Solo The True Colours of Anger.

Alex finally makes contact with his father.

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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.

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The True Colours of Anger.

Postby Alexander Faircroft on November 10th, 2016, 9:28 am

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Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"


The distance between them was only a few feet however the vast yawning chasm that sprawled out before them had been growing for years. Randall was an abusive son of a bitch, a thuggish brute with nothing but narcissism. Finally it’d reached breaking point for Alex and now he had finally snapped. Something inside had shattered like glass against a hard marble floor.

“What are you waiting for then boy? Kill me if I need to just die!” Randall smiled despite the blood he was still holding his cool and calm trying to push Alex over the edge. Alex on the other hand was teetering on the edge of lunging at him but one mistake and that was it, curtains.
“Still afraid to take a life? It’s so easy, after all they’re so fragile.” His words dripped with a venom that Alex couldn’t stand listening too. And now Randall broke the stillness first charging in and trying to strike down Alex. The full weight of the blade behind a large horizontal cut which Alex braced withy both blades trying to reduce the impact however the full force couldn’t be stifled. Alex damned near flew off his feet even in full plate and trained to absorb big heavy blows. Skidding back a couple of inches and feel a pounding ache in his arms Alex rolled his right blade around the larger one and then in a single motion took off Randall’s hand. Eliciting a sound Alex had never heard before, a cream of anguish from his “father”. Alex lifted his right leg and booted Randal in the stomach and back to the floor as his right hand and sword smashed into the ground.

“I said you needed to die. I didn’t say it had to be painless.” Alex now glared down at his father eyes full of fury, hatred and disgust.

Alexander Faircroft
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The True Colours of Anger.

Postby Alexander Faircroft on November 10th, 2016, 10:00 am

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Description "Alex Common" Alex thoughts "Myrian" "Fratava" "Others"


“You seem to be mistaken Randall. This wasn’t a fight, it’s an execution. For the murder of Rebecca Faircroft. And the attempted murder of her son.” Alex stepped over to Randall slowly who was still cradling the stump of his right arm blood pouring freely now. A sneer, malice and disdain plastered across Alex’s face. Alex flipped the blade in his right hand and drove it through Randall’s abdomen clean through pinning him to the ground. So he couldn’t wriggle free or try to escape.

“Any last words…?” Alex asked less a knight less a squire simply a man, who’d finally found his vengeance. And with a sick smile
“And now you’ve eyes just like mine. No remorse, no pity.” Randall accepted his fate before Alex drove the second blade through his throat and in a last gurgle of blood Randall spoke. “Well done, Son.”

Alex ripped both blades free from the corpse. A trail of still warm blood spilling forth in an arc as he wrenched them free, splattering the dried ground. The thin layer of crimson on each may as well have been jet black, for how much in Alex’s mind Randall resembled a human. He was nothing more than a monster, a beast that killed to live. Now he was just another slain beast and carrion for the crows and vultures.
Rest in peace Mom…You have justice… Alex looked skywards for a few seconds a smile on his now softened features genuine and heartfelt and a line of tears slowly rolling from his eyes. Am I a good son? Placing his blade in his other hand he wiped the tears from his eyes and then the blood from his blades. He peeled Randall’s fingers from the blade he carried. The huge executioner’s sword made of cold iron. Instead of taking it with him he chose to stab it as a marker just above Randall’s head. A beacon to draw people. Leaving Randall’s corpse to rot in the sun. Beneath it scrawled in the hard baked earth a single word. Murderer.


Alexander Faircroft
A criminal, without a crime.
 
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The True Colours of Anger.

Postby Wymez on November 29th, 2017, 5:41 am

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Hey there Alex. Give me a nudge if you ever come out of retirement and want this thread grade. Cheers!
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