Changing into some fresher clothes and now with a warm mug of tea in hand, Franz looked around the cottage once more. As ever, every little object in the house was left exactly as it had been the last time its owner had left. Half-concocted alchemy orders, books on arcanima strewn about. At least a dozen postcards to all of the people Frhanz Kirche had cared about. Even if he thought it his now, the Garlean was unable to move any of it aside. It wasn’t his past, but it was his memories now. He had made the promise to live a better life in hope that it would lessen the burden of robbing someone else’s.
As he sifted through some of the various writings, he happened upon an older looking book he didn’t recall ever having read, dust and age having robbed the cover of its title. Franz mused over it slightly. “I don’t remember this one being one of his…â€. Glancing through the pages, he was made acutely aware that he lacked the ability to comprehend most of the writings in it. Perhaps it had been above the skill for its former owner as well. Something to nonetheless study later. Franz would need to bring it with him when left.
When the evening began to settle in, he realized he should probably eat something. His appetite hadn’t quite returned, but to sleep potentially hungry would be unwise as well. Making a simple porridge with some cracked wheat he’d bought during his last visit, Franz sweetened it with a little honey to accompany the remainder of the tea, before preparing a bed to sleep on.
It wasn't long until he was asleep.
--
The world displayed in his dreams was dark, closed off. A house maybe? He crept over to a staircase he'd uncovered, heading up a floor into what looked like the personal quarters of wherever he was. At the end of a hallway, a little girl hid behind a corner leading to a single closed door. She was dressed for bed herself, holding onto a small blanket. On the other side of the door, a muffled argument could be heard from the other side.
As he crept closer, the hallways seemed to dissipate into smoke, the door eventually giving away to the other side. Two people stood, facing eachother. The man’s face hidden by a helmet, the woman’s back to the door he’d entered from. Neither could be identified by what he saw, but the argument hurt either way.
He had told her he was leaving, if only for a short while. To go fight for some cause. To ensure that wealth would be brought into the family. The woman sounded troubled. She’d asked him not to leave. Yelled at him. Made threats he knew she couldn’t carry out. She was right, of course. If hadn’t gone…. Time seemed to skip ahead in the dream. The man, him, was at the door of the house, papers in hand, ready to leave. The woman, his wife, and the little girl, his daughter, stayed inside.
Don’t step out the door.
Tear the papers to shreds.
Don’t….leave.
But these were past events. Memories. Even if the perspective were different, they had already happened.
“We need the money. And...I’ll return home shortly after everything is finished.†His voice betrayed his thoughts.
Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have gone. I just thought I was doing what was best.
--
Franz awoke in his bed. His clothes were damp, and there was a smell of iron in the air. He had blown out the lamps in the little cottage before going to sleep, expecting to wake up in the morning. He stumbled around slightly, feeling around for a nearby lamp, and finding one, lit it to illuminate the room.
Perhaps he had been lying to himself more than he'd realized. His glamors dispelled, it was apparent he was not in a state to be moving around. The bed was a twisted mess of knotted sheets with blood. His steps were visible from everywhere he had walked. "I didn’t know a person could even bleed this much...", he said to himself. The sight was a mess, a small mirror on the wall displaying his reflection. What stared back was tattered version of himself. Deep cuts and bruises stretched across his skin in whichever shape they pleased. He looked as if he might simply fall apart from the wounds.
As he brought a hand to his chest to try to close himself up with arcana, a searing pain rushed through his body. He could not cast. It wasn't an issue of the geometries. Franz  knew the ones he used were of top form and shape. Rather, there was no aether. He could not cast because there was nothing left. As he tried again and again, each attempt only brought more pain as he realized it was futile.
Franz mostly stumbled out of the small cottage, pushing himself out of the building. At the very least, he wasn’t going to die in there.He had destroyed enough. He was expecting to die. He did not need to purposely rot inside.He dragged himself to a large tree, letting his back slide slowly down after falling against the trunk. Franz expected this would be his final moments. Broken. Soaked in his own blood. Away from any of those who might have cared about him. It’s how he wanted it. He’d kept his distance from the people he cared for for the same reason. He let his head dip forwards as the blood loss caused lightheadedness.
