The wind whipped high about him, all around, lifting the sands from the desert plains that made up the vast, desolate stretches of Thanalan. That the place was called Thanalan, he did not know. In fact, he did not know much, except that for some time he had been wandering. He did not know why or understand entirely why he was here, only that he had been surviving off the flesh of the local beasts. His face was covered by a black tiara that hid his features, clinging tightly to his face and given the impression that his features were merely entire black shadow. Over his head was draped a hood that hung low to his eyes, falling downwards until tucking into a fold of robes. His entire appearance was of a man draped in heavy brown clothing, robes that fell in multiple layers, browns towards the outside and white towards the innermost folds. His hands were tucked into brown gloves and likewise, his feet into brown boots, both made of cloth material and secured to his body by ropes that wrapped about his forearms.
In his right hand was clutched a massive axe, so heavy that to lift it would take the strength of both his arms. All along his belt were secured a string of knives, and small bags at his waist clattered with the sound of more tools and objects hidden within. For as far ahead as he could see the environment was bleak, with little vegetation and only small hills and crags rising up out of the distance. Yet, despite its inhospitability and the little life that dotted its surface, the man found himself strangely at home, as if it was here that he felt he should be.
Why, though. His eyes scanned the horizon, the scorching sun overhead baking the ground, while far in the distance he could see where stone mountain faces did rise up. Bits of brush and small shrubs marked parts of the ground every so often, but wherever in this forsaken land he was, it seemed to be in one of the worst locations one could imagine. There was not a sign of life, not a stirring or a rustle, and the only motion was that of the rising clouds that pushed high into the air. Though he had no qualm in being here, he knew he could not simply stand out in the open sun for too long and so, taking a step forward on the cracked, sandy ground, he began to march towards the far distant mountains.
Almost at the same instant, he felt a sudden urgency at his back and, turning, he raised his Great Axe upwards, a hand towards the base of the staff and another towards the axe head. In the moment he did this, twin scimitars came cutting downwards, ringing against the steel shaft of the axe's handle. The man twisted, pushing the blades of his attacker away, before swinging his mammoth weapon towards this new enemy. The attacker leaped backwards, coming to a rest just a short distance away. He was clothed all in black cloth, his wiry frame tight with muscle, only his red eyes exposed through the black strips that wrapped around his face and kept his features hidden.
"Funny finding you here," the black garbed man said, voice menacing, a growl upon it that seemed unearthly. "That's just the funny part about life, though. You're never sure where you're going to go after you die."
The brown robed man stared at this newcomer, unphased. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, of course you don't," he responded, crossing his arms, one resting across his waist, the blade pointed towards his knees, while his other arm held the second blade upwards and behind his neck. Its flattened side patted at the back of the attacker's head, the black strips that tied around his face coming to a knot at the base of his skull, two strips flailing in the breeze that begun to whip about in the desert sands. "You might not know who you are, but be certain, I do."
"Who am I, then?"
"You're a leftover, a regret. You're something that should have been let go of long ago. You're like a sin."
The man relaxed his guarded position for just a moment, taking a step backwards. "A sin?"
"Oh yes, and be assured, I am your judge and jury. Just, perhaps not yet. No, no, it would do no good to kill you know, before you knew the magnitude of your crime. No, I'll let you dangle. I don't know for how long. Maybe a week. Maybe a year. Maybe for decades. However long it takes you to remember what you did and then, when you realize your crime, that's when I'll come to pass judgment. If you're Sin, I'm justice. Or better yet, you can call me Nemesis."
The newly dubbed Sin could feel his breath increasing, the heavy panting, the anxiety creeping up inside of his chest. His belly was tightening, and he felt as if he would vomit any moment. What was this creature, this... Nemesis, talking about? The eyes of the dark robed warrior squinted, and there was a perverse pleasure there. "Up for one more test, Sin?"
This time, Sin could not raise his axe in time, as Nemesis closed the distance so quickly that it only took the blink of an eye before he was upon his target. Blades raised, his eyes peering out from behind the black mask, Nemesis appeared for all the world like an animal on its prey. His scimitars, only an inch from the chest of Sin, began to to press at the cloth robes when, in a brilliant burst of light, he was driven back, screaming. His body was flung toward the desert floor, his blades vanishing in bursts of black smoke as he began to claw at his eyes. Sin fell backwards, his own hands tearing at his robes and separating them, digging until he could see his chest and the brilliant blue light emanating from it. He felt himself near faint as a mark of an unknown letter gleamed upon his body for a moment more before vanishing, appearing as if it had never been there at all.
"I see," Nemesis laughed, stumbling backwards, eyes shut, hands hanging limply at his side as he tilted his head upwards. When he looked back down, locking his gaze with Sin's, they were once more open, once more that piercing red stain. "The Mark of Kain. You bear it." He scoffed, stumbling back another step. "That wretch had one last trick up his sleeve. Alright then, this will have to wait until the appropriate time. Until you're ready for your punishment." He halted, lifting a finger, the wind beginning to pick up and whipping the sand all about his black form. "Only remember... you cannot run away forever. You will reap what you have sown. That is the way of divine retribution." The wind surged then, the sand consuming the form of the dark fighter, making it impossible to see him. Then, in a moment, the winds had died, and the man was gone.
