Darkness. An endless void deprived of any light and sound. A void that seemed to have the lack of time. There floated a consciousness, ridded of any form or shape. Its thoughts were of nothing besides self depreciation and self loathing.
"It was pointless."
"I am pointless."
"Who the hell did I even think I was."
"I'm nobody that brings everyone down with me."
"That is who I am."
The sensation of water droplets bombarding the void brought the consciousness to a stop of the self hatred. Its thoughts were now only of what this feeling is and why it is feeling it. Rays of light penetrate the dark void. "Cracks" of a pure white light cover the ever stretching void.
As one of the rays of light penetrates the void it strikes the consciousness to "feel" an immense "pain", a burning sensation coursed throughout the consciousness. If consciousness were to have a form right now, it would be an earthworm out in the sun during the scorching months, squirming and withering in immense pain. The consciousness's only thoughts were of how much it burned, pained, felt violated by the penetrating ray of light. It would try to scream out in pain, but no sound would be made nor heard.
The void dissipated leaving a pure white light to expand endlessly. Shapes were being formed, color was being introduced, a baby blue sky could be seen with the occasional little cloud puff. A ground could be felt, sound could be heard, and visions were to be seen. A new sensation of wet leather and cold iron could be felt. The formless conciseness now had shape, a body, it was free of the eternal burning sensation.
Lying on the ground was a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties, he had long black hair down to his shoulders, the hair was rough looking, tangled, course, and oily contrasting his smooth, clear, and pasty white skin. The young man was dawning leather armor with iron plating on his shoulders, chest, forearm, shins, and feet. Dried blood plastered his upper right shoulder, the cause of the blood was a large arrow protruding out of his right shoulder. The man laid on the ground looking up at the sky with an empty gaze as if he just experienced something traumatic. A few minutes pass before the man sits up with a grunt, as he sits up he observes his surroundings, the half dazed man finally reacts to his surroundings as he sees the field of corpses.
Fear and confusion flooded the man's entire body as he soon came to the realization that everyone was dead and that he didn't even know where he was.
"Where am I…?"
"Why am I here…?"
"Why am I in a place like this?!"
The man cried out in desperation. The young man tries to stand up but when he tries his left leg starts to shake, causing him to lose his balance. He sees a large stick, more branch than stick though; the young man grabs it and uses it for support to stand up, the young man starts limping towards a large tree,putting all of his weight on the stick.The tree had no leaves and was pitch white with splashes of black on it, but the most conspicuous thing about it was the five men who appeared to be soldiers dawning the same armor as the man hanging from the many protruding branches. Thick coarse ropes were tied around the soldiers necks, their faces frozen with the expressions of pain and agony. Many bodies surrounded the tree, all of the corpses dawning the same armor as the young man, except for three of the corpses they had thick blue padding studded with leather and a little bit of iron.
The young man trips over one of the dead soldiers, the fall causing the arrow to go deeper into the man's shoulder bringing fresh blood to cover the dried. A sharp pain pulsates throughout his shoulder and a burning sensation around the entry wound. Overwhelming fear from the burning sensation causes the young man's breathing to become ragged and coarse. The burning sensation's pain was not all that painful, but the young man is forced to remember a trauma that never happened to him in a physical sense. Still on the ground the young man grabs his knees bringing them up towards his head, balling up and weeping.
The golden sky and the sound of a carriage wakes the man from his slumber. The young man gets up and looks around to see where the carriage is, he sees it to the east heading towards him. The man rubs his eyes and nose, then he starts to head towards the carriage hoping to find out where he is and if he can get a ride to the nearest village or town. The carriage stops in front of the man. Driving the carriage was an older man, he had a full graying beard and a completely bald head. The older man has a burly build and looks far from a frail old man. The older man says with a little bit of concern
" ya look like yer a mess do ya need a ride, I'm headin ova to Langven it ain't a long ride." "Where are we?"
The young man asked, sounding more like he was demanding an answer than being just curious.
"We ought ta be about half ah days ride into Nazorex. Though might I ask, how do ya not know where ya at or goin?"
The older man asks in worry as he feels genuine concern for the younger man.
"I don't know… I really don't know."
The young man said, his words sounding hollow. Looking as if he was in a daze or trance the young man still sounding hollow said,
"I woke up in a field of corpses… and I don't know what or how I got there."
"Right now…I'm just happy to see someone alive. It feels like relieving a heavy burden I guess."
The young man says with a strained smile on his face feeling relieved that he finally found someone that was alive. Although the smile was forced he truly felt a little happy.
"Whell that is quite peculiar, ere was me thinkin you were one of dem soldiers from dat border skirmish ah couple of days ago."
The older man said half laughingly.
"My names Henric of Orstol."
The older man-Henric said, wearing a smile as he said his name proudly.
"Well boy, what's yer name?"
Henric said with curiosity. Time has stopped, the young man's heart felt as it stopped, he felt nauseous, he felt like his organs would fall apart if he moved, if he thought too hard, if he did anything he might keel over on the spot, this feeling was nauseating. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick with myself. These thoughts were overwhelming the young man's mind, he felt sick and dizzy at how he never thought of this already. Who am I? Why did I never question the lack of memories I had or the lack of knowledge I carried? I guess I just never had a chance to sit down and think about it, I was probably just overwhelmed with thinking about the situation I was in. I never gave it a thought about who I was, I was just more concerned about where I was. That makes me sick. That makes me feel sick.
