Morning of the 1st of winter, 511 AV. The was nothing but creatures of the day there. Birds with vigilant eyes watching him, as well as few small mammals hiding from the human who had trespassed into their peaceful space. He stood there alone, with the cold breeze of the morning blowing on his golden hair. His face showed an expression of confusion and inner conflict. In his left hand, tightly clasped, there was an assassin's dagger. This man was slightly wounded, with a few cuts on his forearms and a scratch on his right cheek, as well as several bruises throughout his body. In front of him stood a large pine tree, and on its exposed roots lied a backpack, which belonged to him. Lievdarg closed his eyes and breathed deeply the cold air that nature threw into his lungs. His body was at peace, but his mind was in chaos. For once he chose a peaceful environment for his presence, away from the centre of the anarchic tension of Sunberth, which he would normally cherish as well, but not in that day. He could be away from the chaos, but it still pursued him within his own mind, wherever he'd go, confusing him. In his mind there was one single idea bothering him, that of humiliation and defeat, the lost pride. The sound of metal colliding with stone, which once was emitted by the very dagger that he held in his left hand. The picture of loss tormented him. He was a defeated man, defeated by a petty old thief. How could he call Sunberth his home he was unable to protect his own belongings from such pathetic thievery? He punched the trunk in front of him with his right hand. He was weak. He could not protect himself. He could steal, but he not keep whatever he stole, because he was weak. Perhaps he actually did not belong in Sunberth at all, perhaps he belonged in a place like Syliras. Perhaps he was not one worthy of spreading chaos anywhere as he wished, because he was too pathetic and weak. He punched the tree once more. He had been taught how to do many things to survive in Sunberth, but he had not been taught how to defend himself. He had to know it if he wanted to one day become a powerful man. He had been in fights before, but what had happened the day prior to this morning was much different. He felt like he was drowning, his worst fear. The trunk of the tree suffered yet another blow. His hand cried for rest, but he did not care, he cursed it. He pointed the dagger at the tree and opened his eyes. His voice was raised within his mind. "What am I thinking? I was taught many things indeed, but why should I rely on teachings? Does knowledge has to come from outside? I was taught to pick pockets, but I would never be as successful at it if I hadn't tried and failed many times. That is something I learned by myself, because of my own efforts." What now stopped him from learning by himself how to fight? Who or what stood between him and his desire to learn? There was nothing but himself. He could not afford to become one of the helpless fools from whom he stole. He felt greater than that. He had not been born to be an insignificant animal that flees his own home when threatened, like he once did, or like the creatures surrounding him. He had been born to become a lion, one who takes whatever it is he desires. "That's right," he thought, "If I can hold something, whatever it is, and know how to protect it, then it is rightfully mine." He stared at the trunk with a serious determination in his eyes. "I don't need help, I don't need anyone to survive. I don't need someone like HIM!" Suddenly the picture of his father was projected by his own mind on the trunk, as he had remembered of him. The tall, somewhat out of shape middle aged man with a slight balding dark brown hair. The dagger was projected violently against the man's imaginary neck. "Idiot! You ruined my life!" he screamed in his head while pulling the dagger back and slashing the old man's guts away. "I hope that the Ebonstryfe had you tortured, I hope that you had a terrible death! With a lot of pain!" the dagger gently flipped in his hand into a reverse grip, whilst Lievdarg stepped forward to get within shorter range and wildly stretched his arm to pierce vertically the imaginary man on the skull. He then released the dagger, which remained there, stuck into the bark of the trunk. He stood back and stared at the grass on the floor. "Only the weak need protection, only the weak need guards and laws. I am not like that!" He sat down to calm his nerves, breathing deeply and releasing his body heat into the cold environment. After a chime, he looked at the tree once more, and saw the marks carved by the dagger. "I wonder if I truly would have the courage to kill you," he thought, "I wonder if mother is still alive..." he raised his eyes above and admired the clouds for a moment. "I was too weak...to protect her." |