You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
Darnell stares skeptically at the hag before settling down in the tent. He glances off for a brief moment, considering if talking to a random hag would be a good idea. His eyes dip down as he sighs, raking a hand through his hair. He doesn’t like talking to people, so talking to a stranger in a random tent is out of his comfort zone.
“Expecting me?” he murmurs, a frown tugging at his lips. “I was passing by with my brother, Svend. He arrived a few hours earlier than me. I was falling behind because of my other, younger sister.”
He shakes his head, finding the extra information useless to tell a stranger.
“My story is nothing short of tragedy. Life was good for a while,” he whispers, refusing to make direct eye contact. “Childhood was good. Life with a brother and sister, we played, fought, made up, and teased each other until our parents got sick of the bickering. But life takes away good things.”
There’s a long, tense pause. Darnell lets out a sad laugh before tipping his head to the side to finally look at the old hag.
“My parents were killed. Cliche as it is. I was only 13. It was back in my hometown, a small village. A comfortable, friendly town. A wagon broke down near the edge of the village. It was filled with far folk… bulky men. It was clear that there was no good. But our parents were so kind, so loving, and sweet, that their first instinct was to run up and help. But of course, it was just a way to try to rob the weaker of men.”
Darnell glances off again, rubbing his throat as he swallows back a well of emotion. He grunts and straightens up.
“I watched my father try to save my mother. A large man had a weapon to her throat, but as soon as his guard was lowered, boom,” – he makes an odd hand movement for emphasis – “my father slammed his fist to the man’s jaw. Earning my father a stab wound. My mother tried to run. I…” Darnell chokes up for a brief moment, eyes squinting at nothing in particular. “I didn’t see what happened. Svend refused to let me see, let alone even tell me now that I’m 20.”
He shakes his head at the thought of his brother still not providing that information.
“All I remember was crying, then nothing. Svend ushered me back home with my sister–Gael. I can tell something in Svend changed that day. Something died, perhaps. He wasn’t the same happy Svend he used to be. I could tell he was protecting us from whatever happened to our mother.”
He fiddles with the chain on his vest, feeling awkward about venting to this woman. He glances at her, only to see she’s staring at him expectantly for more. His jaw tightens but he reluctantly continues.
“While my brother fought high and low to provide for me and my brother, I stayed home and watched Gael. The house felt colder, less like home. I would see Svend come home bloodied or beaten. I always assumed he was doing something sketchy. Something he shouldn’t be doing, but he went ahead and did it anyway because he felt the need to be strong. I never saw him cry, never even saw the kid mourn. It was like he was a shell of what he used to be for the longest time…”
“I typically stayed reserved after the incident. I suppose you can call it a way to protect myself, but I was quieter and less willing to go out. I just stayed home and read. I am a man of few words…” He gives her a certain look. “But here I am, speaking the most I have in a while to you. A stranger.”
With a groan, he decides to get more comfortable, since he’ll be here for a while longer.
“I’m grateful, though. Svend never let our bond dwindle due to my nature. As much as I hate the way he came home bloodied all the time, I love him to pieces. He was always making sure to keep the family together. Playing the role of a peacekeeper. Err.. Or a father.”
He pauses, thinking over that title for a long while.
“Is it bad I resent my father?” he murmurs, hoping the hag wouldn’t catch the words that slipped out.
“Anyway…” he breathes out, “As we got older, Svend got more and more reckless with whatever he was doing. He came home bloodied and bruised. Tired. Entirely worn. One day it was bad, though. The injuries were unlike anything I’ve seen before, they were worse… Lucky us Svend taught us a bit about bandaging and cleaning wounds. I stitched him up and he just… rushed us to leave our village. He said something like ‘We need to go, now, towards the city.’ Or something along those lines. I don’t remember. But he packed our things and got someone to bring us along towards the city.”
He licks his lips, his voice hoarse from the uncomfortable amount of talking. He shuffles a bit and thinks for a long moment.
“There are things I haven’t told Gael or Svend. Things you aren’t going to tell them either.” He shoots her a warning look before continuing. “When I was 16, Svend was 17. Since we were poor and my brother was the provider, I felt useless. A babysitter for my sister. Of course, I’ll protect her ‘till my dying breath, but I still felt like another mouth to feed, another reason my brother went out and got hurt all the time.”
An involuntary whimper slips from the memory. “I told myself that when Svend was gone, I would run away. Take a burden off his back and make it easier for him to survive. Two is easier than three. So when my sister was napping, I took off. I ran until I was met with dense forest and a quiet breeze. For a moment I was sure I would be okay, they would be okay. But then, low and behold, I heard the murmurs of what I heard four years beforehand. Those men. Those men who killed my parents.” He shakes his head. “They spotted me, and I was sure my stupidity would kill me too. That I would meet the same fate my father did. Hopeless to cruel hands.. Before they could reach me I ran back towards the town, of course, they were hot on my heels. They wanted my bag. Which was only filled with bread, water, and my favorite book. Nothing of value. I could have spilled my bag for them and they would have likely left. But I was afraid they’d recognize me and kill me. I was so scared.” His voice has a slight tremor in it before he clears his throat. He slides his hand down his chest, a nervous habit.
His eyes shut. “I got away. They didn’t follow me into the town. I ran back home and kept my mouth shut. Svend would have been so disappointed–angered, even. I couldn’t handle that. I was a coward to those folk and a coward to my own flesh and blood. Luckily I returned before my brother did, and there was no suspicion because I don’t talk much anyway. I kept quiet, nervously eyeing from afar. But he just went to sleep. I didn’t try anything like that again. Fear is my worst enemy.” He pauses. “Not fear, but dying the same way my father did, by the same hands, definitely is my worst enemy.”
He drops his head in his hands, reeling from the fact he just relayed his worst memories to some random woman. He stands up abruptly, regret seeping into his bones quicker than he expected. “That’s my story,” he says sharply. “Don’t go telling people about my life.” Despite his harsh tone, there’s a hint of vulnerability. He eyes her for a moment longer before turning and leaving the tent.
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Svend and Gael are real players that will be applying to the server as well. Here are the screenshots of their approval;
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