06-25-2009, 06:27 AM
1)
He couldn't be too late this time. Balthus cold not be allowed to continue. He'd read the notes, he knew what this monster was capable of, what he wanted to be capable of and he'd have the Necrodiantor's help to do it now.
His thought wandered back...
He'd been about Samantha's age when it happened. He remembered his father had died inside that day, the body still lived but the spirit was broken which is why in anger and frustration he'd left and decided to make due on his own, cut all ties. It was better to stay unconnected.
He'd survived. A little pickpocketing, a little theft, whatever was necessary. It wasn't a life he'd wish on Samantha, but at the time, he'd have told anyone he was happy and doing just fine, though he'd be lying.
He lied a lot back then, often to himself.
And then one day when he'd tried to lift the purse of a man a head taller and several stone heavier and with unnaturally good senses, things changed. It had been a hard lesson in overconfidence and by rights he should have been dead right there and then, if Simion hadn't intervened.
Marcus smiled to himself. Good old Simion, practically a second father. Marcus still didn't know what he saw in a rough boy with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Nimian Spire, but he'd intervened and sent the angry fighter off with his proverbial tail between his legs. Marcus had never seen anyone move that fast before.
Afterwards, Simion introduced himself and made him an offer.
He'd accepted, mostly because it meant getting regular meals and a bed that wasn't crawling with life and anyway, he could always sneak away later if he wanted to. He never expected to learn anything.
Funny how that worked. In only a few years, Marcus the thief and occasional thug became Marcus the Guardian, and to his own surprise, it suited him. He wasn't helpless anymore, he could do something to keep what happened to his family from happening to anyone else.
Or so he thought.
Aeriel... Eric...
Marcus shuddered.
It had been years, yet the memory still felt fresh and raw in his heart. It was like it had been with his mother, only worse. Over the years he'd replayed it over and over in his mind, always with the same results, his training for naught.
They said he shouldn't have survived his wounds, but somehow he did.
And from then on he'd started volunteering for more and more dangerous missions for the guardians. He let his personal ties wane, perhaps protecting himself from another loss. Above all, he was a guardian, and guardians protected people, even if the people had abandoned them. Someone had to. Infiltrating the Necrodiantors was just another way of doing that.
Which brings us back to Balthus, he thought. What are you and your men up to?
"What're they doing?" whispered Alston.
"Shh," the elf woman hissed.
He couldn't be too late this time. Balthus cold not be allowed to continue. He'd read the notes, he knew what this monster was capable of, what he wanted to be capable of and he'd have the Necrodiantor's help to do it now.
His thought wandered back...
He'd been about Samantha's age when it happened. He remembered his father had died inside that day, the body still lived but the spirit was broken which is why in anger and frustration he'd left and decided to make due on his own, cut all ties. It was better to stay unconnected.
He'd survived. A little pickpocketing, a little theft, whatever was necessary. It wasn't a life he'd wish on Samantha, but at the time, he'd have told anyone he was happy and doing just fine, though he'd be lying.
He lied a lot back then, often to himself.
And then one day when he'd tried to lift the purse of a man a head taller and several stone heavier and with unnaturally good senses, things changed. It had been a hard lesson in overconfidence and by rights he should have been dead right there and then, if Simion hadn't intervened.
Marcus smiled to himself. Good old Simion, practically a second father. Marcus still didn't know what he saw in a rough boy with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Nimian Spire, but he'd intervened and sent the angry fighter off with his proverbial tail between his legs. Marcus had never seen anyone move that fast before.
Afterwards, Simion introduced himself and made him an offer.
He'd accepted, mostly because it meant getting regular meals and a bed that wasn't crawling with life and anyway, he could always sneak away later if he wanted to. He never expected to learn anything.
Funny how that worked. In only a few years, Marcus the thief and occasional thug became Marcus the Guardian, and to his own surprise, it suited him. He wasn't helpless anymore, he could do something to keep what happened to his family from happening to anyone else.
Or so he thought.
Aeriel... Eric...
Marcus shuddered.
It had been years, yet the memory still felt fresh and raw in his heart. It was like it had been with his mother, only worse. Over the years he'd replayed it over and over in his mind, always with the same results, his training for naught.
They said he shouldn't have survived his wounds, but somehow he did.
And from then on he'd started volunteering for more and more dangerous missions for the guardians. He let his personal ties wane, perhaps protecting himself from another loss. Above all, he was a guardian, and guardians protected people, even if the people had abandoned them. Someone had to. Infiltrating the Necrodiantors was just another way of doing that.
Which brings us back to Balthus, he thought. What are you and your men up to?
* * *
"What're they doing?" whispered Alston.
"Shh," the elf woman hissed.