Thread: Our own little Awakening. // Dream&Relix

Gah. The male spoke to himself, his angry slowly beginning to rise. His grip on his hilt turned his knuckles white, Fucking old man.. not letting me come sooner. Rage grunted softly to himself, If I left sooner, I would've found something.. a pile of bones, a indication that this 'Witch' lived in these Woods. God damn rumors... The male muttered to himself, shaking his head. He was a fool to believe in them, for what are rumors if not just simple lies stretched to make someone believe in something false? Releasing his grip from his sword hilt, the male slowly but surely inhaled deeply. Exhaling simultaneously afterwords, repeating the process a few times. Bringing his left hand to cup over his right, rubbing quickly at the top of his knuckles. Waiting for the normal color to come back from the pale white. Shaking his hand softly, the male let out a sigh. Angered. Depressed. Any name for the emotion of being disappointed, upset, hurt. The world did not rest upon his shoulders, no. The fate of his little sister, his only blood relative did. The purest thing in the whole world, something that he'd fight for with his last dying breath. She was everything to him, yet, he was failing her at every turn. Crouching down, the male drew out a small cross in the dirt. Placing his palm over the indentation in the dirt, closing his eyes. Maker preserve my baby sister... if not because I am asking, do so because she is the only thing I have remaining.. A prayer... as much as he knew his answer would be ignore, it was best to fill himself with false hope then no hope. At least he did so for his sister, knowing he had given up on faith for it did nothing for you in the time of need. Standing up after a few seconds, the male exhaled deeply. Running his hand over the top of his head, dirt falling into his hair. His dark blue eyes peered out into the nothingness of the woods, where creatures hid from his eyes. The eyes of the male looked glazed over, as if he was simply but a shell of a man. Nothing more then fury and anger. Cocking his head to the side, the male attempted to crack his neck. Dipping his shoulders backwards in his leather tunic, stretching out the muscles as if he was preparing for a fight. His primal senses told him to get ready for something was about to happen... something bad. Placing his hand on his neck, the male had one of two visible tattoos. A simple tribal band going from his left side of his neck, curving around the back part of his neck, covering his spine before dipping down to stop at his right shoulder. The dark color of the tattoo clear worn in. His other was underneath his tunic, on his chest. The drawing had started over his heart, it was just a random scribble to everyone else. To him, it was the suffering he had been through.. slowly escalating into the painful suffering his sister dealt with now. The end of the scribble stopped at the left side of his ribcage. The color of his tattoo over his heart faded, the recent additions to the art were easily recognized. The shouted question back jerked the male back to reality, sulking was meant for later. Was this the 'Witch of the Wild'? A voice who dare not show them self to a simple warrior? Bah, hardly worth the trouble it seems. I am in need of help, for... my younger sister is sick. Word around Lothering and amongst merchant travelers is there are apostates capable of curing any illness. The male shouted back, If this is possible, I am asking you to come with and help. If not, then I've wasted my time in seeking anyone out. Hearing the chattering of chainmail approach from behind him. Quickly, Rage pulled the sword off his back. Hey! Crazy! There is no one but ghosts in the woods! Get out! A templar shouted, replying to the male's urgent calls for help. Two Templars... hm. He is just stupid, looking for an apostate to help him. How about this sonny? The other, clearly the superior of the two, You help us find this apostate that lives in here, we'll send the best healers from the chantry to help your precious little sister. The old male let out a laugh. Rage's anger built quickly, did they believe he was stupid? You get the hell away from me. For your stupid ass Chantry and your 'oh-so' believable Maker, my sister still lays in the bed, ill. The male shot back. Both templars looking at one another, You got some ner-... The younger Templar spoke, stopping in mid-sentence. AHhhhh! He shouted, clutching at the now stub of a hand that he had, Rage sidestepped twice. Hitting the elder Templar with the blunt side of his sword. Bringing his foot up to kick the chainmail. He was quicker then the two logs in the armor, Such a shame, I expected a fight out of you two. Rage spoke, a devilish smirk appearing across his face. Rage enjoyed the pain the younger Templar suffered from with the missing hand of his, taking three steps toward the Templar who knelt on the ground, riveting in pain. The grunts and screams of the male sent shivers up the spine of the male, sick and twisted as it was. Rage had suffered enough to feel good in causing others pain. Tapping the Templar on the back of his helmet, Hey, don't die on me just yet. I still have something in store for you. The male spoke, enjoying this. Turning his head to see if the elder one was getting up, he was still struggling to get up. Running his hand along side the helm of the kneeling Templar, the male ran his middle finger up the eye hole of the helm. Digging his middle finger into the eye of the Templar, blood trickling down the finger, dripping off at his wrist. AHhhh! Ge-- S-stop! The Templar screamed, Fine, if you wish for me to stop.. I'll end your misery. Rage replied, pushing his head to the left, the male pulled his head to the right with force. Hearing the neck of the male begin to crack, turning his head to face behind him. Letting the limp body fall to the ground. Ahahaha! Rage laughed, his devilish laugh echoing through the wilderness. Turning to face the elder Templar, Rage used the limped over body to sit down as he waited for the elder to get up. I hope this was your son, it would be so much more satisfying to know that I killed your son before I killed you. His smirk quickly returning to his face, You son of a bitch! I'm going to make sure you are hanged from the highest tree! Ah, the anger from this man only fueled the intensity of Rage, so exciting! Hopping backward over the dead Templar. Clink. Clink. The angered swing of the one handed sword bouncing off the armor of the dead body. Heaving the greatsword over his head, the male swung down. Hitting nothing but ground, the large metal shield hitting his dead on in the side of his face. Staggering back two steps, the male shook the birdies now flying around in his head, away. Blinking twice, Rage sidestepped the following shield slam. Swinging the heavy sword at the Templar's legs, the male was getting tired. Lugging the heavy sword around in this wild fashion would only fatigue him faster. Clink. His swing struck true. The blunt side of his sword hitting the side of the knee, pushing it out of socket. Argh! The Templar yelled, his hand immediately going to his left knee. Bringing his sword up, Rage slammed it into the shoulder of the Templar. Piercing through the weak metal, stabbing straight into the ground. Letting out a deep exhale, Rage moved over the Templar. Crouching down, the male removed the helm from his downed opponent. That shot to the face, it was a good one. Too bad you weren't able to follow up with it. A small shrug followed after his statement, the weary face of the his opponent. Roughly as old as his now deceased father, Look at it this way, you lived a long, healthy live.. following the Chantry. Smirking softly, If you see the Maker.. let him know I say hello. His devilish grin only increasing as he moved his hands to the male's jaw. Quickly turning it right, back left the same way. Snapping the neck of the Templar. Taking in a deep breath, the male removed his weapon from the shoulder armor. Come now! You supposed Witch! He shouted, I am fatigued and in no shape to fight back. Please, come on out! Rage shouted, he would provoke her or she'd come willingly. The male preferred either one of them.