in their ways and came to their senses, a proper surrender, eh son?" one of the more portly men jested with an Anglian Bow strapped across him, clasping a hand on Pierre's shoulder and giving a belly full of laughter. It didn't last long. The horns of battle blew, an eerie feeling set in amongst the convoys-- this wasn't part of the plan, there weren't supposed to be any Dragonkin this far from the outpost. One of the messengers on horseback raced to the back of the brigade to inform us, he stuttered over his words, but he inevitably came out of it "Their… the Dragonkin, they're coming! Fast upon—" and a magical bolt pierced through his mouth, spraying blood upon the party, he slumped off the horse and fell to the ground beneath us.
The archers scurried to the highground, being directed by their captains, and set loose a quick fleet of arrows into the sky in response, which was easy work for the Dragonkin to defend against. One after the other, squadrons of the Regalian army were brought down by the nearly doubled in size opposition. Pierre, being mainly a healer, was becoming overworked and stressed as Colin fired arrow after arrow as cover fire for him. Their comrades lay dead en masse around them, their circle of archers growing smaller and smaller, even as they repositioned they seemed to lose even more men. Their chances of survival were slim to none.
Colin let out in a scared voice, speaking fast; "I'm running out of arrows, fuck! Pierre, don't worry about them, grab your bow." and Pierre had no time to react, at this point he was passing prayers to the dead instead of any medicine. He had to convince himself to stand up and fight, because there was no other way. Though as the hours passed and the battle became more and more silent, Pierre and Colin, not only had their first kill, but perhaps their first dozen kills between them both, were almost primal in nature. But their surprisingly fierce demeanor wouldn't last as night set in, the Regalian forces were disorganized and spread too thin at this point when the Dragonkin's cavalry came and cleaned up the remnants of the battle. There was no backup, and no one to save them. The pair were forced to hide amongst the dead until morning.
Pierre looked to Colin as the enemy forces neared, stabbing at the half-dead bodies to finish them off, he whispered "Everything is going to be alright, Colin, yeah? … Think of the bright side, if we make it out of this you'll be able to go home and wear your skirts-- I mean kilts." he tried to joke in a time like this, Colin was forced to crack a smile, blood trickling from his lips. The screams of the departed clouded the night behind them, the Dragonkin were coming closer. Pierre continued "When they are near us, suck in your stomach, keep your eyes open, this isn't the novels. The dead don't just close their eyes, you know? I'm right here." Colin cut in, he couldn't bear it all as a tear streaked down his face, "Pierre, we're just kids, why'd we have to do this to ourselves, get caught up in a war that doesn't mean anything to me and you? All this shit. This /shit/. We weren't cut out for this. Mng… you're my brother. No matter what." and he moved to clasp Pierre's hand who laid there adjacent to him, two deceased bloodied bodies on top of them each. "Brothers." Pierre repeated, they closed their eyes tight as the voices and pleas neared them.
And months passed.
Pierre and Colin had been approached on their departing ship months ago by a Tierravera half-elf to come join a new specialized convoy out in Daen, a convoy where they could have lasting effects upon history. It provided purpose to two young people who had fought a war because they thought it was their duty, but to be personally involved in affairs that could have a difference meant the world to them. It was a path that didn't mean going home, and that was all that mattered at the time. Slowly, it became revealed to them that this convoy had nothing to do with the Empire at all, in fact they learned that the Regalian Empire had been depleting Daen of its resources and creating a hostile political environment, at the brink of threatening another war. This organized group sought to stop them, to try and be a voice for the people who wouldn't be bullied by a governing superpower.
They trained relentlessly, day and night, sharpening their skills with unwavering focus. When not immersed in their drills, they slipped into the shadows of the Regalian embassy in Daen, gathering whispers and secrets—names, places, times, and the threads that tied Regalia to Daen's affairs. Regalia would answer for the suffering it had caused, and so, they set their sights on a high-ranking ambassador, the perfect target to strike. And strike they did, swiftly and efficiently Regalian ambassadors would be laid to rest on the streets, arrows marking the symbol of the separatist movement would have the public clamoring for more. The Anahera Dictatorship made no effort to stop these separatists, why would they? It even alluded to endorsements to those who had defended their nation, causing more to join their plight.
