- Genres
- Magical, Fantasy, Supernatural, Sci Fi, Steam Punk, Noir, HORROR, and I'm willing to try Romance.
I stop to get my bearings, a difficult chore when you can't see. Luckily they left me a nose when they took my eyes. A spread of honey glaze ghosts the air, muddled by a shock of sawdust and the harsh aroma of machinery oil. I'm near the bridge, A Paorou Bakertemple to my right and the new construction on an arms manufacturer to my left. Bread and bullets, the letters to Paorou's creed. Strange though, the organization was something Asmo would have wanted. All these roles, trickster, shadow, lover, ally...they played a part in his visions of narrative, HIS dreams. Was it a homage to the mad king who was? Or mocking his ideas, twisting them? Who could tell, no one has seen Paorou for years. He shacks himself up with the rest of the Council somewhere.
I heard them once, when they passed judgment on me. Should I be honored that they passed it themselves? No, they wanted to make sure it was done properly. Some low level arbiter would only muck it up and kill me.
Can't say that's a bad thing.
I didn't recognize them, I came and left that place in darkness. I wish I had tried to memorize it better, but the scents and sounds are lost to me. If I found my way back I might repay them in kind for what they've...
No...useless thoughts.
Running my fingers along the mortar-scarred buildings I can almost see the state of the city. Blindness is a blessing, in a certain sense. The others must be forced to stare at what they have become.
I am only forced to feel.
In that respect, maybe I see the most after all.
"Purger, wait a moment."
My official title...hardly a title at all, a joke they pressed upon me from the get-go. "You will purge our enemies from this kingdom." Purge. I only fester the growing wound. I stop, not because I want to, but because I have to.
A piece of bread is pressed into my hand.
"Here," The voice says quietly, old and croaked with dust "You look like you need it more than I."
I thrust it back at him, affronted. Who dares to offer me kindness? It's more for his own sake than mine...to offer me kindness is to ask for death. The ISAF will not hesitate to gun down any who do not kick or jeer at my presence. Most ignore me...they're the smart ones. "No, take it back and begone. I have no need of your petty mercy."
Did I always sound so cruel?
"I order you to eat it," the voice murmurs, "And you must obey. Take the kindness son, you do not see it often."
"You risk your life for a bit of bread and an assassin, you must not be from here."
"I saw you beside the angel once," he whispers conspiratorially, and I lean in to catch the words "You are not an assassin, you are a hero."
I push him away violently and I hear the body clatter to the ground. "Speak no more of this treason, dog, or I'll run you through!" Really it's for his own good, but I'm shocked. His wizened hand caressed old memories from me, when I still could see. They're murky now, like watching film through stained glass...but I couldn't forget.
I need to.
I push on ahead, eating the bread as commanded.
It's sweet...but cocoa has been sprinkled in the center. Bittersweet.
Who was he?
I heard them once, when they passed judgment on me. Should I be honored that they passed it themselves? No, they wanted to make sure it was done properly. Some low level arbiter would only muck it up and kill me.
Can't say that's a bad thing.
I didn't recognize them, I came and left that place in darkness. I wish I had tried to memorize it better, but the scents and sounds are lost to me. If I found my way back I might repay them in kind for what they've...
No...useless thoughts.
Running my fingers along the mortar-scarred buildings I can almost see the state of the city. Blindness is a blessing, in a certain sense. The others must be forced to stare at what they have become.
I am only forced to feel.
In that respect, maybe I see the most after all.
"Purger, wait a moment."
My official title...hardly a title at all, a joke they pressed upon me from the get-go. "You will purge our enemies from this kingdom." Purge. I only fester the growing wound. I stop, not because I want to, but because I have to.
A piece of bread is pressed into my hand.
"Here," The voice says quietly, old and croaked with dust "You look like you need it more than I."
I thrust it back at him, affronted. Who dares to offer me kindness? It's more for his own sake than mine...to offer me kindness is to ask for death. The ISAF will not hesitate to gun down any who do not kick or jeer at my presence. Most ignore me...they're the smart ones. "No, take it back and begone. I have no need of your petty mercy."
Did I always sound so cruel?
"I order you to eat it," the voice murmurs, "And you must obey. Take the kindness son, you do not see it often."
"You risk your life for a bit of bread and an assassin, you must not be from here."
"I saw you beside the angel once," he whispers conspiratorially, and I lean in to catch the words "You are not an assassin, you are a hero."
I push him away violently and I hear the body clatter to the ground. "Speak no more of this treason, dog, or I'll run you through!" Really it's for his own good, but I'm shocked. His wizened hand caressed old memories from me, when I still could see. They're murky now, like watching film through stained glass...but I couldn't forget.
I need to.
I push on ahead, eating the bread as commanded.
It's sweet...but cocoa has been sprinkled in the center. Bittersweet.
Who was he?