Lessons -
Abric - November 9, 2005
“Hm Hm Hm, dah dah dah.”
With a wordless tune hummed, Edgar admired his handiwork. Before
him was a ram-shackled collection of twigs and leaves, formed
into what could be considered some sort of house. Held together
by only the sheer amount of materials used, a few of the sticks
that stuck out of the main hold had some bits gouged out, to look
like windows. To Edgar, it was a masterpiece that rivaled the far
off stories of Stormwind Keep itself.
Plopping down to the ground, Edgar leaned back on his hands,
looking to a tree that stood an arms length away. In that tree, a
squirrel cautiously watching what the boy was doing, since he
first entered the small grove of trees.
“Why yes, Sir Squirrel. Your castle is ready! Here, you can rule
over alllllll the other squirrels in the land. We will call it
Squirrel Ke- ooh. Where are you going, Sir Squirrel? Oh, shoot!”
Edgar huffed with frustration as the squirrel bolted back into
the unseen reaches of the tree. Looking down to the Castle of
Squirrel, Edgar could not lose the smile on his face. It was an
awfully good castle, he thought. Though, more in the shade than
he liked. It was shade, strangely, that wasn’t there moments ago.
Shade in the form of a man.
Leaping to his feet, Edgar thought his father may have found his
secret playground. Excuses began to tumble inside his head, and
started to make their way to his lips. They died just as they
started, as he noticed this man was not his father.
“Oh hello, uh, sir.” Edgar’s words were stuttered uncomfortably,
just as the bow he made to the man was. Straightening, he tugged
at the hem of his tunic, eyeballing the man; thinking it might be
a friend of his fathers.
Immediately, Edgar knew he couldn’t be. This stranger looked very
sickly. Slightly hunched over, he was dressed in an odd
collection of leathers. The armor, Edgar thought some of it
looked familiar, could not hide the very thin frame of the man.
Too thin, Edgar could see it in the face. The skin seemed to be
stretched over his skull, the lips thin and grayed. No hair grew
on the man’s head, but not like grandpa’s head. There seemed to
still be strands of blonde hair, but very thin. It looked like
all of his hair was ripped out; dark blue and purple welts dotted
the stranger’s scalp.
“It is not everyday I find a young child, straying from his
home.”
When the stranger spoke, Edgar felt like he did something
terribly wrong. The tone of the stranger’s voice sounded like his
father talking to their neighbor, whenever his dog got out and
chased the hens around.
“S-sir, I was out playing and, and I was go-“
Edgar closed his lips together as the man knelt down, looking eye
to eye with him. An uncomfortable feeling came over him, as he
looked into the eyes of the stranger. The eyes, that seemed to
almost be glowing with some sort of strange light. Tears started
to well up in Edgar’s eyes, not understanding what feeling was
coming over him.
“Are you to cry, child? Is there something not… agreeing with
you, hm?”
A meek cry escaped the sealed lips of Edgar, the man’s voice the
catalyst for a foundation of tears to erupt from him.
“Ah, yes, child… the natural defense mechanism. Pity is what you
seek, or possibly the end of whatever form of punishment you are
seeing in the future. I remember, for I did it as well. How
strange, to think everyone of us do.”
Edgar didn’t understand what the man was saying. Losing his
composure, he fell to his knees. He wanted to stop looking at the
man, but he couldn’t. Even blurred from the tears, Edgar could
not look away. He tried to think who this was and why the
stranger was speaking so mean to him. Never having met anybody
like him, the stories of his father started to filter to him.
My son, you must be very careful not to leave sight of the farms.
There are more cruel things out there than bears and bullies.
They live in Tarren Mill, that place I showed you on the map. We
call them Forsaken, and they only mean bad things for us all.
“P-ple-please don…” Edgar tried to plead for the man to leave him
alone, but he couldn’t form the words, his crying become more
verbal; gasping for breath between his sobs.
“Please? Please what, child? Do you ask me for something, or do
you ask something of me? Hm? I see you cannot form the words…
afraid of the unknown. You seem young, but not stupid. You may
not know who I am, but you know *what* I am.”
Edgar saw through his tears, the strange man reach up and run a
gloved hand through his hair. The touch revolted him, for there
was no warmth that came through the leathered covered digits of
the stranger. Edgar could not shy away from it, unable to do
anything but cry.
“It is very unbecoming of a boy to cry like you are now. Peasants
and women do such things. Ah, but then… you are a mere peasant.
You cannot help yourself. It is in your blood.”
The stranger kept stroking Edgar’s head, as if it was some
revolting comparison to the way his father patted his head after
helping with the morning chores. Soon, it was the only thing that
kept Edgar on his knees; and not curled into a ball on the
ground.
“Shhh, now. You should feel some self confidence, boy. If it was
not me that would have found you, it may have been one of my
more… monstrous, companions. Do not feel the fear of me feasting
on you like some pig. I am here, to give you a lesson. A lesson
you will carry with you for the rest of your days. Today will be
a day you will remember, even if it is not my face or my words
that you remember the most. Yes, child, I think you understand
now. I am not the reaper, or a collector of souls. I am no
boogeyman hiding in the dark. I am a teacher… and I am here to
teach you a lesson. The lesson of silence, and the many things it
brings.”
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It took Edgar’s father and one of Southshore guard’s many hours
to find the grove of trees, which was Edgar’s secret playground.
The motionless body of the boy was first sighted the guard.
Fearing the worst, he tried to hold back the father, telling him
to turn from the sight. Of course, a father’s love could not be
held back from the fate of his own.
Pushing the guard aside, he moved to kneel near his boy, placing
a calloused hand to the small shoulder. There was no fear in the
first tones of the father, for he saw his son’s chest rise and
fall with life. Yet, when he looked upon his son’s face,
”Edgar, Edgar... oh by the Light.”
His son’s face was covered in dried blood, smeared over by his
own small hands. Cut marks were across the jaw and cheeks, as if
he was fighting something off. These cuts, though, were not the
worst of the wounds. When Edgar was finally shaken conscious, the
boy’s eyes widened and his mouth opened to emit a scream. A
scream, which would forever be silent. His tongue had been cut
out.
Only later, after the Magistrate was called in from Southshore to
investigate the incident, was the removed appendage found.
Placed, what could be noted carefully, inside the stick house...
the self-proclaimed Castle of Squirrel.