In Twain (BoyxBoy)

1 - m o n s t e r

Charzaphir

Monster.
Brute.
Beast.
Animal.

Muttered in my direction more times than I'd like to admit, I've heard it all. All the things that my kin forced me to be over the years, I'm the sword arm. He's too lazy to lift his own. I'm his control over people, quick-tempered and vicious because I must be as his extension. I am all the things I don't want to be because I must. The choice to be anything different was taken from me long ago. Once I thought to be a Forn in my own right, Scion to the Throne, but underestimating someone was a mistake I only made once in my life. It would never happen again. While I am Forn, I am not Forn for my patron and that burns given I know what my kin is capable of and what he's already done.

Tired. Blood and sweat, coupled with several days of killing, followed by more marching, everyone in this company was tired and ready for a rest. The thick oppressive humidity of the north slowly gave way to the cooler air of the south as we pressed onward to my close-kin's holdings, Kitterei. What should have been a mundane return trip, instead, took a dramatic turn when we reached the overgrown pathways in the forest, forcing our lines into tight quarters.

Something wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones, feel it running along my spine. It was a heavy itching sensation. Someone, somewhere, watched from a hidden place. I could feel the eyes of the intruder on us. I made a few silent gestures and watched as the men fanned out as I dropped my hand to the hilt of my own weapon. They began searching the immediate vicinity. A few moments later, a naked stranger burst forth from the heavy brush, running from one of my men who followed closely with his sword.

I stared in shock as the he stopped short seeing the regiment standing before him. One man with a sword was one thing, but a group of armed men was likely more than he could bear. He didn't have weapons. He didn't have anything on him. How could one get into the middle of the forest and have no supplies, no clothing, no weapons, nothing to aid him? Did he escape from someone? Was this a trap and he left his gear somewhere else?

The wanderer was caked in dried mud on nearly every surface of his body. His hair hung in his face and was also covered in the muck. I couldn't tell how long it actually was. Who was this man? Was he the one we sought? Given the bewilderment on his face, I thought not. I scowled. I could only imagine my close-kin's response when I told him of our failure and instead finding a naked man in the forest. Tempted to just leave, I considered my options and instead reached into my sack and pulled out a dirty undershirt.

I tossed it at him. He didn't attempt to catch it and it landed at his feet in the dirt. I gestured at it. He bent down and picked it up. He held it out before him and started to approach me. The sound of additional swords being drawn halted him. He dropped the shirt and rushed back to the brush naked. I sighed.

I hated my close-kin at that moment. If he hadn't insisted that I lead the charge at Umsbreck, I wouldn't be heading back to his holdings. I wouldn't have discovered this...this creature. He would still be unknown to me. I dismounted and picked up the clothing.

"Bring him back." I commanded.

They immediately charged after him and dragged him back in front of me. He panted, struggling in their arms. I practically smelled his fear. He stared at me with eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. I felt a headache starting to form around my temples. I wanted to just be done of the whole situation. I ignored the hoof steps of an approaching mount. Instead, I kept my attention on the man and shook the clothing at him again. He gazed around himself like he didn't know where he was, that he was lost among the enemy. To men like him, they feared our legion for good reason. We were called upon when someone, namely my kinsfolk, got into another argument and needed yet another example. There was no emotion strong enough to describe how much I loathed my blood-kin's existence.