Part I- Denial
The figure of a bearded man stormed through the flap of his tent, flinging his equipment to the floor. He was young, but seriously wounded, and his eyes brimming with tears. Barrulf clutched at the Eyepatch covering one eye, letting out a pained and sorrowful Roar, before falling quiet, letting his frame hit the sleeping bag with a thump.
"Im sorry Uncle. I thought myself to be strong enough to accomplish anything. I could not see how Naive I truly was. If I had just taken the proper precautions-- perhaps you'd be here right now, congratulating me on my victory…"
"I am truly sorry for being so weak."
Part II- Disappointment:
He fell into the guttering of the streets, a glob of spit landing beside his beaten, alcohol fuelled form. He watched as the people who he'd decided to pick a fight with walked off, cursing and stumbling off around the corner. Barrulf grunted, holding his head, and feeling the blood that was gushing from his beneath his eyepatch. He hadn't taken the grief of lose well-- his mind turning to the poison of drink and smoke. Anything to escape his nightmares late at night.
"I am Sorry Uncle...Im not strong enough to go on without you being there to catch me at every step. Im sorry im such a disappointment."
Part III- Departure
And yet, Within that very same month, The man was packing his bags, and bidding farewell to his parents with a teary hug to the both of them. After his night of being beaten, his father spoke to him, and said that it might be best for him to forge his own path in a better place. It was here that he'd realise what a fool he'd been. He had been so conflicted with coming to terms with his uncles passing, that Barrulf had forgotten his uncles most important rule-- never give up. As he set sail for his departure to the holy city, He only hoped that he could find the peace he'd been seeking after where he was going. he took the newly received glass eye, and went to pop it into his socket, before looking out over the wide Ocean.
"Onwards to Regalia."
The years after that flew by-- Memories of meeting associates, joining charters, making friends, both common and powerful. then the memory set on one individual-- one smiling at him, his arms held her close, and she looked at him with loving intentions...before a light brought him from his dream state.
Part VI- Reflection:
The Full moon shone on through the regal curtains of the Palaces guard room, and inside, a grumble emitted from the one-eyed Drakken. He tossed to the other side of his bed, but it was no use-- he was awake now. Begrudgingly, he rose from his bed, Pulling on a pair of cotton pants, his ruined and scarred flesh being revealing in the beams of light emanating from between the curtains.
"I should be in bed.." He noted in his head. He'd not had much sleep of late, with all the activity and work he'd been up to; along with the dreams he'd been having. Despite these thoughts though, he exited his room, walked the length of the hallway, and down a flight of grand stairs. He needed something to help him sleep.
Once he was settled, the 30-something Anglian man sat himself near the window, overlooking the ocean. He looked at the Whiskey in his hand, and sighed, before taking a large gulp of the stuff. He thought of the first time he'd tasted the sweet burning nectar, and he smiled warmly at the thought. It was strange, all of his best memories of late had included that very person.. All those "one more drinks" and forbidden secrets that may never cross his lips. They made him feel like a human again, and less like some animal. guess that's what happens when you love someone though-- you can barely get them off your mind. Though, the same could be said of those you hate...
Barrulf stared out over the Ocean, daydreaming of what could've been. His mind wandered to so many places-- His love, His deceased Uncle, His goals and those who opposed them. His thoughts settled upon his faith-- Almost instinctively, as if it had a mind of its own, the hand bearing the Sigil of Strength-- a single gauntlet on his left hand, rose up for him to inspect. He scoffed at the thought.
"Funny how im to represent Strength and Adaptability in Union..and yet, Im still weak. Cant even resist the urge for a drink anymore..Cant resist taking one too many hits, cant resist that one, final kiss..what have I truly learned"
He stood up then, rather abruptly, downing the rest of his whiskey. He exited via the back-door, into the yard. The cool breeze did much to soothe him, and reminded him of his humanity as it bit as his flesh like tiny daggers. He held there for a few moments, reminiscing to himself on past events..and finally, he smiled, looking up at that great wide moon.
"..Hah, yeah im Weak. But is that such a bad thing? Is it even weakness? I wish you could give me the answers, Uncle..But I know I can figure them out myself. i have my own path to continue building."
With one final nod of confirmation, the Wolf-like Anglian folded his arms over his chest, and moved to head back inside, for a well deserved rest. He felt like he'd earned it.
The years after that flew by-- Memories of meeting associates, joining charters, making friends, both common and powerful. then the memory set on one individual-- one smiling at him, his arms held her close, and she looked at him with loving intentions...before a light brought him from his dream state.
Part VI- Reflection:
The Full moon shone on through the regal curtains of the Palaces guard room, and inside, a grumble emitted from the one-eyed Drakken. He tossed to the other side of his bed, but it was no use-- he was awake now. Begrudgingly, he rose from his bed, Pulling on a pair of cotton pants, his ruined and scarred flesh being revealing in the beams of light emanating from between the curtains.
"I should be in bed.." He noted in his head. He'd not had much sleep of late, with all the activity and work he'd been up to; along with the dreams he'd been having. Despite these thoughts though, he exited his room, walked the length of the hallway, and down a flight of grand stairs. He needed something to help him sleep.
Once he was settled, the 30-something Anglian man sat himself near the window, overlooking the ocean. He looked at the Whiskey in his hand, and sighed, before taking a large gulp of the stuff. He thought of the first time he'd tasted the sweet burning nectar, and he smiled warmly at the thought. It was strange, all of his best memories of late had included that very person.. All those "one more drinks" and forbidden secrets that may never cross his lips. They made him feel like a human again, and less like some animal. guess that's what happens when you love someone though-- you can barely get them off your mind. Though, the same could be said of those you hate...
Barrulf stared out over the Ocean, daydreaming of what could've been. His mind wandered to so many places-- His love, His deceased Uncle, His goals and those who opposed them. His thoughts settled upon his faith-- Almost instinctively, as if it had a mind of its own, the hand bearing the Sigil of Strength-- a single gauntlet on his left hand, rose up for him to inspect. He scoffed at the thought.
"Funny how im to represent Strength and Adaptability in Union..and yet, Im still weak. Cant even resist the urge for a drink anymore..Cant resist taking one too many hits, cant resist that one, final kiss..what have I truly learned"
He stood up then, rather abruptly, downing the rest of his whiskey. He exited via the back-door, into the yard. The cool breeze did much to soothe him, and reminded him of his humanity as it bit as his flesh like tiny daggers. He held there for a few moments, reminiscing to himself on past events..and finally, he smiled, looking up at that great wide moon.
"..Hah, yeah im Weak. But is that such a bad thing? Is it even weakness? I wish you could give me the answers, Uncle..But I know I can figure them out myself. i have my own path to continue building."
With one final nod of confirmation, the Wolf-like Anglian folded his arms over his chest, and moved to head back inside, for a well deserved rest. He felt like he'd earned it.
