Post by McDark on Jan 3, 2005 21:32:25 GMT
Edmund was no architect. Hell, he couldn't even read, the poor bastard. Not that this was uncommon, mind, but in his family, he was the dumb one. Poor old Eddie - couldn't even read.
Well, young master Blashyrkh - the most junior of four siblings - had other skills. Of course he did - you never grew up on the streets of the east side without skills. That was something he found out when he saw his sister hospitalised. Damn that stupid bitch - yeah sure, 'a little extra money'. Busted lip, and a stomach wound - that's what she got. Arrogant cow. Yeah, let's see who's the clever one now Cherise, with your deformed face and heavy scarring. Heh, don't mess with that you don't know, eh?
Edmund stood in the hallway of his old home. The pungent stench of alcohol he was used to, as one of his father's half-empty tankards lay on the worm-eaten dresser to hand. He considered finishing the contents, but no - this was no time for booze. He could get violently drunk later.
Or now, he mused, emptying the drinking vessel, as he stood alone in that gloomy hall. At least it kept out the screams of his father's brutal whoring upstairs, as his mother shuffled up to him.
"Be a good lad, won't you Edmund?" she implored weakly, her hands wrinkled from the washing maiden. Hoisting his rusty mail with one arm, the protagonist nodded respectfully, looking down at the aging woman. She was pathetic and bent, her pitiful eyes looking up to her youngest son, and last hope for a decent future.
Their eyes locked for a moment, Edmund and his mother. It seemed like an eternity, as a glint of a tear appeared in her unbruised eye.
With that, Edmund Blashyrkh left, observed by only the darkling night.
Well, young master Blashyrkh - the most junior of four siblings - had other skills. Of course he did - you never grew up on the streets of the east side without skills. That was something he found out when he saw his sister hospitalised. Damn that stupid bitch - yeah sure, 'a little extra money'. Busted lip, and a stomach wound - that's what she got. Arrogant cow. Yeah, let's see who's the clever one now Cherise, with your deformed face and heavy scarring. Heh, don't mess with that you don't know, eh?
Edmund stood in the hallway of his old home. The pungent stench of alcohol he was used to, as one of his father's half-empty tankards lay on the worm-eaten dresser to hand. He considered finishing the contents, but no - this was no time for booze. He could get violently drunk later.
Or now, he mused, emptying the drinking vessel, as he stood alone in that gloomy hall. At least it kept out the screams of his father's brutal whoring upstairs, as his mother shuffled up to him.
"Be a good lad, won't you Edmund?" she implored weakly, her hands wrinkled from the washing maiden. Hoisting his rusty mail with one arm, the protagonist nodded respectfully, looking down at the aging woman. She was pathetic and bent, her pitiful eyes looking up to her youngest son, and last hope for a decent future.
Their eyes locked for a moment, Edmund and his mother. It seemed like an eternity, as a glint of a tear appeared in her unbruised eye.
With that, Edmund Blashyrkh left, observed by only the darkling night.