Pierre and Colin had both changed immensely, from the scared boys they once were to men who were changing the world, or so they thought. They never ceased laughing, and that was important, especially through everything the two had been together through. They'd close out bars almost nightly, people clung to them as saviors, and they were regarded highly in the public. One afternoon after a few rounds, and table-dancing, Colin opened up to him about his child-to-be with the woman he'd been courting, Adeline, how he used to be a peasant with nothing to his name but now he lived a deserved life of any man. Pierre laughed warmly, though spoke with some thought "You couldn't wait to be a father, couldn't you?" he said, sending a loving punch to Colin's shoulder, "And I know you love Adeline. I just hope you know the danger involved, but do you think she knows?" Colin raised a brow, leaning forth, the scent of booze on his breath potent as he whispered "Knows what?" he ushered out, casting a glance around. Pierre leaned forth as well, and in a serious tone, he'd say "Know that you dress up in a short-skirt back in your homeland." and Colin almost leapt out of his seat to tackle Pierre, and those around him couldn't help but let out a roar of boisterous laughter, and that is how it went most of their days.
Except for one, perhaps the day that changed everything. Pierre was within the Regalian embassy, he himself held a low position within the Daen courts, enough to get him around and speak to those he needed to gather information on. He was one of the few people who could read amongst the separatists, and he seemed to have a way with words. And as he made his way into the private office of their target, he came across something most intriguing. File cabinets of failed attempts to flood the commonwealth with work, to raise the employment rate and diminish the criminal epidemic within its streets. Pages on education programs, and proposals of an anti-corrupt network within Daen. It wasn't just their target office, but through the weeks it seemed that Pierre noticed everyone from the Regalian embassy was here, in truth, to push back against the corrupt dictatorship and find real-world solutions to Daen's problems. The problem was the absorbent amount of bribery from the Anahera dictatorship that put these proposals on the backburner, or even blatant threats to politicians, records of unjustified executions were not uncommon, and now the separatist movement which posed a giant threat to do any healing within the Tierravera territories. Pierre realized that they were on the wrong side of everything, in fact, they had been purposefully led astray, and now we're at the mercy of the Dictator's bidding. That's what they were, pawns in their game.
Pierre rushed back home, only to find a man at his door speaking to Colin. The exhausted man turned around holding a clear picture of Pierre's face in his hands. It was a portrait gifted from his father long ago. The man's eyes lightened up exorbitantly at the sight of Pierre, "Lord Leandre!" he uttered loudly, rushing forth. Only to be met with a swift right hook from Pierre, who held a horrified gaze. The man immediately dropped to the ground, unconscious. Colin looked up in a questioning tone as he mumbled "... Lord Leandre?" as Pierre raised his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose-- letting out a long sigh. Colin came forth, trying to meet his gaze "Pierre. What is going on?" he said with a tone of endearment and care. "He said you were needed back in Basta, something about a Chancellery?" and Pierre couldn't help but cut in, changing the topic swiftly "I don't know what that is, Colin, but listen to me, I've been finding documents. These." he held up the reports on the attempted Regalian interventions with the malicious acts of the Daen hierarchy. Colin looked them over, briefly, before dismissing them entirely. "What's this, Regalian propaganda?" he said, pushing Pierre to follow him back to the separatist headquarters. They argued the entire way there.
To Pierre's surprise, Colin brought the official documents straight to their captain. And later that night, the band of Pierre's comrades, excluding Colin, moved in silence as they kidnapped Pierre from his chambers and moved to interrogate him. The documents were clear, and there was evidence to prove it, they just didn't want to see it, because then everything would've been for naught. Through the water-boarding and insistent questioning on whether or not Pierre was a Regalian spy, they made Pierre's thought process clear. He couldn't be a part of this anymore, another attempt at purpose, wasted. He lived a lie, twice fold. After a few days, he was let free from his confines, they gave him till the morning to leave Daen or they threatened to kill him. And Pierre took that threat seriously, afterall, they slaughtered men for less. He rushed home, packing his things in the midst of frantic voices clouding his head. He couldn't do it. He couldn't let Colin do it. So, he waited. Disguising himself elusively and never staying in one spot until he met the date of the intended assassination. It was a brisk, uneasy morning, and Pierre knew his old comrades would've been far past set up by now, the murder was an hour away from being fulfilled. Another murder meant further away these downtrodden people would see some semblance of care from their governance, some actual peace.
