Brother, where have you gone?

[garentoft 9265]

 

 

Baelor Velarian wandered into the room, his gaze settling upon the kitchen, the place where he would normally spot his brother, Drunwin. The ‘Fenn’s expression would grow rather distraught, noticing a certain lack of his beloved brother. He knew his brother did not leave the kitchen, never once had he not seen his brother inside it. The meat cleaver, which Drunwin had favoured for his lamb chops, laid lonely on the counter, as if it had not been touched in a few days. Baelor wrapped his finger around the handle of the cleaver, his facial muscles tensing as he sucked in a deep breath, the small crackling of fingers heard as he tightened his grip on the meat cleaver. “Where is my Brother?!” Erupted the ‘Fenn, simultaneously smashing the cleaver into the counter, splinters of stone flying everywhere from the impact. “This is Aelthir’s fault! It’s all his fault! He cannot even take care of his people, the chikr! The ‘Fenn shouted, his words echoing through the fort, he ripped the cleaver out of the counter, his expression turning from the furious anger to a saddened one, one of someone who had lost the last thing they cared about.

 

With silent and fast steps, the Mali’fenn marched out of the fort, the cleaver still tightly held within his grasp, the last thing he had left of Drunwin. Teary-eyed, he continued on his way down the road, the darkened clouds in the sky, signaling for the rain to start falling soon. He had never wanted to live with the ‘Fenn, he had never wanted to live at the fort, but Drunwin had convinced him. He had always followed Drunwin loyally, his older brother, the only person that had ever really been there for him. They had often spoken of opening a restaurant, Drunwin had been quite the excellent chef, something Baelor had always admired.

 

The raindrops started to fall around Baelor, though he continued on his way, the ‘Fenn’s posture slouched forwards as he walked. This was a strange feeling to him, the feeling of loneliness, his brother had always been by his side, no matter where they were. The rain intensifying around him, his attire entirely drenched, his wet locks falling over his eyes. Even the fall of night was approaching, the normally loud and wrothful ‘Fenn raised his gaze shortly, “Hmph…” He muttered, the realisation that night was about to fall.

 

Soon his walk would come to an end, not really the location he was looking for, but was he really looking for anything? His gaze settled upon what appeared to be an abandoned and ruined tower, the seeming to be everlasting. He shuffled his way inside, the tower appearing to be many centuries old, a narrow staircase being the only indication of a way to the top of the tower. The ‘Fenn would make his way up the broken and weary steps, cautious as ever to prevent a premature plummet to his death. The top of the tower would be about as ruined as the rest, a cauldron, a birdcage and a small chest being the only things really making it seem like it was ever in use. He slumped against the rather large birdcage, his back resting against it, taking in a deep breath. “Brother, where have you gone?” He mumbled, his saddened tone almost cracking as sat with the cleaver in his lap, “You didn’t give me a single word, not even a note… But don’t worry!” He broke into an obvious fake, nervous and saddened chuckle, his eyes having remained teary for almost the entirety of the time he had been walking, “I will find you, brother, trust me.”

 

Spoiler

I have no idea why I'm even writing an RP post for my least played character, to be entirely honest. Nevertheless, I did enjoy writing this, as it's apparently also my first RP post. At least I did an adequate job, in my own opinion. And yes, this post isn't really important to anyone but myself and @parion_, but hey, I do what I want.

Why the heck does formatting always break on the last paragraph, it isn't really aesthetically pleasing.

 

[Ducklingator 795]

"I almost find this funny..."

 

The deep monotone rasped through the chamber.

[Parion 1130]

Somewhere far - in a rocky, spooky enclave - a mass of steel plate slaves away at its working surface, venturing the greatest depths of cookery theory to unearth the ideal technique for the creamiest ice cream scoops.

 

Truly, the Dread Knight would never understand why he sought out the recipe.