Sin fell back, to the harsh desert floor, his axe falling aside. Three names suddenly appeared in his mind, like long forgotten memories: Kain. Amal. Charon. He had to find people, find someone and, until he knew more of his past, he would have to go by something other than such a dubious name as Sin.
"I'm Kain... I'm Kain," he mumbled, rocking forwards, hands clutched to his head. "Kain Mazus."
In his right hand was clutched a massive axe, so heavy that to lift it would take the strength of both his arms. All along his belt were secured a string of knives, and small bags at his waist clattered with the sound of more tools and objects hidden within. For as far ahead as he could see the environment was bleak, with little vegetation and only small hills and crags rising up out of the distance. Yet, despite its inhospitability and the little life that dotted its surface, the man found himself strangely at home, as if it was here that he felt he should be.
Why, though. His eyes scanned the horizon, the scorching sun overhead baking the ground, while far in the distance he could see where stone mountain faces did rise up. Bits of brush and small shrubs marked parts of the ground every so often, but wherever in this forsaken land he was, it seemed to be in one of the worst locations one could imagine. There was not a sign of life, not a stirring or a rustle, and the only motion was that of the rising clouds that pushed high into the air. Though he had no qualm in being here, he knew he could not simply stand out in the open sun for too long and so, taking a step forward on the cracked, sandy ground, he began to march towards the far distant mountains.
Almost at the same instant, he felt a sudden urgency at his back and, turning, he raised his Great Axe upwards, a hand towards the base of the staff and another towards the axe head. In the moment he did this, twin scimitars came cutting downwards, ringing against the steel shaft of the axe's handle. The man twisted, pushing the blades of his attacker away, before swinging his mammoth weapon towards this new enemy. The attacker leaped backwards, coming to a rest just a short distance away. He was clothed all in black cloth, his wiry frame tight with muscle, only his red eyes exposed through the black strips that wrapped around his face and kept his features hidden.
"Funny finding you here," the black garbed man said, voice menacing, a growl upon it that seemed unearthly. "That's just the funny part about life, though. You're never sure where you're going to go after you die."
The brown robed man stared at this newcomer, unphased. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, of course you don't," he responded, crossing his arms, one resting across his waist, the blade pointed towards his knees, while his other arm held the second blade upwards and behind his neck. Its flattened side patted at the back of the attacker's head, the black strips that tied around his face coming to a knot at the base of his skull, two strips flailing in the breeze that begun to whip about in the desert sands. "You might not know who you are, but be certain, I do."
"Who am I, then?"
"You're a leftover, a regret. You're something that should have been let go of long ago. You're like a sin."
The man relaxed his guarded position for just a moment, taking a step backwards. "A sin?"
"Oh yes, and be assured, I am your judge and jury. Just, perhaps not yet. No, no, it would do no good to kill you know, before you knew the magnitude of your crime. No, I'll let you dangle. I don't know for how long. Maybe a week. Maybe a year. Maybe for decades. However long it takes you to remember what you did and then, when you realize your crime, that's when I'll come to pass judgment. If you're Sin, I'm justice. Or better yet, you can call me Nemesis."
The newly dubbed Sin could feel his breath increasing, the heavy panting, the anxiety creeping up inside of his chest. His belly was tightening, and he felt as if he would vomit any moment. What was this creature, this... Nemesis, talking about? The eyes of the dark robed warrior squinted, and there was a perverse pleasure there. "Up for one more test, Sin?"
This time, Sin could not raise his axe in time, as Nemesis closed the distance so quickly that it only took the blink of an eye before he was upon his target. Blades raised, his eyes peering out from behind the black mask, Nemesis appeared for all the world like an animal on its prey. His scimitars, only an inch from the chest of Sin, began to to press at the cloth robes when, in a brilliant burst of light, he was driven back, screaming. His body was flung toward the desert floor, his blades vanishing in bursts of black smoke as he began to claw at his eyes. Sin fell backwards, his own hands tearing at his robes and separating them, digging until he could see his chest and the brilliant blue light emanating from it. He felt himself near faint as a mark of an unknown letter gleamed upon his body for a moment more before vanishing, appearing as if it had never been there at all.
"I see," Nemesis laughed, stumbling backwards, eyes shut, hands hanging limply at his side as he tilted his head upwards. When he looked back down, locking his gaze with Sin's, they were once more open, once more that piercing red stain. "The Mark of Kain. You bear it." He scoffed, stumbling back another step. "That wretch had one last trick up his sleeve. Alright then, this will have to wait until the appropriate time. Until you're ready for your punishment." He halted, lifting a finger, the wind beginning to pick up and whipping the sand all about his black form. "Only remember... you cannot run away forever. You will reap what you have sown. That is the way of divine retribution." The wind surged then, the sand consuming the form of the dark fighter, making it impossible to see him. Then, in a moment, the winds had died, and the man was gone.
Sin fell back, to the harsh desert floor, his axe falling aside. Three names suddenly appeared in his mind, like long forgotten memories: Kain. Amal. Charon. He had to find people, find someone and, until he knew more of his past, he would have to go by something other than such a dubious name as Sin.
"I'm Kain... I'm Kain," he mumbled, rocking forwards, hands clutched to his head. "Kain Mazus."
![[Image: Mog%20House%20Final.jpg]](http://usera.ImageCave.com/DaishiGajo/Mog%20House%20Final.jpg)
