1st day of Fall, 520AV
He had been here for a while, it was something that Draven pondered as he sat upon the wooden box below him. Doing errands, that seemed to be his way of life now; to the point, he was beginning to worry. He had spent the last year waiting on Kiether’s go-ahead, and doing errands for the man, for free. His savings weren’t going to last forever, and a part of Draven was beginning to wonder if the man had just been playing on his heartstrings, to get some cheap...No, free labour.
He slapped his cheeks, in a shoddy attempt to snap himself out of it. It was all about acting it, then going through with it. He had to simply pretend, envision the person he wanted himself to be, and then do it. It was his mode of being, it was the singular act that he could perform at this point, but it was his first mask. ”Alright! Now then, what needs handling again?” He pondered as he stood up properly, looking down on the box on which he was sitting on.
What was the problem? Draven just couldn’t see it, he had been running around in circles and wondering just how he could make things better for himself, but nothing came to mind. He had to have a meeting with his mother’s mother, that was one thing. But did he have to sit around chasing Kiether’s work? No, he did not. The man was kind, but that was all he was. ”You’re a McNiel damn it, get it together and get yourself out of this shyke.” He said to himself, slapping his cheeks.
”What can I do?” He muttered to himself, taking his mind away from the fact he had stood still for so long. When did he become this kind of man? He had big dreams during his boyhood, even if he did not feel it. What had caused this issue? Was it him? Or was it everything else? He just couldn’t tell anymore. ”I need to get better.” He muttered to himself.
But how? What did that mean? Just how could he get better? Draven wondered about it for some time. He moved from the box to his bed, resting his head on the pillow. He had stayed here for a while, he had forced himself to adjust to this new way of life. Work came hard, no-one needed a Mercenary when there was already a well trusted company here. The only reason he had continued to stick around was because...Because his family.
Then there was this pounding in his head, his magic yearned to be released. Draven knew that much, he hadn’t the room to stretch it, to move around, and to cast his spells. This was a larger place than Syliras, but his time had gotten eaten up. He looked at his palms, hardened through years of work, and felt his beard, longer and messier than it usually had been.
He slapped his cheeks, in a shoddy attempt to snap himself out of it. It was all about acting it, then going through with it. He had to simply pretend, envision the person he wanted himself to be, and then do it. It was his mode of being, it was the singular act that he could perform at this point, but it was his first mask. ”Alright! Now then, what needs handling again?” He pondered as he stood up properly, looking down on the box on which he was sitting on.
What was the problem? Draven just couldn’t see it, he had been running around in circles and wondering just how he could make things better for himself, but nothing came to mind. He had to have a meeting with his mother’s mother, that was one thing. But did he have to sit around chasing Kiether’s work? No, he did not. The man was kind, but that was all he was. ”You’re a McNiel damn it, get it together and get yourself out of this shyke.” He said to himself, slapping his cheeks.
”What can I do?” He muttered to himself, taking his mind away from the fact he had stood still for so long. When did he become this kind of man? He had big dreams during his boyhood, even if he did not feel it. What had caused this issue? Was it him? Or was it everything else? He just couldn’t tell anymore. ”I need to get better.” He muttered to himself.
But how? What did that mean? Just how could he get better? Draven wondered about it for some time. He moved from the box to his bed, resting his head on the pillow. He had stayed here for a while, he had forced himself to adjust to this new way of life. Work came hard, no-one needed a Mercenary when there was already a well trusted company here. The only reason he had continued to stick around was because...Because his family.
Then there was this pounding in his head, his magic yearned to be released. Draven knew that much, he hadn’t the room to stretch it, to move around, and to cast his spells. This was a larger place than Syliras, but his time had gotten eaten up. He looked at his palms, hardened through years of work, and felt his beard, longer and messier than it usually had been.
Credit for boxcode goes to Karin