Jump to content

It's Siomun's Fault


PrincetDime
 Share

Recommended Posts

In the dah’Rini district of Rozania's capital, a small form would be curled on a mat, clutching two differently-sized masks to their chest. One would fit an adult human; one would fit a child - or a halfling. The figure itself looked to be the size of a child, hunkered under a blue robe.

“Siomun’s sorry,” the figure mumbled, voice thick with tears and snot. Their own mask was set to the side, round face discolored red from how long they’d been crying. Their eyes were shut tight, face contorted in pain, as they just sobbed.

When a crack sounded out, Siomun's eyes flew open. He stared, horrified, at the smaller mask. It was now in two pieces, split down the middle. “P-Purin?”

More tears came, and he hugged the masks to him tighter than before, not caring if he somehow got splinters from the split birch. “S-Siomun’s sorry… sorry…”

His thoughts were a flurry, mixing between what may have happened all those years ago and what happened in the capital city just last season.

 

~~~~

“Where’s the heathen? The one who procreates with non-humans? Tell us or we ransack your stall.”

“She’s- she’s a good person.”

A cold, cruel laugh rang out.

“She needs to meet justice for her crimes.”

When the merchant hesitated, one of the figures put a hand on their sword.

“In-a-tent-outside-the-city.”

Siomun’s head was filled with the clanking he was surrounded with when those same figures moved to find Brawly, but now they were moving to find his parents.

~

Then Siomun saw the tent he lived in with his parents, could hear the pair talking inside, and knew where his mind was going.

But it couldn’t be stopped.

The tent was slashed open, revealing his human mother and halfling father.

Kill them and take what you want.

~~~~

 

Siomun would start to furiously shake their head, preferring the pain it caused over what their brain was coming up with. “Siomun’s sorry!” They cried out, new sobs coming as fresh tears streamed down their cheeks.

When the pain of lashing their head became too much, they simply curled into themselves tighter, accepting that their ears would ring with the clanking of the metal and the cruel laughter they had heard.

That their nose would sting from the smell of their parents' corpses, found by them much later in the day.

That their hands would tingle from the feel of the sand as they attempted to give them a burial, too scared and numb to even think of asking for help.

He would fall into an uneasy sleep, still mumbling apologies to the masks, body exhausted from the crying but mind still tormenting him.

Link to post
Share on other sites

 Share

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.



×
×
  • Create New...