Matt sat at his desk, his feet up as he drank his morning coffee.
Relaxed and refreshed, having woken up like a king, four hours past sunrise. it was a great morning- just like any other since he had started his well paying establishment.
He closed his eyes as he enjoyed the warm sunlight flowing through the glass window behind him. Though for a while now he had been hearing some scuffling and clanging from the floors above his. Maybe his hired brawn were having a brawl, or some much-needed practice. If that was so, it seemed even the gods approved of his 'orphanage'. He let out a huff of mirth. Things were going his way today, and maybe he'll have an even more important guest then usual. That's when I crashed through the window swinging from Creed's tail, as both he and I fell on top of the director, but I managed to stab his shoulder and left the blade imbedded lest i nick Creed or myself as we tumbled.
"I knew it wasn't gonna work!" Creed complained from on top of me.
"It's not my fault! All the best ideas never do! And besides, we still managed to survive, and they didn't! So we succeeded regardless! I don't see why you're " "'cause! You were goin' 'round sayin' 'oh, look at me! I've got a plan, I'm so smart!' only to literally get us in the middle of 'em " "ow! Hey that's my stomach!"
"And how was I s'posed to know that's your stomach"
"Well sorry for being so fat!" I yelled back.
We paused, letting what happened sink in. Then we both chuckled, and when we saw each other chuckling, we started giggling like little girls. We were both having trouble breathing, clutching at our sides from excessive giggles. With bruises and cuts everywhere from having been knocked out and swung in through windows, brawling and the like, we looked like a mess. Creed had thrown his rapier when we both tumbled, so he could grab a ledge and- well, try to hang on, but me grabbing his tail kind of impeded his efforts, and that's when we fell. Now it was on the window sill.
Aesher and Seriven both burst through the door to see us giggling like idiots, rolling on the floor.
Seriven left with an "Idiots", and Aesher gently closed the door behind him.
With calming down, I asked "what's her problem?"
"Her?"
"Seriven."
And that set him off again, this time on a laughing spree, which of course I joined.
"She...she..." He'd mutter every few seconds before continuing to laugh.
Finally he manged to add, in addition to the world 'She', 'is a HE', before completely loosing it.
.......
"Ah, hah, oh my sides. Someone save me..." Creed said in between giggles.
"Then why... Does he look like that..." I asked while panting.
"He's a half elf" was his answer.
Then a message popped up infront of me.
| Please select one of the following for your starting class: |
| Fighter |
| The standard militant that comes in many forms and uniforms. |
| Bard |
| Shapers of the echoes of reality, they channel magic and spells through song or verse. |
| Rogue |
| People who have not experienced those who fight in an underhanded manner often underestimate them. Those who have, often don't have the chance to. |
| Barbarian |
| Primitive wrath, the anger of a thousand lives courses in a single moment, and fills with endless strength. |
| Wizard |
| Researchers of the arcane and mystic arts, striving to enhance and advance the knowledge of magic. |
|
I sat up and held my chin in my fingers, feeling a bit of a stubble as I considered. One of them stood out from the rest, and it immediately caught my eye. It reminded me of how I've been living untill now.
The past day- actually the past week, had been a constant rush of adrenaline, a rush for survival. Fires and explosions everywhere, projectiles flying, fleeing, fighting.
Killing. Lots and lots of killing. Was it bad? Probably, but it didn't feel that way. The blood, the wounds, the constant movement- but the guilt was absent. Fear and pain inconsequential. For the past six years, life had been one lethal crises after another, and people had died constantly- my own family was no exception.
I looked to the side and saw Creed staring at me intently.
"You have killed." He said cryptically.
"No kidding." I said sarcastically.
"Before," he clarified. "Lots."
"What happened to not being a visionary?" I asked, a wry smile playing at my lips.
"And still you laugh." He had a stone cold stare. "I am not a visionary. But I have seen some muck and know the eyes of those who kill. There are those who fear what they have become, those who embrace. Those who's gaze tells all that they haven't killed many, and those who look with the eye that says killing is just every other day. Those who see with a gaze to hunt, and those who see what must be done to protect. And they all had a lust and an anchor. Some balanced, and some swayed in either direction. But yours are not so. They're full of mirth and hope, but the guilt is absent. There is no bloodlust, and no weight of lives to bear. It is as though you haven't killed, yet I had seen your blade lay claim to dozens with these eyes."
A silence hung after he said that, his deep voice making his words have more weight to them as they reverberated throughout the room. My own were forming, and he was willing to wait. I didn't know where the cheery friend who I had chatted throughout the night, who just moments before we laughed our stomachs out together went, but I liked him either way, and I believed him to be trustworthy if he saw me as such. So I answered.
"There are occasionally those born with the Redness; usually they bear a trait of red- skin, hair. sometimes they don't, but are discovered by chance. We have no need to kill, but are ready to kill at the drop of a pin, and we can ignore pain. Normal Reddend naturally lust for blood- it is like an itch; to not do so would be uncomfortable, unnatural.
But often born among the tribes of my people are the Fair Eyes. The Fair Eyed are emotional yet collected, skillful at guiding their emotions. Those who are Reddened and Fair Eyed do not feel an itch to kill, but when necessary we do so cleanly and without hesitation. We are not persecuted by our people, though; in times of peace we become butchers, in times of war- soldiers, heroes."
Creed sat silently for awhile, his red eyes observing as though drilling through me. They were cat like, the red like a cavern, and the slit like a void, so if you stared long enough it felt like you were falling inside. Into an Abyss.
Man, he looked like Satan.
"Muck, friend, that's some real scary stuff you're saying. I definitely prefer you as a friend," He finally said.
"Congratulations, you've moved from my kill list to my shit list." I said jokingly.
"What's the difference?"
"The latter's done in the forest, and you get a proper burial afterwards."
He gave me the widest smile I'd ever seen in my life.
"Careful Creed, you'll split your face with that smile of yours."
I grinned and his smile somehow widened. A real ear to ear.
"That's just creepy. Now I don't know whether I should be worried, horrified or gratified."
He laughed and offered his hand, which I took without hesitation, and we helped each other up.
"We should probably meet the others 'bout now," he stated, as we both reclaimed our weapons.
"But first," I said, causing him to turn to me. "Why do you look like a demon?"
He grinned and said "rude, Nock, I'm only half!"
And I made my choice.
