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==4.3HV.6B.66==
-Day 1- We have begun our journey towards Taurus keep, and no more than a few hours after our departure we were assailed by a group of 3 highwaymen. Eric and Azra have sustained minor injuries though they should be better with rest. One of the two surviving bandits provided us with a list of hideouts, routes, and other places of interest concerning his compatriots; ==*Listed is the information provided by the bandit*== We will drop them off at the nearest homestead for my men to collect. Unless faudree's guard is closer.
((This entry is written poorly, as if with the non-dominant hand.))
==5.3HV.6B.66== -Day 2- During the night, Azra and I had found one of the bandits in poor condition and in need of medical help. With everyone asleep and Azra injured, I offered to take him to the closest homestead; Quarter Hill. Upon reaching Quarter Hill I noticed that there was a carriage upturned, and the fields were black and withered, I quickly made my way inside after speaking to Erlic who was atop the tower house. As I entered, the gate was promptly dropped behind me, and I realised something was amiss. The entire room was silent and dark, the few servants that stood around was expressionless, emotionless, as they took the bandit from me Erlic descended the stairs, and proceeded to kill him on the table. I already has my suspicions, but this confirmed it was the work of the Black Evil my father had fought against years prior. I was promptly pinned to the door as I could hear my friends nearing the tower, I took my chance to call out and hold off my attackers until my friends could save me. I succeeded, but at the cost of a broken arm. Despite our differences, if I could go back to when I was young, I would not have picked any other group of people to be my friends. Leoreak went missing, I gave Harry my horse as him and Annette gave chase, I wish I could have gone, but I need to recover. But what bothers me is that when my friends arrived, those tainted by the Black Evil chose only to attack me unti- **The first part of the word is visible through the rest of the sentence being scribbled out, obviously redacting a statement, and instead ends in a period.**. I believe it may be because of my rank, and my family, they seem to recognize nobility and seek to exploit it. This explains why I was being restrained, and not killed. If my friends had not arrived when they did, they may have been traveling with someone who was not truly me.
Castiel sits back, closing his notebook, sitting at a desk in his room in the inn he is currently staying in during his time in the keep. He hovers his hand over the candle next to him, ready to extinguish it with a pinch, however he hesitates as if second-guessing a habit. Sitting back in his chair, he looks to his bed, it’s the early hours of the morning and he has put sleep off as long as he can, he lets out an exasperated sigh, disrobing and getting into bed.
At first, he is unable to sleep, fearful of closing his eyes and looking at the long, black expanse dotted with stars above and below that lies behind his eyelids. Turning from side to side, Castiel shifts anxiously in his bedding, before sleep finally takes him, dragging him deeper into what he had feared. His mind placed him in the middle of a starry night sky as far as the eye can see, he struggles to comprehend where, why, and how as his mind spins, panicking, he picks a direction and runs. He runs for what seems like an eternity and less than a moment, all at the same time before his legs give in. Tumbling to the floor, he squints his eyes closed in a flinch as he impacts wooden floor, looking up to watch a weathered, middle aged man and his wife laughing and eating at a table with their young daughter, long light brown hair and piercing blue eyes, he reaches out and opens his mouth, trying to climb up from his knees, yet he cannot move, no words come out, the silence is pain, and he feels himself slipping, before his blinks and it’s all gone. His eyes open again, and he’s on his knees, staring at hands that aren’t his own, weathered and scarred as they desperately grasp at the muddy, snow dusted floor. Orril’s eyes well up with tears, obscuring his vision, before he blinks again and Castiel is back to staring at his own two hands, caked in blood and slowly dripping into a puddle of viscous red on the floor, staring at his own reflection. His head raises to look around at an open field, the tops of white flowers all splattered with crimson, as bodies lay scattered across it, each one wearing the face of a friend, a loved one, a family member, and in the middle of them all, embedded into the ground, as if the pommel was an eye staring into his soul; A single, chipped, black longsword. It radiates a sound like a vibration and a whine combined that gets louder.. And louder.. And louder, until finally he cannot bear it and opens his mouth to scream once more before he sits up in his bed. Castiel’s face is plastered in cold sweat, and the candle has burned out. Out of the window he sees the low, warm glow of Bjornen’s star climb up across the mountains, it’s almost morning and his friends will be awakening in a few hours, and so he gets up and begins to pace the room until they do. Please log in to add a comment. |
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