LinkusOogaBooga
Member
(OOC: The dream mentioned is one that happened to me irl, I just thought it would fit Faroz’s character so that’s why I decided to keep it here.)
Kiaron awoke to a sudden explosion of pain in his forehead, a series of sharp migraines he’d experienced ever since his drinking problem began. He’d mutter to himself something about his hangover so incoherently that not even he would know what he said. As he stretched his legs and looked out the window from the tavern guest bedroom, he saw a small flock of birds pass by overhead, and his only thought was “I hunger.” After grabbing the stack of books off the table and putting them into his pack, he walked outside the walls of Lunberg Castle, waiting for his client. He felt a small tingling sensation in his left hand, or, what was left of it. Groaning to himself about his makeshift prosthetic, he walked into the nearby forest and began to mess about in the trees, a small remnant of his behavior as a child. Though he was a tad slow, he still figured out his way in the world. He had copied every book in Adelsburgs’ library and was reading everything from newspapers to articles about anatomy. Though he seemed to be nothing more than some idiotic brute, he was quite intelligent. He fancied the finer things in life when he had the money, and was a slight foodie. He had tried the Azari Bathtub and drank the strongest of Denur ale. He could be a bit of a drunk, but when he was under the influence, he was nothing more than a man who only wanted to be friends with everyone around him. As the day passed on with no sign of his client coming, he made his way back to his room at the tavern.
Faroz washed the away the makeup hiding his scar. He hated it, but couldn’t stand to not see it. It made him who he was. A man who only felt pain. Guilt. Shame. He shouldn’t be alive, yet he is. Looking to the small noose next to him, he only felt… nothing. Presented with death itself and he felt like he was sapped of all emotions. He felt his ears beginning to throb, and cursed in elven about the man who pierced them a month before. He felt his heart rate racing for no reason, another thing that made his job harder. It’s not exactly easy to keep yourself quiet when others can literally hear your heart beating. He felt his scars on his back scratch against the sheets of the taverns bed, and a wound in his side opening up. This one from internal bleeding, as falling 30 feet onto a rock isn’t the best experience in the world. He tried to forget what happened months before, and decided to move on. He hated Vari, but he would deal with them when he had to, and right now, business was forcing his hand. As he wiped away some blood from his face he… wait, what? He but his hand back, realizing the loud ringing noise in his head. He felt his ears begin bleeding, eardrums shattered into a million pieces. He wanted to scream yet felt a choking sensation, like he was having a pitchfork pressed to his neck. Right as he felt his vocal cords snap he woke up, the relentless heat causing a soaking wet cold sweat. He wiped away the moisture on his brow and briefly thought about how glad he was to be out of that nightmare, or… was he? Looking to his left side he saw… nothing, just… nothing. He was surrounded by nothing, and it seemed to be closing in on him. He looked out the mirror next to him, and saw himself, but… happier. He had a wife and two kids, he was smiling and was glad to be alive. Was this what he wanted to be? Was this what he was supposed to be? He screwed it up, and he knew it. He keeps messing things up. It’s his fault. His fault he’s alive. His fault his parents aren’t here. His fault he couldn’t save them. They should be alive. They should be here. His blood should’ve been spilled on that altar, his bones lost to the deserts sand. He looked back to the noose, the one thing the darkness hadn’t taken, and stared at it. What felt like days went by, and all he did was stare. When given the opportunity, why didn’t he do it? He had the chance. He had the tools, so why? He turned his head to look back at that reflection, the one he saw of what he would’ve been. As Faroz stood to face the mirror, he saw a small hand reach through, inviting him. When he looked at the reflection, the hand belonged to who would’ve been his wife, yet as he looked back to the hand it turned more crooked and decayed, and before he could comprehend what was happening it grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him through the mirror. The glass shattered, peppering his back with shards of the reflective material. He felt his head slam into a rock before he fell down, and down, and down before hitting the ground, the pieces of glass going through him, puncturing his heart. He finally awoke to a sharp pain in his chest as the mark on his heart began throbbing in pain. He felt like he was being watched, stared at, spied on. He crawled over to a corner of the room, shriveling in pain and fear.