He believed it to be the end.
((to be continued, obviously))
As he sifted through some of the various writings, he happened upon an older looking book he didn’t recall ever having read, dust and age having robbed the cover of its title. Franz mused over it slightly. “I don’t remember this one being one of his…â€. Glancing through the pages, he was made acutely aware that he lacked the ability to comprehend most of the writings in it. Perhaps it had been above the skill for its former owner as well. Something to nonetheless study later. Franz would need to bring it with him when left.
When the evening began to settle in, he realized he should probably eat something. His appetite hadn’t quite returned, but to sleep potentially hungry would be unwise as well. Making a simple porridge with some cracked wheat he’d bought during his last visit, Franz sweetened it with a little honey to accompany the remainder of the tea, before preparing a bed to sleep on.
It wasn't long until he was asleep.
--
The world displayed in his dreams was dark, closed off. A house maybe? He crept over to a staircase he'd uncovered, heading up a floor into what looked like the personal quarters of wherever he was. At the end of a hallway, a little girl hid behind a corner leading to a single closed door. She was dressed for bed herself, holding onto a small blanket. On the other side of the door, a muffled argument could be heard from the other side.
As he crept closer, the hallways seemed to dissipate into smoke, the door eventually giving away to the other side. Two people stood, facing eachother. The man’s face hidden by a helmet, the woman’s back to the door he’d entered from. Neither could be identified by what he saw, but the argument hurt either way.
He had told her he was leaving, if only for a short while. To go fight for some cause. To ensure that wealth would be brought into the family. The woman sounded troubled. She’d asked him not to leave. Yelled at him. Made threats he knew she couldn’t carry out. She was right, of course. If hadn’t gone…. Time seemed to skip ahead in the dream. The man, him, was at the door of the house, papers in hand, ready to leave. The woman, his wife, and the little girl, his daughter, stayed inside.
Don’t step out the door.
Tear the papers to shreds.
Don’t….leave.
But these were past events. Memories. Even if the perspective were different, they had already happened.
“We need the money. And...I’ll return home shortly after everything is finished.†His voice betrayed his thoughts.
Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have gone. I just thought I was doing what was best.
--
Franz awoke in his bed. His clothes were damp, and there was a smell of iron in the air. He had blown out the lamps in the little cottage before going to sleep, expecting to wake up in the morning. He stumbled around slightly, feeling around for a nearby lamp, and finding one, lit it to illuminate the room.
Perhaps he had been lying to himself more than he'd realized. His glamors dispelled, it was apparent he was not in a state to be moving around. The bed was a twisted mess of knotted sheets with blood. His steps were visible from everywhere he had walked. "I didn’t know a person could even bleed this much...", he said to himself. The sight was a mess, a small mirror on the wall displaying his reflection. What stared back was tattered version of himself. Deep cuts and bruises stretched across his skin in whichever shape they pleased. He looked as if he might simply fall apart from the wounds.
As he brought a hand to his chest to try to close himself up with arcana, a searing pain rushed through his body. He could not cast. It wasn't an issue of the geometries. Franz  knew the ones he used were of top form and shape. Rather, there was no aether. He could not cast because there was nothing left. As he tried again and again, each attempt only brought more pain as he realized it was futile.
Franz mostly stumbled out of the small cottage, pushing himself out of the building. At the very least, he wasn’t going to die in there.He had destroyed enough. He was expecting to die. He did not need to purposely rot inside.He dragged himself to a large tree, letting his back slide slowly down after falling against the trunk. Franz expected this would be his final moments. Broken. Soaked in his own blood. Away from any of those who might have cared about him. It’s how he wanted it. He’d kept his distance from the people he cared for for the same reason. He let his head dip forwards as the blood loss caused lightheadedness.
He believed it to be the end.
((to be continued, obviously))
