I am a wandering mercenary.
Looking back, it was a life that could end anywhere, at anytime.
The sun will set and the wind will blow, and someday I will be lost to history.
And perhaps... today will be that day.
I was always alone.
My weapons were the only thing I trusted. I had to put my life on the line just to eat.
As I learned to fight, I also learned not to fear the end.
War and famine, plagues and disasters... the world was surely falling apart.
The rich lined their pockets with comfort as they watched it happen.
I suppose if I had been born into a place like this, though, I'd like to sit back in blissful ignorance as well.
I try so hard to protect those around me, but I have a curse. I didn't believe it at first, and I doubt you believe it now either. But regardless, it exists, and there's no pleasant way to disguise it's brazen clutches.
I've tried every witch doctor on the continent, been blessed by every priest, and had countless exorcisms performed on me by superstitious bishops. You'd think that with all of this, I would be the luckiest person on the planet, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.
Even though I've been telling you all about myself, this story isn't about me. this story is about Eden.
Calloused, scarred hands rummaged through my brown rucksack. What an invasion of my hard-earned privacy. But I was in no position to protest, given that some hired thug of Cabine's was holding my arms back. The smaller of the two finally found the sense to dump my bag out, but obviously found nothing of interest. My jewels were all hidden in the small compartment in the bottom, and these two buffoons didn't have the mental capacity to unbutton a button anyway.
"It's not here," He grumbled, sounding more agitated than before. He gave me a look that I couldn't decipher, but it almost said "You're about to get your ass kicked."
That's normal. Day in, day out, alternating black eyes like mismatching socks every week. It's tedious and painful, but this is inevitable. It's always Cabine. I've been on the run for so long, I don't remember if there was really a place I came from or not. He thinks I have his treasure. Some silver cup lined with a golden rim and satin finish. Symbolic of maybe the land, or ethereal beauty, or God, but who the Hell cares? Materialism is a sin and holy objects shouldn't be praised anyway.
This is the only time his thugs have ever really caught me.
I was beat pretty bad that night. I was hot, hotter than I'd ever been. I don't know how long I laid there, sore and bleeding, but when I opened my eyes, the sun stained my vision and pain seared through my legs. Squinting, I tried to raise my arm but winced as my muscles remained stiff and raw. I think I laid there for several more hours, or days, but not years, despite what it felt like.
Sometimes I wonder why I still go through this. I don't remember where the curse came from. I remember a man, maybe he was my father or my brother or just a guardian, being slain in front of me by Cabine's relentless bodyguards. The memory is stuck in my throat and I'm not sure why I feel so strongly about it. From then on, all of the companions I've gathered have been murdered or died in some other traumatizing way. I don't care anymore. A billion dead friends mean nothing to me now. Just another seed in the ground and just another tiny pine box to waste my time burying.
I awoke again later, in less pain, but it was somehow still unbearable. The sun no longer blinded my vision, but the fact that the moon was visible through the leaves was not the only thing to jolt me awake. I had been moved to some kind of forest. I shifted to swat a mosquito on my side, quietly cursing and taking a moment to feel around my chest. My ribs were impudent, and my skin was thin. How long had it been? I briefly wondered if death had somehow taken me in my slumber, but the thought was cut short when the sensation of hunger jabbed at my side.
Rustling shrubbery to my left drove my hand to the sheath of my dagger, but it was nowhere to be found. Again I scrambled instinctively - ignoring my pain - to find anything to defend myself with.
Bright eyes burned into my flesh almost worse than the deep grooves in my face. The figure stepped closer to reveal herself, prompting yours truly to scurry backwards on wobbly knees. "Don't come any closer, you hear?" I said, trying to see past those stinging tears and get a good look at the threat.
A muddled gray pelt draped carelessly over the shoulders of a lithe but almost lanky figure. Her hair was tangled and dirty, evidence that she probably hadn't seen civilization in some moons. She wore torn clothes and clunky necklaces adorned with teeth. Two dark irises complimented the opaque bags beneath her eyes.
An ugly thing.
She reluctantly stepped forward, pointing some kind of makeshift dagger at me as if I might strike first. I stayed painstakingly still, and every sound in the area stopped, as if the earth itself had drawn in it's breath.
She lowered herself beside me, inching closer to my face and surveying my position. "You're well?"
I blinked, snapping out of the dazed hysteria I had out myself into moments ago. "Huh?"
"Do you feel well?" She asked in that raspy voice, void eyes cutting into my skin like rigid daggers.
"I don't... I mean, I am well, yeah."
She stepped back again, and took a seat beside me as if she were some kind of friend. How does one react in this situation?
I shifted, crawling into a sitting position as well and finally scrounging up a few words.
"Did you take my stuff?"
"Yes."
"Why? It's not yours."
"You will fight me with your sword. I helped you. It is good pay for that."
Her broken English was more than difficult to understand, but it seemed as though she saved my life in exchange for my rucksack. Which wasn't equal pay in the slightest, considering my life isn't worth much.
"Okay..." I said, rubbing the back of my neck. She just sat there, motionless.
"What's your name?" I asked, trying to start up a conversation. a plan was already brewing in my brain. I would befriend her, and win over my rucksack. I was in no state to fight her for it anyway. Or maybe I could take it while she was sleeping.
"You first." She replied, cracking a smile. It would be taken as innocent if it weren't for those dirty, stained lips.
"Azael." I stated, leaning backwards and motioning at her. "Now you."
She paused, staring off at something far beyond me as though she might have to think this question over.
"Eden."
That's how I met her. It seems juvenile now, and almost dream-like.
But nevertheless, I'll tell you this story. The story of how Eden died.