Kiaron awoke to a sudden explosion of pain in his forehead, a series of sharp migraines he’d experienced ever since his drinking problem began. He’d mutter to himself something about his hangover so incoherently that not even he would know what he said. As he stretched his legs and looked out the window from the tavern guest bedroom, he saw a small flock of birds pass by overhead, and his only thought was “I hunger.” After grabbing the stack of books off the table and putting them into his pack, he walked outside the walls of Lunberg Castle, waiting for his client. He felt a small tingling sensation in his left hand, or, what was left of it. Groaning to himself about his makeshift prosthetic, he walked into the nearby forest and began to mess about in the trees, a small remnant of his behavior as a child. Though he was a tad slow, he still figured out his way in the world. He had copied every book in Adelsburgs’ library and was reading everything from newspapers to articles about anatomy. Though he seemed to be nothing more than some idiotic brute, he was quite intelligent. He fancied the finer things in life when he had the money, and was a slight foodie. He had tried the Azari Bathtub and drank the strongest of Denur ale. He could be a bit of a drunk, but when he was under the influence, he was nothing more than a man who only wanted to be friends with everyone around him. As the day passed on with no sign of his client coming, he made his way back to his room at the tavern.
Faroz washed the away the makeup hiding his scar. He hated it, but couldn’t stand to not see it. It made him who he was. A man who only felt pain. Guilt. Shame. He shouldn’t be alive, yet he is. Looking to the small noose next to him, he only felt… nothing. Presented with death itself and he felt like he was sapped of all emotions. He felt his ears beginning to throb, and cursed in elven about the man who pierced them a month before. He felt his heart rate racing for no reason, another thing that made his job harder. It’s not exactly easy to keep yourself quiet when others can literally hear your heart beating. He felt his scars on his back scratch against the sheets of the taverns bed, and a wound in his side opening up. This one from internal bleeding, as falling 30 feet onto a rock isn’t the best experience in the world. He tried to forget what happened months before, and decided to move on. He hated Vari, but he would deal with them when he had to, and right now, business was forcing his hand. As he wiped away some blood from his face he… wait, what? He but his hand back, realizing the loud ringing noise in his head. He felt his ears begin bleeding, eardrums shattered into a million pieces. He wanted to scream yet felt a choking sensation, like he was having a pitchfork pressed to his neck. Right as he felt his vocal cords snap he woke up, the relentless heat causing a soaking wet cold sweat. He wiped away the moisture on his brow and briefly thought about how glad he was to be out of that nightmare, or… was he? Looking to his left side he saw… nothing, just… nothing. He was surrounded by nothing, and it seemed to be closing in on him. He looked out the mirror next to him, and saw himself, but… happier. He had a wife and two kids, he was smiling and was glad to be alive. Was this what he wanted to be? Was this what he was supposed to be? He screwed it up, and he knew it. He keeps messing things up. It’s his fault. His fault he’s alive. His fault his parents aren’t here. His fault he couldn’t save them. They should be alive. They should be here. His blood should’ve been spilled on that altar, his bones lost to the deserts sand. He looked back to the noose, the one thing the darkness hadn’t taken, and stared at it. What felt like days went by, and all he did was stare. When given the opportunity, why didn’t he do it? He had the chance. He had the tools, so why? He turned his head to look back at that reflection, the one he saw of what he would’ve been. As Faroz stood to face the mirror, he saw a small hand reach through, inviting him. When he looked at the reflection, the hand belonged to who would’ve been his wife, yet as he looked back to the hand it turned more crooked and decayed, and before he could comprehend what was happening it grabbed him by the ankle and pulled him through the mirror. The glass shattered, peppering his back with shards of the reflective material. He felt his head slam into a rock before he fell down, and down, and down before hitting the ground, the pieces of glass going through him, puncturing his heart. He finally awoke to a sharp pain in his chest as the mark on his heart began throbbing in pain. He felt like he was being watched, stared at, spied on. He crawled over to a corner of the room, shriveling in pain and fear.