A mangy man sat down, facing the stool backward as he faced you. It seemed he was a lot older than others in the bar, though across him sat an interesting fellow with a notebook and a quill, nodding for him to speak his peace. Though this man was no regular investigator this was a confession to whatever god flew above the clouds.
Blood, it runs through all of our veins and it now stained my soft hands as I stared up at my shaking victim who was now powerless at my will. This blade? Well, this blade was a curse for no mere adolescent to obtain, no, not at my age anyway. Yet what was I supposed to do… someone lay dead, for me, a boy of Kinverla to bury their body eight feet under only days prior. I couldn't even close his damned eyes at night knowing that this creature, this fear, roamed the dark and so easily took and never gave. You know… I often wondered what it felt like to be at the hilt of the blade, and now that I finally experienced the drug, and it was addictive. So… what drove a sixteen-year-old boy to kill?
My half-brother Eadric was my caretaker. He was the type of guy that lit up the room when he walked into any watering-hole, people applauded him just for living. He was the oldest of who knows how many, but despite their differences in appearance Eadric and me were inseparable; we were the type of people who you called when you needed something done, no questions. People didn't exactly like us as much as they feared us. Eadric was about a dozen or so years older than me at the time, and it was clear as day. I don't believe the man ever shaved one day of his life, his mangy brown beard never grew though, as in it remained about two inches from his chin at all times. He had these big hands that could mask my face easily, and this guttural voice that could probably even scare Orcs. Eadric had this sort of walk, you know? The way he held himself was very forward, and prompt, as in… well, he was in your face before you even began talking, what's the word? Intimidating. Loud, though amusing to me at times. Me on the other hand? Not so much. Not at the time at least.
To be frank, I was a coward. Eadric knew this too, you know? I never could bring myself to do half things he asked, and I when I did I always made it harder than it had to be. I really couldn't do anything, I never went to school, I barely could readー and on top of all that I actually liked people in a job where everyone is an asshole. People amused me, kept me entertained, today? Not so much. I've learned the hard reality is that everyone wants something from you and if they say they say otherwise their lying. Even if it's just as cheap as company. Anyways… one particular night Eadric stormed into the nest, which was basically just a pit below a rundown bridge that my friends and I played blackjack in. But he ran in- foaming in the mouth even as he shouted about O'Malley brothers mugging our contact down by the mill. I liked O'Malley's, and they liked me because we knew each other growing up. They were like me and Eadric, but less talk and more action.
So similarly to my brother, we all put on our overthrows in this hellish weather and make our way down to the mill where black plumes of smoke were spotted as soon our eyes could see the sky, which was also tainted with this sooted fog. We never brought weapons, no, I don't believe it ever crossed any of our minds actually, people don't die in Kinverla- they learn a lesson or leave. Most of the time they just leave. We brought the only weapons we needed which were our fists. Of course, down the ways their they were drunk, hollering and laughing like a pack of hyenas. Their oldest, their leader Adam soon invited us over for a drink once spotted, and my brother soon met him with a fist to his jaw. You'd expect some long, drawn-out mud fight, but no… it was rather quick as Adam seemingly pulled a blade and continuously thrust the glistening steel into Eadric's abdomen. Of course, this felt like years, honestly, and I didn't do a damn thing. I watched as my friends ran from our aid- they just killed my brother. They killed Eadric.
After that I was drained of any color, I thought I was invisible honestly- they pointed the small blade toward me and spouted some threat which all sounded like white noise. I found myself standing there for at least an hour in shaking, and terrified shock, and it wasn't because of the O'Malley boys, it was because red pooled on my best friend's stomach and there was nothing I could do about it. So that night? I wept on his chest, my face soiled with his blood, and I didn't care. By dawn, I didn't even remember burying him in the midst of my hysterical fit. I was a complete, and utter mess of a boy. I had no one you know? Born to a whore and a Reverend, who of course didn't have the time of day. Eadric was my father, my mentor, and my best friend, all despite the fact he was only half my blood.
Two, three nights passed as I sat in the nest, not speaking a word. My stomach aches grew and my head hurt, extremely so. I hadn't eaten, drank, spoke, nor stood. I just sat there, and as I sat there I ran through the events again, and again, and again in my mind, I couldn't understand death- I never understood it. Why did I hurt, what was this pain? It never crossed my mind to retaliate, but I did it anyway on the fourth night. Not for me, not for Kinverla, but for Eadric. I didn't want to do it… well maybe part of me, but I know he'd be rolling in his makeshift grave cursing if I didn't. Tears never stopped during this process. I took a rock, and sharpened it to a makeshift shiv, just like Eadric taught me when we went fishing. You have to flay the fish and everything after one strong blow to the head. Eadric said the fish couldn't even feel it, and I prayed it would be the same for Adam O'Malley.
You know the rest of the story, and truthfully it hasn't ended yet. I don't think it ever will.
And at that, he stood, and sauntered out of the old stone-restaurant, a trail of smoke following him out the door as he lit a sigg.
@fuithlug @Patsie @Narrju @Jonificus @Katiesc @HobblingHobbit @AtticCat @Raeris
(Some edgy story that I finished up on a late night, tagged people who suggested me lore stories to write & those who might enjoy a good read, credit to Narrju for giving me somewhat of an idea. This is Nace telling the story of his first real crime that struck home with him. Definitely not perfect, but nonetheless- I worked and wrote a ton.)
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