Pierre moved carefully through the city to the abandoned warehouse where he knew Colin would be preparing himself to kill his target. Inevitably, as he turned the corner, his old friend was there. Colin was glancing out the window, gaze fixated on the Regalian Embassy building, it was only a matter of minutes now, and then Pierre spoke up. He said; "It's not too late, Colin. I know some part of you understands what I am saying, and you know I'm right." and Colin swiftly turned, drawing his bow expertly as a broadhead was pointed directly at Pierre. "I thought you were told to leave?" and Pierre swiftly responded with, "And I thought we were brothers. You can come with me. For the sake of your daughter, Colin, please." and there was a pause of silence, like actual contemplation. Colin looked up toward Pierre with a glint in his eyes, a resistance, he was fighting himself internally as he spoke "Don't call me a brother when I don't even know /who you are/ anymore, Leandre! You're some fuck-all blueblood /straight from Regalia/, a spy. You're everything we stood against." and Pierre illustrated a look of sorry on his face, shaking it with a sigh as he raised his hands finally, speaking "Put the bow down. I have a lot to explain, I know, but I love you Colin. Look at everything we've done together… I lied to you. You're right, I am a noble, but I am /no spy/. I never was." he said with a voice that told sincerity. But Colin, on the other hand, his mind was flooding through everything the separatist movement meant to him. The training, the truth behind it's teachings and ideals. It never let him down, and Pierre had. He had to think for himself now, he had to think about his child. In a moment of panic, he let loose the arrow which flung itself steady into Pierre's shoulder, and readied another one as a Clockwork alarm chimed- the target was ready, pacing across the street, and there was only a moment to react. Colin drew back the string, aiming for the Regalian politician before he was tackled by Pierre. They wrestled for what seemed like an eternity.
Colin managed to grasp his bootknife and stab it into Pierre's leg, hearing the man cry out, he twisted it. They both sat in a pool of Pierre's blood. Colin let out a tired voice "I can't… I can't let you..- live." he said, with a look of truth in his face, "You'll ruin everything. So many people's lives.." he said, trying to convince himself to kill his one and only true friend. He grasped the knife from Pierre's leg with a weathered, and exasperated yell, he brought himself up like a bear ready to pounce and force the knife into Pierre's jugular. But, in surprise to himself, and in a blur, his knife met hardwood floors. Not Pierre. Instead, Pierre managed to roll out at the last second and get a chokehold on his Cearden brother. His legs forced Colin's arms by their side as a continuous stream of tears seeped down his cheeks. Colin gasped out.. "No.. no. Mer-- Mercy. Oh. Oh no." he said, writhing on top of Pierre, a warmth washed over him, Colin knew he'd die here, but he wouldn't without a small "Sorry… Adeline.." and then, absolute stillness. Colin was dead.
He stood up, tears seeping from his eyes as he continuously beat down upon Colin, pounding on his corpse with bloodied hands "Why! Tell me why!" he cried out, his dazed and confused form shaken. He tried to wake him up, shaking his brothers body. "Wake up, please- /wake up/! Oh fuck." he groaned out, looking up towards the sky, the Gods. He pleaded with them to take him instead, anything but have his brother's strangled body lay pathetic in front of him, forever still. Years later some would say the Gods obliged him, taking Leandre from everything he was, and everything he had been.
But then there was darkness.
Leandre sat there in a worn, beat up wooden chair, wires and tubes coming from a machine he wore over his head, a sheen of sweat layering his beat-up, and naked arms and torso. His hands clenching tight at the armrests as he let out harsh, ragged breaths. This device made him relive his memories, either from himself, or from others. The Delmotte sat there with his chest heaving from witnessing everything again, but as the Memkey popped out, it was all over now. That was the past. But, something within him made him slowly reach his hand up, fingertips threatening to press the key back into place, to relive everything oncemore, and though tears trickled down from beneath the helmet, it hadn't been that long, but he needed to see Colin's face one more time.
It replayed.
One breath, find your opening.
Two breaths, become an animal.
Three breaths, hold on, no matter what.
Four breaths, let the Gods judge him.
In four breaths, a man's life was taken. Why kill a man who meant so much to you? For that, we need to go back to the beginning. Beyond the scorched dunes of Shaqq-Turnaal within the Mayasa Empire, years ago, there stood the infamous fortress of Altaqq. Regalian convoys scattered throughout the wastes as they marched upon the defensive outpost, and there, amongst the fiery blaze of war stood two unlikely friends. Pierre, an Ithanian-Regal boy from Basta, and Colin, straight from the heartlands of Kintyr. They marched for hours with the archers' brigade, chatting about girls, dreaming of going home, and tossing around those heartless jokes that only the other archers seemed to laugh at. It was hard to miss—they were just kids, really, still figuring out the world and who they wanted to be. So far the Second Songaskian War had been a fantasy for any seasoned warrior, Pierre and Colin witnessed little bloodshed, and even then, never involved themselves as the Regalian Machine as it rumbled through the ancient desert.
