Broken
Re: Broken
((huzzah!))
If the people raise a great howl against my barbarity and cruelty, I will answer that war is war, and not popularity seeking.
Re: Broken
Anaie had purposely avoided visiting the Brokenspear Tavern in Warspear. She was so furious when she saw how her sister was acting at the Grim meeting, so angry that she almost gave in to them. She always heard them, the voices of all her kills, from the lowliest foot-soldier on the battlefield, to the most powerful of the denizens to ever threaten the world. She learned to repress nearly all, though the more powerful spirits could not be stopped.
Today the spirits were quite active. However, today a new voice chimed into her head. Derrick Breen, her birth father.
You should kill her. Just like I should have all those years ago, as well as you and your mother and Laurel. She is weak, just like you. Filthy forsaken. Now look at her, she serves others just like she did after I gave her to that drunk.
Anaie shook her head, "Shut it ya worthless, gamblin' drunk! Yer da weak one... always was!"
I am glad you both became the vile creatures I knew you were at heart when I gave you both up. Put her down, and then yourself. Do what is right for the world. No one would miss two murderous daughters.
"Enough!!!" Anaie screamed as she stormed inside the tavern. Blind with rage, the little rogue furiously stalked into the building, and immediately saw her sister. Syreena was walking from the bar with a single drink in her hand toward a table in the rear of the room. Anaie rushed over, smacking the beverage from her and bellowing at her sister.
"DAT'S ENOUGH! Yer no serv..." Before she could even finish the last word a blade flicked up and slashed open her cheek. Syreena had a look of pure rage on her face, though it was cold and calculating rage. Her expression quickly faded to shocked when she realized who she just slashed.
Anaie stood, stunned, reaching up slowly and touching the open wound on her face, the blood flowing steadily and dripping to the floor of the room. Then she began to laugh. Loudly, and nearly hysterically. She threw her arms around Syreena, hugging her sister tightly.
"Yer back!!!"
If Anaie Breen could still cry, she would have right there. Joy filled her heart as she finally saw her sister the way she remembered, armed and armored. As she pushed back from the hug, blood still streaming from her cheek, she noticed her sister was missing an ear.
"You gots any thread? I gotta stitch up my face, an we really should go find you a nice eah to sew back on. Dat looks disgustin'"
Today the spirits were quite active. However, today a new voice chimed into her head. Derrick Breen, her birth father.
You should kill her. Just like I should have all those years ago, as well as you and your mother and Laurel. She is weak, just like you. Filthy forsaken. Now look at her, she serves others just like she did after I gave her to that drunk.
Anaie shook her head, "Shut it ya worthless, gamblin' drunk! Yer da weak one... always was!"
I am glad you both became the vile creatures I knew you were at heart when I gave you both up. Put her down, and then yourself. Do what is right for the world. No one would miss two murderous daughters.
"Enough!!!" Anaie screamed as she stormed inside the tavern. Blind with rage, the little rogue furiously stalked into the building, and immediately saw her sister. Syreena was walking from the bar with a single drink in her hand toward a table in the rear of the room. Anaie rushed over, smacking the beverage from her and bellowing at her sister.
"DAT'S ENOUGH! Yer no serv..." Before she could even finish the last word a blade flicked up and slashed open her cheek. Syreena had a look of pure rage on her face, though it was cold and calculating rage. Her expression quickly faded to shocked when she realized who she just slashed.
Anaie stood, stunned, reaching up slowly and touching the open wound on her face, the blood flowing steadily and dripping to the floor of the room. Then she began to laugh. Loudly, and nearly hysterically. She threw her arms around Syreena, hugging her sister tightly.
"Yer back!!!"
If Anaie Breen could still cry, she would have right there. Joy filled her heart as she finally saw her sister the way she remembered, armed and armored. As she pushed back from the hug, blood still streaming from her cheek, she noticed her sister was missing an ear.
"You gots any thread? I gotta stitch up my face, an we really should go find you a nice eah to sew back on. Dat looks disgustin'"
If the people raise a great howl against my barbarity and cruelty, I will answer that war is war, and not popularity seeking.