Post by Darkfall on Jul 29, 2010 21:44:16 GMT -5
Sebastian leans back against a tree on the edge of the farmlands with his tower shield and longsword set behind it leaning against the tree beside his head. In the darknesss of the dead of night, typically fully armored, Sebastian enjoys a rare comfort for himself, the chest plate of his armor lays to his left, his torso naked in the cool night air.
As he lays back with his hands folded and resting on his chest, his eyes slowly close as he lets himself fall into much needed sleep, a quiet prayer to Vithar, The Lord of Retribution, Sebastian's true deity, upon his lips.
"Let my rest come..undisturbed..just a few...moments.."
His quiet thoughts of prayer wash away under the tidal wave of sleep washing over the tired man, but his tormented dreams never far off, so vivid and real.
Sebastian watches himself walk through the woods quietly as can be, though his plate boots still clack against the soft and mossy ground as he makes his way quickly ahead of him toward the sounds of a fight he hears infront of himself. The dreams are always the same, one of a recurring three that plague him over and over.
For days he had been tracking this particular grouping of bandits, each and all of their names ending up on his little list. Six of them in total; Zane, Wilhelm, Drake, Ikan, Sierra and Luria. A close knit band of thieves, these six proved particularly dangerous in that they were actually loyal to one another. But these six had robbed many of their loved ones along this road, the wares of many good people stolen, along other unspeakable atrocities. And so an Avenger was called, Sebastian's true vocation. A man driven by rage and revenge, but unable to get it for himself, he instead transfers this desire to help others, becoming the striking hand of vengance for those who cannot take it themselves.
Coming to the tree line, Sebastian stares out across the open land infront of him, only seven or so feet of it, the group of his six targets running about laughing in the aftermath of a slaughter of a small family of merchants, two males one older and one younger lay dead infront of the wagon, their throats slit. Drake, the leader of the small band laughs as he crouched over the body of the older dead male, speaking in a high pitched and mocking voice as he moves the lower jaw, snickering after only a few words, three other males and one of the females of the grouping about him snickering just as much if not more, while Wilhelm and Sierra, presumably as in Sebastian's report those two are involved, head inside of the wagon alone.
Shaking lightly, Sebastian raises his left hand to rub against his nose as he sniffles against the cold air, drifting into thought a moment. Another family destroyed, maybe two judging by the younger dead man, and for what? Riches? He growls quietly, this being a pain Sebastian knows all too well, his rage that he tries so desperately to beat down and control beginning to bubble up within him. Sliding his shield off of his back he straps it to his right forearm leaving his longsword behind the shield, his narrowed eyes on those infront of him, his hand slipping down into his belt pouch to draw out three small rounded glass vials, filled with a clear liquid. Rolling them over the metal of his palm a moment he reaches back, as a shout of alarm is raised as the male, Wilhem, peeks his head from the wagon and sees Sebastian's movement. But it is too late, the three glass vials already flying through the air directally toward the wagon, he himself striding out toward them drawing his sword from behing his shield even as they explode against the wagon, his rage boiling over into the blank and unfeeling state common to Avengers. The fight that ensues is nothing but fire, rage and blood to Sebastian, but by the end of it, his six targets are dead. Turning to walk back the way he came and leaving the dead uncerimonously strewn about the road, Sebastian steals a glance inside of the burning wagon, only to see a woman of dark brown hair clutching a girl of black hair to her chest, appearing to be six years of age. He pauses and falls to his knees, unable to wretch his gaze from the two dead, pinned together by a sword. With an anguished howl, the dream ends, fading to blackness before the waking world returns to him.
Slowly, Sebastian's eyes open as he looks across the Rhandil Road, lit by moonlight, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat. With a tired sigh, he reaches to his left beside his chestplate and into his pack, drawing out a book, inkwell and wraped quill. Having taken lately to writing his thoughts in a journal instead of chancing sleep, he opens the book, unwrapps the quill and uncaps the inkwell. Sitting up a bit he rests the book on his lap, dipping the quill into the ink before beinging it to the page, he begins to write.
"Another day, and another night, still with no orders, I am cursed to inactivity, to sit idle and wait. Though I have begun to grow anxious and wonder as to why the Church has sent me here, I have seen nothing to indicate my skills are needed. Everything in the region as far as I have seen so far is normal, much like my childhood when my father and mother would bring me here to...stretch my legs, so to speak. And I have indeed looked, extensively. But I have faith in my Lord, and my Church that I am indeed needed here, I just must practice a bit of patience and just wait.
Though, I do not think it is all bad. I have actually even come close to enjoying my time so far here, which is more then I can say for a long time. I've met several interesting people. Amy and Mara, women from another world. Feanor, a man of the Vestlig and faithful of Ilîhum. Kael, a lumberjack of the Skyogen and Sasha, a wild elven woman of the forest. All very interesting and good people, I am glad to say I have known them and grown close to them, though some more so then others. I will be sad the day I have ended my latest target and have to move on from this region. But, this is my path in life that has been placed before me and that I have chosen. I strike back for those who cannot, or those who fear to. Every target dead brings me closer, every order recieved brings the chance of the names of my family's murderers...
....I just wish they would all hurry up."
