((His race is subject to change, but the story will hold true. It may be a bit premature, but I wanted to get involved so badly that I couldn't help myself.))
The wooden planks that made up the floor were old and worn by the travelers that passed through seeking shelter for a time. Kerr thought that with all the refugees it must have nearly been worn through. He imagined he could feel each ridge of the grain where the sand from their shoes had ground grooves deep into the wood. It was a modest-sized building, being some years of age. It always smelled of many bodies and the candles used to mask the sweet stench of sweat. There was a constant low murmur of voices of those that came to seek solace in the presence of others; those that came for shelter from the growing red doom.
Comfort was not what he sought, kneeling dutifully on the floor before a Miqo’te woman of some age who sat amidst a pile of her possessions that looked to have been hastily collected. Perhaps it was all she owned in the world now. There was white to her ears and sprinkled throughout her tail, but her eyes were everkeen. She held the letter than he had brought so tightly that the paper creased. He could see it tremble between her hands before he dropped his head forward, fixing his eyes on the worn grain. The minutes ticked by like hours — every breath a slow drag of agony as he waited in anticipation. Finally, her words came and the relief was almost enough to make him sick.
“She is dead then, my daughter…â€Â
It was not a question. It need not be when it was all laid bare in explanation in the missive. His hands clenched so tightly upon his knees that the leather issued a quiet protest. For some time, that was the only sound that passed between them. He felt dizzy from the press of the silence; the weight of her stare. But he bore it without complaint. He would offer no paltry excuse, no plea for himself. He was guilty of it, this crime. The blood of this mother’s child stained his hands and he would hear her words. He would feel the sharp sting of her wrath, should she give it.
It mattered not that the girl had begged for the release that death would bring. To deliver this letter had been her final request of him. He would honor at least that much for the woman he’d had hand in torturing.
“And the children?â€Â
“I know not,†he mustered himself to answer. He truly didn’t. He was not even sure the number of them, though he knew two to be his. Taken shortly after birth, he’d not ever seen them.
The woman sat back in her chair with a rustle of clothing and a sigh weighted with the choices she now had to make. “So young… to bare such a burden. How old are you, child? Are you even sixteen summers?â€Â
“Eighteen,†he responded with quiet surprise, glancing briefly up toward her face. What did she mean by these questions? Her stern expression made him uneasy and he returned his eyes to the floor. “Just…†he amended.
She sat forward on the edge of her chair, reaching out to him as quickly as a striking snake to catch him by the chin and force his head up. Her eyes were the same soft brown as her daughter’s, but they were filled with pain and ferocity that he had not seen in Mirage until the end. The fire in her calmed him. He knew what to expect now. When a woman looked at him like that, he knew well the nature of what they asked.
“She begs me for your life, boy. Begs for my mercy, which I am not yet sure I am inclined to give. You owe much for the life you have lived — and those you have taken. Is that the legacy you wish to leave to your name? Will the people left in your wake remember only suffering?" the matron growled, digging her sharp nails in against his cheek and giving him a quick shake. "I have spared your life. As such, I lay claim to it. I will see that debt repaid. Remain and serve those other than just yourself — or face your death this day."
Seeing the cold light in her eyes, Kerr did not doubt she would strike him down in an instant if he refused her.  Yet, there was nothing in his old life that he could return to now. The brief life and the death of that one girl had changed how he viewed everything. His answer was simple and grave.
"I will serve."
The wooden planks that made up the floor were old and worn by the travelers that passed through seeking shelter for a time. Kerr thought that with all the refugees it must have nearly been worn through. He imagined he could feel each ridge of the grain where the sand from their shoes had ground grooves deep into the wood. It was a modest-sized building, being some years of age. It always smelled of many bodies and the candles used to mask the sweet stench of sweat. There was a constant low murmur of voices of those that came to seek solace in the presence of others; those that came for shelter from the growing red doom.
Comfort was not what he sought, kneeling dutifully on the floor before a Miqo’te woman of some age who sat amidst a pile of her possessions that looked to have been hastily collected. Perhaps it was all she owned in the world now. There was white to her ears and sprinkled throughout her tail, but her eyes were everkeen. She held the letter than he had brought so tightly that the paper creased. He could see it tremble between her hands before he dropped his head forward, fixing his eyes on the worn grain. The minutes ticked by like hours — every breath a slow drag of agony as he waited in anticipation. Finally, her words came and the relief was almost enough to make him sick.
“She is dead then, my daughter…â€Â
It was not a question. It need not be when it was all laid bare in explanation in the missive. His hands clenched so tightly upon his knees that the leather issued a quiet protest. For some time, that was the only sound that passed between them. He felt dizzy from the press of the silence; the weight of her stare. But he bore it without complaint. He would offer no paltry excuse, no plea for himself. He was guilty of it, this crime. The blood of this mother’s child stained his hands and he would hear her words. He would feel the sharp sting of her wrath, should she give it.
It mattered not that the girl had begged for the release that death would bring. To deliver this letter had been her final request of him. He would honor at least that much for the woman he’d had hand in torturing.
“And the children?â€Â
“I know not,†he mustered himself to answer. He truly didn’t. He was not even sure the number of them, though he knew two to be his. Taken shortly after birth, he’d not ever seen them.
The woman sat back in her chair with a rustle of clothing and a sigh weighted with the choices she now had to make. “So young… to bare such a burden. How old are you, child? Are you even sixteen summers?â€Â
“Eighteen,†he responded with quiet surprise, glancing briefly up toward her face. What did she mean by these questions? Her stern expression made him uneasy and he returned his eyes to the floor. “Just…†he amended.
She sat forward on the edge of her chair, reaching out to him as quickly as a striking snake to catch him by the chin and force his head up. Her eyes were the same soft brown as her daughter’s, but they were filled with pain and ferocity that he had not seen in Mirage until the end. The fire in her calmed him. He knew what to expect now. When a woman looked at him like that, he knew well the nature of what they asked.
“She begs me for your life, boy. Begs for my mercy, which I am not yet sure I am inclined to give. You owe much for the life you have lived — and those you have taken. Is that the legacy you wish to leave to your name? Will the people left in your wake remember only suffering?" the matron growled, digging her sharp nails in against his cheek and giving him a quick shake. "I have spared your life. As such, I lay claim to it. I will see that debt repaid. Remain and serve those other than just yourself — or face your death this day."
Seeing the cold light in her eyes, Kerr did not doubt she would strike him down in an instant if he refused her.  Yet, there was nothing in his old life that he could return to now. The brief life and the death of that one girl had changed how he viewed everything. His answer was simple and grave.
"I will serve."