Though, soon enough the marching came to a sudden halt on the historical roadway, the sounds of voices started up again, archers talking over one another, some even standing on eachothers shoulders to try and see what was going, but to no avail. Most others emptied their canteens of water down their gullet. "I think we're receiving orders." one of the lead archers said, catching a glimpse of something with his spyglass. "Hopefully the Dragonkin have realized the error in their ways and came to their senses, a proper surrender, eh son?" one of the more portly men jested with an Anglian Bow strapped across him, clasping a hand on Pierre's shoulder and giving a belly full of laughter. It didn't last long. The horns of battle blew, an eerie feeling set in amongst the convoys-- this wasn't part of the plan, there weren't supposed to be any Dragonkin this far from the outpost. One of the messengers on horseback raced to the back of the brigade to inform us, he stuttered over his words, but he inevitably came out of it "Their… the Dragonkin, they're coming! Fast upon—" and a magical bolt pierced through his mouth, spraying blood upon the party, he slumped off the horse and fell to the ground beneath us.
The archers scurried to the highground, being directed by their captains, and set loose a quick fleet of arrows into the sky in response, which was easy work for the Dragonkin to defend against. One after the other, squadrons of the Regalian army were brought down by the nearly doubled in size opposition. Pierre, being mainly a healer, was becoming overworked and stressed as Colin fired arrow after arrow as cover fire for him. Their comrades lay dead en masse around them, their circle of archers growing smaller and smaller, even as they repositioned they seemed to lose even more men. Their chances of survival were slim to none.
Colin let out in a scared voice, speaking fast; "I'm running out of arrows, fuck! Pierre, don't worry about them, grab your bow." and Pierre had no time to react, at this point he was passing prayers to the dead instead of any medicine. He had to convince himself to stand up and fight, because there was no other way. Though as the hours passed and the battle became more and more silent, Pierre and Colin, not only had their first kill, but perhaps their first dozen kills between them both, were almost primal in nature. But their surprisingly fierce demeanor wouldn't last as night set in, the Regalian forces were disorganized and spread too thin at this point when the Dragonkin's cavalry came and cleaned up the remnants of the battle. There was no backup, and no one to save them. The pair were forced to hide amongst the dead until morning.
Pierre looked to Colin as the enemy forces neared, stabbing at the half-dead bodies to finish them off, he whispered "Everything is going to be alright, Colin, yeah? … Think of the bright side, if we make it out of this you'll be able to go home and wear your skirts-- I mean kilts." he tried to joke in a time like this, Colin was forced to crack a smile, blood trickling from his lips. The screams of the departed clouded the night behind them, the Dragonkin were coming closer. Pierre continued "When they are near us, suck in your stomach, keep your eyes open, this isn't the novels. The dead don't just close their eyes, you know? I'm right here." Colin cut in, he couldn't bear it all as a tear streaked down his face, "Pierre, we're just kids, why'd we have to do this to ourselves, get caught up in a war that doesn't mean anything to me and you? All this shit. This /shit/. We weren't cut out for this. Mng… you're my brother. No matter what." and he moved to clasp Pierre's hand who laid there adjacent to him, two deceased bloodied bodies on top of them each. "Brothers." Pierre repeated, they closed their eyes tight as the voices and pleas neared them.
And months passed.
Pierre and Colin had been approached on their departing ship months ago by a Tierravera half-elf to come join a new specialized convoy out in Daen, a convoy where they could have lasting effects upon history. It provided purpose to two young people who had fought a war because they thought it was their duty, but to be personally involved in affairs that could have a difference meant the world to them. It was a path that didn't mean going home, and that was all that mattered at the time. Slowly, it became revealed to them that this convoy had nothing to do with the Empire at all, in fact they learned that the Regalian Empire had been depleting Daen of its resources and creating a hostile political environment, at the brink of threatening another war. This organized group sought to stop them, to try and be a voice for the people who wouldn't be bullied by a governing superpower.
