Chairman Kaga
living in the past
- 12,044
- Posts
- 20
- Years
- Age 36
- Kitchen Stadium
- Seen Mar 9, 2013
Ayrix knelt at the side of the small brook, far away from the campsite and concealed in a large patch of tall grass. It was a pleasant place to be on an equally pleasant day, as the wind was gently blowing the reeds, and the soft sound of the brook along with the gentile croaking of a few nearby frogs and the singing of birds in the distance made the place feel almost as if it was out of a storybook. He noticed none of this; his mind felt too full of his own thoughts and feelings to take in anything from outside.
The events of the previous night were still plaguing him, and he couldn't stop thinking about how he had almost killed everyone. He was a liability now, and he had a feeling that his other comrades would be somewhat fearful of him from now on...he had seen what had happened to the mysterious valkryie Eagleye when the sage had taken her over...it was only by a stroke of luck that Ayrix survived, somehow noticing that her movements were not natural and inferred someone had taken control of her. He wondered if the same fate was in store for him, to simply be a tool for murder. That was why he had left Etruria, but here in Lycia it seemed his flight had been for naught, he was still hunted for the special talent he had possessed, the one that he must never reveal to his comrades.
Ayrix leaned close to the brook and dunked his newly-fixed robe into the cold water, trying to wash away all the dried blood on it...whenever he looked at the blood the most horrific images of battle came to his mind. One spot came from when he had blown an axeman's arm off with Fenrir and he still fought, sloshing his own blood on Ayrix in his death throes. Another spot was from where he had burned the skin off a young brigand and as he fell, dead, he brushed aside Ayrix, leaving the stain. He had once tripped and fell in a puddle of someone's blood, and that stain had never fully come out either...Ayrix forced back tears, thinking of how many lives he had taken...he beat his robe on the side of the creek with a stone, hoping to break up the dried blood, but some of it refused to come out.
Mementos of massacres... ,thought Ayrix, grimly, and still so many bloodbaths yet to be...
The events of the previous night were still plaguing him, and he couldn't stop thinking about how he had almost killed everyone. He was a liability now, and he had a feeling that his other comrades would be somewhat fearful of him from now on...he had seen what had happened to the mysterious valkryie Eagleye when the sage had taken her over...it was only by a stroke of luck that Ayrix survived, somehow noticing that her movements were not natural and inferred someone had taken control of her. He wondered if the same fate was in store for him, to simply be a tool for murder. That was why he had left Etruria, but here in Lycia it seemed his flight had been for naught, he was still hunted for the special talent he had possessed, the one that he must never reveal to his comrades.
Ayrix leaned close to the brook and dunked his newly-fixed robe into the cold water, trying to wash away all the dried blood on it...whenever he looked at the blood the most horrific images of battle came to his mind. One spot came from when he had blown an axeman's arm off with Fenrir and he still fought, sloshing his own blood on Ayrix in his death throes. Another spot was from where he had burned the skin off a young brigand and as he fell, dead, he brushed aside Ayrix, leaving the stain. He had once tripped and fell in a puddle of someone's blood, and that stain had never fully come out either...Ayrix forced back tears, thinking of how many lives he had taken...he beat his robe on the side of the creek with a stone, hoping to break up the dried blood, but some of it refused to come out.
Mementos of massacres... ,thought Ayrix, grimly, and still so many bloodbaths yet to be...