He blows on the ink of his most current page a moment to dry it before closing the book, wrapping the quill and capping the inkwell to replace them all inside of his pack. Crossing his left ankle on his right knee he stares up into the sky at the stars for the remainder of the night, though his gaze is inward, reliving the happier portions of his in his mind to burn away the remanats of his nightmare.
As he lays back with his hands folded and resting on his chest, his eyes slowly close as he lets himself fall into much needed sleep, a quiet prayer to Vithar, The Lord of Retribution, Sebastian's true deity, upon his lips.
"Let my rest come..undisturbed..just a few...moments.."
His quiet thoughts of prayer wash away under the tidal wave of sleep washing over the tired man, but his tormented dreams never far off, so vivid and real.
Sebastian watches himself walk through the woods quietly as can be, though his plate boots still clack against the soft and mossy ground as he makes his way quickly ahead of him toward the sounds of a fight he hears infront of himself. The dreams are always the same, one of a recurring three that plague him over and over.
For days he had been tracking this particular grouping of bandits, each and all of their names ending up on his little list. Six of them in total; Zane, Wilhelm, Drake, Ikan, Sierra and Luria. A close knit band of thieves, these six proved particularly dangerous in that they were actually loyal to one another. But these six had robbed many of their loved ones along this road, the wares of many good people stolen, along other unspeakable atrocities. And so an Avenger was called, Sebastian's true vocation. A man driven by rage and revenge, but unable to get it for himself, he instead transfers this desire to help others, becoming the striking hand of vengance for those who cannot take it themselves.
Coming to the tree line, Sebastian stares out across the open land infront of him, only seven or so feet of it, the group of his six targets running about laughing in the aftermath of a slaughter of a small family of merchants, two males one older and one younger lay dead infront of the wagon, their throats slit. Drake, the leader of the small band laughs as he crouched over the body of the older dead male, speaking in a high pitched and mocking voice as he moves the lower jaw, snickering after only a few words, three other males and one of the females of the grouping about him snickering just as much if not more, while Wilhelm and Sierra, presumably as in Sebastian's report those two are involved, head inside of the wagon alone.
Shaking lightly, Sebastian raises his left hand to rub against his nose as he sniffles against the cold air, drifting into thought a moment. Another family destroyed, maybe two judging by the younger dead man, and for what? Riches? He growls quietly, this being a pain Sebastian knows all too well, his rage that he tries so desperately to beat down and control beginning to bubble up within him. Sliding his shield off of his back he straps it to his right forearm leaving his longsword behind the shield, his narrowed eyes on those infront of him, his hand slipping down into his belt pouch to draw out three small rounded glass vials, filled with a clear liquid. Rolling them over the metal of his palm a moment he reaches back, as a shout of alarm is raised as the male, Wilhem, peeks his head from the wagon and sees Sebastian's movement. But it is too late, the three glass vials already flying through the air directally toward the wagon, he himself striding out toward them drawing his sword from behing his shield even as they explode against the wagon, his rage boiling over into the blank and unfeeling state common to Avengers. The fight that ensues is nothing but fire, rage and blood to Sebastian, but by the end of it, his six targets are dead. Turning to walk back the way he came and leaving the dead uncerimonously strewn about the road, Sebastian steals a glance inside of the burning wagon, only to see a woman of dark brown hair clutching a girl of black hair to her chest, appearing to be six years of age. He pauses and falls to his knees, unable to wretch his gaze from the two dead, pinned together by a sword. With an anguished howl, the dream ends, fading to blackness before the waking world returns to him.
Slowly, Sebastian's eyes open as he looks across the Rhandil Road, lit by moonlight, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat. With a tired sigh, he reaches to his left beside his chestplate and into his pack, drawing out a book, inkwell and wraped quill. Having taken lately to writing his thoughts in a journal instead of chancing sleep, he opens the book, unwrapps the quill and uncaps the inkwell. Sitting up a bit he rests the book on his lap, dipping the quill into the ink before beinging it to the page, he begins to write.
"Another day, and another night, still with no orders, I am cursed to inactivity, to sit idle and wait. Though I have begun to grow anxious and wonder as to why the Church has sent me here, I have seen nothing to indicate my skills are needed. Everything in the region as far as I have seen so far is normal, much like my childhood when my father and mother would bring me here to...stretch my legs, so to speak. And I have indeed looked, extensively. But I have faith in my Lord, and my Church that I am indeed needed here, I just must practice a bit of patience and just wait.
Though, I do not think it is all bad. I have actually even come close to enjoying my time so far here, which is more then I can say for a long time. I've met several interesting people. Amy and Mara, women from another world. Feanor, a man of the Vestlig and faithful of Ilîhum. Kael, a lumberjack of the Skyogen and Sasha, a wild elven woman of the forest. All very interesting and good people, I am glad to say I have known them and grown close to them, though some more so then others. I will be sad the day I have ended my latest target and have to move on from this region. But, this is my path in life that has been placed before me and that I have chosen. I strike back for those who cannot, or those who fear to. Every target dead brings me closer, every order recieved brings the chance of the names of my family's murderers...
....I just wish they would all hurry up."
He blows on the ink of his most current page a moment to dry it before closing the book, wrapping the quill and capping the inkwell to replace them all inside of his pack. Crossing his left ankle on his right knee he stares up into the sky at the stars for the remainder of the night, though his gaze is inward, reliving the happier portions of his in his mind to burn away the remanats of his nightmare.