They trained relentlessly, day and night, sharpening their skills with unwavering focus. When not immersed in their drills, they slipped into the shadows of the Regalian embassy in Daen, gathering whispers and secrets—names, places, times, and the threads that tied Regalia to Daen's affairs. Regalia would answer for the suffering it had caused, and so, they set their sights on a high-ranking ambassador, the perfect target to strike. And strike they did, swiftly and efficiently Regalian ambassadors would be laid to rest on the streets, arrows marking the symbol of the separatist movement would have the public clamoring for more. The Anahera Dictatorship made no effort to stop these separatists, why would they? It even alluded to endorsements to those who had defended their nation, causing more to join their plight.
Pierre and Colin had both changed immensely, from the scared boys they once were to men who were changing the world, or so they thought. They never ceased laughing, and that was important, especially through everything the two had been together through. They'd close out bars almost nightly, people clung to them as saviors, and they were regarded highly in the public. One afternoon after a few rounds, and table-dancing, Colin opened up to him about his child-to-be with the woman he'd been courting, Adeline, how he used to be a peasant with nothing to his name but now he lived a deserved life of any man. Pierre laughed warmly, though spoke with some thought "You couldn't wait to be a father, couldn't you?" he said, sending a loving punch to Colin's shoulder, "And I know you love Adeline. I just hope you know the danger involved, but do you think she knows?" Colin raised a brow, leaning forth, the scent of booze on his breath potent as he whispered "Knows what?" he ushered out, casting a glance around. Pierre leaned forth as well, and in a serious tone, he'd say "Know that you dress up in a short-skirt back in your homeland." and Colin almost leapt out of his seat to tackle Pierre, and those around him couldn't help but let out a roar of boisterous laughter, and that is how it went most of their days.
Except for one, perhaps the day that changed everything. Pierre was within the Regalian embassy, he himself held a low position within the Daen courts, enough to get him around and speak to those he needed to gather information on. He was one of the few people who could read amongst the separatists, and he seemed to have a way with words. And as he made his way into the private office of their target, he came across something most intriguing. File cabinets of failed attempts to flood the commonwealth with work, to raise the employment rate and diminish the criminal epidemic within its streets. Pages on education programs, and proposals of an anti-corrupt network within Daen. It wasn't just their target office, but through the weeks it seemed that Pierre noticed everyone from the Regalian embassy was here, in truth, to push back against the corrupt dictatorship and find real-world solutions to Daen's problems. The problem was the absorbent amount of bribery from the Anahera dictatorship that put these proposals on the backburner, or even blatant threats to politicians, records of unjustified executions were not uncommon, and now the separatist movement which posed a giant threat to do any healing within the Tierravera territories. Pierre realized that they were on the wrong side of everything, in fact, they had been purposefully led astray, and now we're at the mercy of the Dictator's bidding. That's what they were, pawns in their game.
Pierre rushed back home, only to find a man at his door speaking to Colin. The exhausted man turned around holding a clear picture of Pierre's face in his hands. It was a portrait gifted from his father long ago. The man's eyes lightened up exorbitantly at the sight of Pierre, "Lord Leandre!" he uttered loudly, rushing forth. Only to be met with a swift right hook from Pierre, who held a horrified gaze. The man immediately dropped to the ground, unconscious. Colin looked up in a questioning tone as he mumbled "... Lord Leandre?" as Pierre raised his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose-- letting out a long sigh. Colin came forth, trying to meet his gaze "Pierre. What is going on?" he said with a tone of endearment and care. "He said you were needed back in Basta, something about a Chancellery?" and Pierre couldn't help but cut in, changing the topic swiftly "I don't know what that is, Colin, but listen to me, I've been finding documents. These." he held up the reports on the attempted Regalian interventions with the malicious acts of the Daen hierarchy. Colin looked them over, briefly, before dismissing them entirely. "What's this, Regalian propaganda?" he said, pushing Pierre to follow him back to the separatist headquarters. They argued the entire way there.
To Pierre's surprise, Colin brought the official documents straight to their captain. And later that night, the band of Pierre's comrades, excluding Colin, moved in silence as they kidnapped Pierre from his chambers and moved to interrogate him. The documents were clear, and there was evidence to prove it, they just didn't want to see it, because then everything would've been for naught. Through the water-boarding and insistent questioning on whether or not Pierre was a Regalian spy, they made Pierre's thought process clear. He couldn't be a part of this anymore, another attempt at purpose, wasted. He lived a lie, twice fold. After a few days, he was let free from his confines, they gave him till the morning to leave Daen or they threatened to kill him. And Pierre took that threat seriously, afterall, they slaughtered men for less. He rushed home, packing his things in the midst of frantic voices clouding his head. He couldn't do it. He couldn't let Colin do it. So, he waited. Disguising himself elusively and never staying in one spot until he met the date of the intended assassination. It was a brisk, uneasy morning, and Pierre knew his old comrades would've been far past set up by now, the murder was an hour away from being fulfilled. Another murder meant further away these downtrodden people would see some semblance of care from their governance, some actual peace.