The young man stood there with a vortex of emotions overtaking him, the swirling emotions made him feel wrong on the insides as if he was just mush, being held to gather by skin. "Ah…my name is it you ask for?"
The young man said, sounding like he was asking himself that very question.
"Well it's…Cynbel, and no family name or anything fancy like that."
The young man now named Cynbel claimed as he wore a sheepish smile and fidgeted with his hair on the back of his head. I'm lying. I'm a liar, and that makes me a sick person. Cynbel who is of no origin thought to himself.
"Hmmm… well I haven't heard of ah name like that before. It's quite intrestin."
Henric said half laughing and sounding quite amused by Cynbel.
"So how bout it ya wantin a ride ova to Langven?"
Henric said, sounding like his usual self again. "Uh…are you sure about that? We just met after all and you don't really know me anyways."
Cynbel said, sounding puzzled yet thankful for the old man's kind gesture.
"Just get in da back of tha wagon already. You seem like ah good enough, and what's wrong with helpin out someone that's in need?"
Henric said pridefully. Cynbel listens to the old man and he heads towards the back of the wagon to get in, but he pauses for a second and thinks about how trusting he is towards Henric. Cynbel dismisses the thoughts and gets in the wagon.
"Alright old man I'm all set!"
Cynbel yells towards Henric.
"Hey, who's da old man?! I'm still in ma prime!"
Henric says pridefully while chuckling.
Henric grabs the reins and flicks them to direct the two horses forward. Cynbel rests his back against the right side of the carriage and starts to doze off to sleep, when suddenly the carriage comes to a halt causing Cynbel to rock side to side slightly making his right shoulder to feel a sharp pain due to the arrow still being logged into it. Suddenly a man's voice can be heard saying
"Hey old man get out of the damn carriage and hand over any valuables you have!"
Henric gets out of the carriage like how the man asked, but as he did his left hand was reaching for something inconspicuously. Henric, now completely out of the carriage, charges the man with a unique knife. The knife's blade was six inches and the handle was three inches, the blade's design had a smaller blade forking out of the main blade making it look like part of the head of a trident. The blade's color was a deep sea blue and the handle was jet black with three white dots going vertically down it. Henric is able to get within stabbing distance, he prepares to stab the man's throat, but just as he does that he is able to hit Henric's arm away from his throat causing the blade to puncture his right shoulder. Blood rushed out of the man's wound, wincing from the pain the man punched Henric with his left hand on the side of his head hard enough to hear a loud crack. The blow put Henric in a daze and caused him to fall to the ground holding the left side of his head as the pain pulsated throughout his entire head.
Blood trickles down the man's hand as he grabs the knife from his shoulder, causing more blood to rush out of the stab wound. Breathing heavily the man brings the knife down on the top of Henric's head, blood completely staining the knife and man's hand. Henric laid on his back looking up at the man who was murdering him, the blood ran down to Henric's beard, clumping it up, staining it a deep red. With bloodshot eyes Henric stared at the man while he grabbed something from his side. A small silver blade without a proper handle could be seen glinting in Henric's hand, the blade was too small to be called knife or dagger, but was too large to be named some type of razor. The silver blade flew off of Henric's hand as he flicked his wrist towards the aggressive man.Blood sprayed the ground as the silver blade ripped through the man's upper thigh, causing him to fall onto his knees with one hand on the new wound and the other raised with the deep blue blade, preparing to drop down and end the old man's life.
"You ba..stard…"
Were the words grunted out of the man as he brought the knife down to Henric's throat; blood poured out of Henric's throat staining his white shirt and the surrounding ground a dark red.
Cynbel, hearing the end of the commotion tries to think of what he should do, thoughts flooded Cynbel almost making him numb to the world around him. Footsteps could be heard, slow but steady; these noises brought Cynbel back to his senses. How long has it been? No, that doesn't matter, I need to think of what to do. It sounds like Henric is either dead or unconscious, hopefully the latter. It also sounds like either the horses calmed down or were killed. I need to prepare myself and find some kind of weapon just for the scenario Henric did die. These were the thoughts of a man who were accustomed to situations like this, almost as if Cynbel had been through such circumstances before. The footsteps getting closer and more steady rushed Cynbel to reach his conclusion; he needed to use the broken arrow that is still lodged into his shoulder as a weapon. With a firm pull the half-arrow came out, followed by the flow of crimson blood further dying the shoulders armor red. Cynbel positioned himself where he could easily leap onto any aggressor that would approach him while still being concealed within the tan fabric forming a roof over the backside of the wagon. Gripping the arrow as if it was a dagger, Cynbel prepared to leap onto whoever was approaching the back of the wagon.
A bloodied man came in view of Cynbel, he pounced on top of the man driving the arrow deep into the man's neck, blood staining Cybel's hand. In return the man stabbed Cynbel twice, once in his left eye completely destroying it and the other deep in the center of his throat.
Imminent pain surged throughout Cybbel's face, blood started to flood his mouth. The sticky crimson liquid sputtered out of his mouth as he started to choke on it. Two dull eyes looked up at Cynbel, two empty lightless eyes stared deep into Cynbel.
Darkness started to consume Cynbel as his one good eye struggled to stay open due to the immense blood loss, coursing pain, and physical exhaustion started to overtake the young man. Two pairs of eyes mirroring each other, two pairs of soulless eyes.