A Hell Bent Arrival (Open)

[Tundra]

Tundra was sitting on a public bench, taking a mild break from his adventure. His horse, Zeda, was stabled and happy. His beautiful weapon, the Rift was chained around his stomach. For the first time since the murder of his mother, he was happy. He was content. He was one step closer to his goal. Not by much, and it was irrational for him to consider this a victory, but he did, and this made him near giddy.

He had ridden his horse straight here from the Cyphrus. It had been a long journey, so Tundra decided to reward himself. He took a piece of bread out oh his coat pocket and, hungrily, gobbled it up. He would find those men that took his father and killed his mother. Thinking back to that day, rage filled his heart. It hadn't been that long ago, but it felt like forever ago. It felt like forever since Tundra was a happy young man who was a very skilled warrior and the pride of his family. It felt like forever since Tundra had been wrestling with his friends, dominating them all. Tundra missed this, but he would be back, after the robed men had been...dealt with. He would kill them, cruely. It would be painful, and enoyable. Tundra would revel in their pain. For one minute alone, he would allow himself to be a sociopath.

Tundra really was normal. He wasn't crazy by anymeans. But any man who had watched the death of his mother would be driven insane. Any man who lived day to day with a burdening uncertainty of where his father was or what was happening to him would surely break. But Tundra hadn't broken. He hadn't gone insane. He was a fighter. He was born a fighter and would live one. His father taught him everything he knew, and he would use that to get him back. That was not present. For now, he would enjoy the day.