Pierre moved carefully through the city to the abandoned warehouse where he knew Colin would be preparing himself to kill his target. Inevitably, as he turned the corner, his old friend was there. Colin was glancing out the window, gaze fixated on the Regalian Embassy building, it was only a matter of minutes now, and then Pierre spoke up. He said; "It's not too late, Colin. I know some part of you understands what I am saying, and you know I'm right." and Colin swiftly turned, drawing his bow expertly as a broadhead was pointed directly at Pierre. "I thought you were told to leave?" and Pierre swiftly responded with, "And I thought we were brothers. You can come with me. For the sake of your daughter, Colin, please." and there was a pause of silence, like actual contemplation. Colin looked up toward Pierre with a glint in his eyes, a resistance, he was fighting himself internally as he spoke "Don't call me a brother when I don't even know /who you are/ anymore, Leandre! You're some fuck-all blueblood /straight from Regalia/, a spy. You're everything we stood against." and Pierre illustrated a look of sorry on his face, shaking it with a sigh as he raised his hands finally, speaking "Put the bow down. I have a lot to explain, I know, but I love you Colin. Look at everything we've done together… I lied to you. You're right, I am a noble, but I am /no spy/. I never was." he said with a voice that told sincerity. But Colin, on the other hand, his mind was flooding through everything the separatist movement meant to him. The training, the truth behind it's teachings and ideals. It never let him down, and Pierre had. He had to think for himself now, he had to think about his child. In a moment of panic, he let loose the arrow which flung itself steady into Pierre's shoulder, and readied another one as a Clockwork alarm chimed- the target was ready, pacing across the street, and there was only a moment to react. Colin drew back the string, aiming for the Regalian politician before he was tackled by Pierre. They wrestled for what seemed like an eternity.
Colin managed to grasp his bootknife and stab it into Pierre's leg, hearing the man cry out, he twisted it. They both sat in a pool of Pierre's blood. Colin let out a tired voice "I can't… I can't let you..- live." he said, with a look of truth in his face, "You'll ruin everything. So many people's lives.." he said, trying to convince himself to kill his one and only true friend. He grasped the knife from Pierre's leg with a weathered, and exasperated yell, he brought himself up like a bear ready to pounce and force the knife into Pierre's jugular. But, in surprise to himself, and in a blur, his knife met hardwood floors. Not Pierre. Instead, Pierre managed to roll out at the last second and get a chokehold on his Cearden brother. His legs forced Colin's arms by their side as a continuous stream of tears seeped down his cheeks. Colin gasped out.. "No.. no. Mer-- Mercy. Oh. Oh no." he said, writhing on top of Pierre, a warmth washed over him, Colin knew he'd die here, but he wouldn't without a small "Sorry… Adeline.." and then, absolute stillness. Colin was dead.
He stood up, tears seeping from his eyes as he continuously beat down upon Colin, pounding on his corpse with bloodied hands "Why! Tell me why!" he cried out, his dazed and confused form shaken. He tried to wake him up, shaking his brothers body. "Wake up, please- /wake up/! Oh fuck." he groaned out, looking up towards the sky, the Gods. He pleaded with them to take him instead, anything but have his brother's strangled body lay pathetic in front of him, forever still. Years later some would say the Gods obliged him, taking Leandre from everything he was, and everything he had been.
But then there was darkness.
Leandre sat there in a worn, beat up wooden chair, wires and tubes coming from a machine he wore over his head, a sheen of sweat layering his beat-up, and naked arms and torso. His hands clenching tight at the armrests as he let out harsh, ragged breaths. This device made him relive his memories, either from himself, or from others. The Delmotte sat there with his chest heaving from witnessing everything again, but as the Memkey popped out, it was all over now. That was the past. But, something within him made him slowly reach his hand up, fingertips threatening to press the key back into place, to relive everything oncemore, and though tears trickled down from beneath the helmet, it hadn't been that long, but he needed to see Colin's face one more time.
It replayed.
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