STORY: Doubts
The sounds of battle are intense. Everywhere around him there are people fighting beastmen. The Galka, already disappointed that he missed out on the fun of being here at the beginning, does not hesitate at all in readying his Great Axe and jumping into the fray. He's mad. Mad at... something. He focuses this anger onto the beastmen who stands in front of him. One good swing cleaves the monster in two, spilling its blood all over the Galka. He laughes then, as he knows this will be a satisfying fight. With little pause between enemies, he loses himself to the berserker rage that comes to him so naturally...
Wendell awoke with a start. He sat up in his bed and tried to push the images the dream evoked out of his mind. He never had violent dreams like this. At least, not until after his mentor Dipaco-Kupaco passed away and Wendell had found those old letters. Thankfully the dreams weren't every night, but they still alarmed him. He sat in his bed for a few minutes and tried to clear his mind of that dream. It took him a little while, but he was finally able to do it.
Wendell got up from his bed and lit the lamp. It was still dark out. He pulled the box of letters out from under his bed and stared at them. The Galka who wrote them, Bardon, was a mystery to Wendell. His mentor had never spoke of him. Yet from the letters it seemed this mysterious Galka was somehow linked to himself. Wendell reached for one of the letters to read it again, but stopped himself and pulled his hand away. He already knew them by heart. Reading them again would gleam nothing new.
The letters were puzzling only because Wendell's mentor had always refused to talk with him about his past. Whenever he asked, Dipaco-Kupaco would simply tell him, "The person-werson who looks only to the pasty-wasty can'taru see where he's going-oing." That thought brought a smile to Wendell face now. The Tarutaru on whole had a fun way of speaking, and even thinking of it could help lift his spirits. But if Dipaco didn't want to dwell on the past, then why did he save those letters? That was one of the many questions these letters raised.
Still, if the letters were puzzling, the dreams were downright disturbing. He is a healer, a helper to those in need. The thought of enjoying fighting to such an extent scares him. Is this what lurks deep down inside him? Are these flashes from a past life, flashes of a hidden nature that will only begin to grow stronger? Wendell is not sure, but he's afraid the answer is yes. It makes him leery to even draw his war hammer, the healer's weapon, in times of need.
Wendell yawned and looked out his window. The sky was beginning to brighten outside and it looked like there wasn't much point in trying to get back to sleep now. He started getting ready for his day. Helping others, healing those in need, these activities usually keep his mind off of his troubles. He's already traveled to Bastok to try and find this mysterious "Bardon," but the people there were not very helpful to him. It seemed like even in the town of his origin, he was considered an outsider. Wondering if he'll ever find a place he truly belongs, Wendell left his house to begin a new day, one that he hopes may contain answers to the questions he seeks.
Wendell awoke with a start. He sat up in his bed and tried to push the images the dream evoked out of his mind. He never had violent dreams like this. At least, not until after his mentor Dipaco-Kupaco passed away and Wendell had found those old letters. Thankfully the dreams weren't every night, but they still alarmed him. He sat in his bed for a few minutes and tried to clear his mind of that dream. It took him a little while, but he was finally able to do it.
Wendell got up from his bed and lit the lamp. It was still dark out. He pulled the box of letters out from under his bed and stared at them. The Galka who wrote them, Bardon, was a mystery to Wendell. His mentor had never spoke of him. Yet from the letters it seemed this mysterious Galka was somehow linked to himself. Wendell reached for one of the letters to read it again, but stopped himself and pulled his hand away. He already knew them by heart. Reading them again would gleam nothing new.
The letters were puzzling only because Wendell's mentor had always refused to talk with him about his past. Whenever he asked, Dipaco-Kupaco would simply tell him, "The person-werson who looks only to the pasty-wasty can'taru see where he's going-oing." That thought brought a smile to Wendell face now. The Tarutaru on whole had a fun way of speaking, and even thinking of it could help lift his spirits. But if Dipaco didn't want to dwell on the past, then why did he save those letters? That was one of the many questions these letters raised.
Still, if the letters were puzzling, the dreams were downright disturbing. He is a healer, a helper to those in need. The thought of enjoying fighting to such an extent scares him. Is this what lurks deep down inside him? Are these flashes from a past life, flashes of a hidden nature that will only begin to grow stronger? Wendell is not sure, but he's afraid the answer is yes. It makes him leery to even draw his war hammer, the healer's weapon, in times of need.
Wendell yawned and looked out his window. The sky was beginning to brighten outside and it looked like there wasn't much point in trying to get back to sleep now. He started getting ready for his day. Helping others, healing those in need, these activities usually keep his mind off of his troubles. He's already traveled to Bastok to try and find this mysterious "Bardon," but the people there were not very helpful to him. It seemed like even in the town of his origin, he was considered an outsider. Wondering if he'll ever find a place he truly belongs, Wendell left his house to begin a new day, one that he hopes may contain answers to the questions he seeks.
posted by Unknown at 14:12
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