Post by Baldric Dreher on Feb 21, 2015 21:09:47 GMT
Was it simply old habit that drew him here or something that developed along with his affliction? Of this Baldric could not be sure. He often found himself here, right in this spot when the afternoon cast everything into bronze and gold. Norasova, at the great river. The rushing sound delivered unto him a sense of peace that nothing else ever could. It was basic, it was eternal, it was pure. Baldric sat at the water’s edge, boots off and feet resting in the frigid current. He did not mind, he faced death from his youth a little cold water was welcome in comparison. He sat still as a statue, like a sentient gargoyle forever charged with protecting this one area from would be intruders. They never came, some days he found this a pity others a relief. His mind was a fractured thing, beautiful and devious in nature and yet ever presenting the question he could never answer: was this him? Or was this plague? Years of being afflicted from the Scourge had yet to reveal enough details of his previous life to build a clear image and it infuriated him. Baldric desired control and this, although granting him a wondrous gift, kept him from being in control of his own self.
Long passed were the days when he could not control his power. At times it would pull away from him but for the most part it was as poised as he was. Even in the midst of his justified anger it was dormant until he called upon it. It was a wonder that the only thing that transcended his change was that bitter anger towards humans, who cast him out before he could gain the answers, denying him the chance to leave on his own terms. His hand lifted slowly to his shoulder, caressing the brand through his shirt. This was the only movement elicited from him in the hours he spent sat upon a boulder. Had it not been for the rigid manner in which he carried himself one might assume he was simply resting. He was not. He was watching, always watching. The light as it shined from the water, the fish swimming beneath the surface, the birds flitting from tree to tree.
He lowered his hand, staring at it for a time. With these hands he could change the world. Baldric found the humans laughable in their ploy at power. Although pleased the king showed mercy to his kind by banishment rather than death he considered him a fool. Did he not think that dissent would grow with their numbers? Baldric knew that the Plagued merely needed a shepherd. An idol to flock to for direction, to claim what they would eventually think was rightfully theirs. Did Baldric hate humans? With a passion, they were arrogant things, loud and messy and though he could do without a select few he by no means desired to eliminate the entire race. Not by his own hands in any case.
Baldric would rather watch the world tear itself apart and see what remained at the end. Whilst the survivors bemoaned the violent times he would enter as the savior, finally that control would be his and he would grant them a semblance of peace so long as it amused him. When he felt boredom threaten he would set more events in motion and study how those around him performed. Ever devoted to him even as he pulled the strings for their eventual destruction; mind or body it did not matter.
Long passed were the days when he could not control his power. At times it would pull away from him but for the most part it was as poised as he was. Even in the midst of his justified anger it was dormant until he called upon it. It was a wonder that the only thing that transcended his change was that bitter anger towards humans, who cast him out before he could gain the answers, denying him the chance to leave on his own terms. His hand lifted slowly to his shoulder, caressing the brand through his shirt. This was the only movement elicited from him in the hours he spent sat upon a boulder. Had it not been for the rigid manner in which he carried himself one might assume he was simply resting. He was not. He was watching, always watching. The light as it shined from the water, the fish swimming beneath the surface, the birds flitting from tree to tree.
He lowered his hand, staring at it for a time. With these hands he could change the world. Baldric found the humans laughable in their ploy at power. Although pleased the king showed mercy to his kind by banishment rather than death he considered him a fool. Did he not think that dissent would grow with their numbers? Baldric knew that the Plagued merely needed a shepherd. An idol to flock to for direction, to claim what they would eventually think was rightfully theirs. Did Baldric hate humans? With a passion, they were arrogant things, loud and messy and though he could do without a select few he by no means desired to eliminate the entire race. Not by his own hands in any case.
Baldric would rather watch the world tear itself apart and see what remained at the end. Whilst the survivors bemoaned the violent times he would enter as the savior, finally that control would be his and he would grant them a semblance of peace so long as it amused him. When he felt boredom threaten he would set more events in motion and study how those around him performed. Ever devoted to him even as he pulled the strings for their eventual destruction; mind or body it did not matter.
