Post by Cynric Arunas on Jul 24, 2020 22:35:40 GMT -5
CUT ME OPEN AND I STILL BLEED RED
In truth, the elf cared little for the comings and goings of humans, which… Considering his human mother, who had been dead for nearly four years, said a lot about just how jaded he had become. Once upon a time, he had been a happy lad, oblivious to his mother's ailment. Now, all he felt was hollow. Even now, after all the attempts that had been made to drive him away, he remained. Why was beyond him. All he knew for certain was that he wanted no part of nobility and, by extension, the Magic Knights. If he truly was not wanted in the region in which he had been born, he would be more than happy to oblige their apparent desires and exile himself to the forsaken region.
He doubted he would garner much in the way of camaraderie there. He absently fiddled with the project he was working on, trying to focus his concentration. Even then, though, he seemed worlds away. One wrong move could spell assured injury. He was a gifted craftsman, certainly, but he was by no means perfect. Brow knitting slightly, he shifted in his tattered chair. Inlaying Shakudo was both troublesome and lucrative if one knew how to do it properly.
Finally, the sweltering of the sun that hung overhead became practically unbearable. He huffed a little bit and stood up, placing his hands on his hips as he glared down at the item he was attempting to inlay. "Be that way, then!" He spat at it in frustration, knowing the item couldn't exactly respond. Why couldn't he have had a more useful ability? Something flashier, even! Instead, he had gotten saddled with an element that he felt was beneath him and didn't match his aesthetic whatsoever.
He turned his head to glower at the onlookers, defiance sparking in his icy eyes. "Show's over!" He snapped, his eyes flashing almost dangerously. As the crowd started to disperse, he stared back down at his little project. If he couldn't use his element to craft finery and make money, what good was it? All it allowed him to do was throw up barriers and make golems… oh and run away. How could he forget that little tidbit?!
Maybe his element suited him, after all. He had never really had the stomach for battle, after all. Sure, he would often jump to the defense of innocent commoners, even knowing they likely hated his putrid guts, but… Why would he do such things? Did he have some death wish not even he was aware of? His lip started to curl with disdain. His life had been a circus from start to finish and why he thought it would change now was beyond him. His father was rotting in some dungeon and here he was, likely heading for the same path… if his mother could see him now, she would likely smack him upside his stupid head.
The more he thought of his mother, the more sadness threatened to consume him. His throat tightened and he closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the onslaught of emotions. Why couldn't his father have been a low-ranking noble like his mother had once claimed? Why couldn't he have done something right by Cynric? Had he ever even met his father? He tried to sift through his memories and when he came up with nothing, his mood shifted once more, this time to barely bridled rage. Everything that could go wrong with his life had gone wrong and he was getting sick of always drawing the short straw.
He doubted he would garner much in the way of camaraderie there. He absently fiddled with the project he was working on, trying to focus his concentration. Even then, though, he seemed worlds away. One wrong move could spell assured injury. He was a gifted craftsman, certainly, but he was by no means perfect. Brow knitting slightly, he shifted in his tattered chair. Inlaying Shakudo was both troublesome and lucrative if one knew how to do it properly.
Finally, the sweltering of the sun that hung overhead became practically unbearable. He huffed a little bit and stood up, placing his hands on his hips as he glared down at the item he was attempting to inlay. "Be that way, then!" He spat at it in frustration, knowing the item couldn't exactly respond. Why couldn't he have had a more useful ability? Something flashier, even! Instead, he had gotten saddled with an element that he felt was beneath him and didn't match his aesthetic whatsoever.
He turned his head to glower at the onlookers, defiance sparking in his icy eyes. "Show's over!" He snapped, his eyes flashing almost dangerously. As the crowd started to disperse, he stared back down at his little project. If he couldn't use his element to craft finery and make money, what good was it? All it allowed him to do was throw up barriers and make golems… oh and run away. How could he forget that little tidbit?!
Maybe his element suited him, after all. He had never really had the stomach for battle, after all. Sure, he would often jump to the defense of innocent commoners, even knowing they likely hated his putrid guts, but… Why would he do such things? Did he have some death wish not even he was aware of? His lip started to curl with disdain. His life had been a circus from start to finish and why he thought it would change now was beyond him. His father was rotting in some dungeon and here he was, likely heading for the same path… if his mother could see him now, she would likely smack him upside his stupid head.
The more he thought of his mother, the more sadness threatened to consume him. His throat tightened and he closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to ward off the onslaught of emotions. Why couldn't his father have been a low-ranking noble like his mother had once claimed? Why couldn't he have done something right by Cynric? Had he ever even met his father? He tried to sift through his memories and when he came up with nothing, his mood shifted once more, this time to barely bridled rage. Everything that could go wrong with his life had gone wrong and he was getting sick of always drawing the short straw.
word count: 592 | total word count: 592
template by punki of adoxography
