August 7th, Year 1923 of the Rejunant
West Gate of Leganth
Markus stepped into the town, distrust wrapped around him as tightly as his cloak, and began walking purposefully down the main road. Looking about as he walked, he saw both of the sides of the famous Two-Faced city, filled with both wealth and opportunity, but also cruelty and despair. Here men of high birth and merchants walked side by side, but down an alleyway slaves are sold like cattle abused and broken in a cycle of pain. A shop there proclaimed its morals, while behind it weavers worked for their entire life in a cage. Markus started up the the steps, pondering the meaninglessness of honor, held up with pride one second, and discarded in the dirt the next.
He smiled as he climbed towards his destination, the Academy of Mana Manipulation, feeling comfortable in this city of half-truths, felt it settle around him like a second skin. Reaching the gate of his destination, Markus reached into one of his many pockets, and handed his seal of admission.
"Welcome Markus Krasia, may your Ancestors smile upon you."
"My ancestry would not be welcome here."
With his abrupt answer to the traditional greeting, he brushed past the guardsmen, and entered the courtyard, and stopped, feasting his eyes upon the unbelievable feat of magically created architecture, overwhelmed by the vastness and scale of the grounds. With a glance he recognized training grounds, dormitories, and academic building for the more theoretical subjects.
Following the clumps of students towards what appeared to be the Administration building, Markus took note of the variety of students; some tall, and lithe, likely from the northern jungles, others short and hardy from the frontier, and a couple elves who survived the war, and managed to stay free. However, unsurprisingly, there were no others like him, as Markus hailed from the eternal desert, with long strides which ate up miles, tanned skin and startlingly dark blue eyes. He also wore radically different clothing, discarding the heavy coats and wool shirts for his loose black attire, all of which was covered by his floor length cloak, filled with hidden pockets.
As such he was as the proverbial "black sheep," standing out of the crowd like a sore thumb. Sliding silently through the throng, Markus was approaching the registration desk when a boy, tall and well muscled blocked his path.
He was obviously wealthy, with clothes woven in silk with threads of gold inserted, and a rapier which looked less like a tool of war and more like a decoration. He let out a bark of laughter, and called to his friends.
"Look, a little commoner boy, he must have just arrived. That or he just can't afford a bath!"
"Hey, don't you know that we paid for these spots in line, go back to the stables you live in, wait your turn with the rest of the mongrels." The nobles stepped closer, attempting to surround Markus.
With only a few more steps until he reached the desk, Markus simply smiled, and continued around them, attempting to just mind his own business.
"Hey, what brothel do you come from plebe, maybe I'll pay your mother a visit?"
A different student called out, emboldened by his friends and supposed anonymity. Markus,stripped of his calm, whirled, and grabbing a dagger from his cloak, released it in the direction of the voice. He followed it's path himself as he leapt, slipping through the crowd towards his target. He ducked under an arm only to move into the path of a boot, knocking him to the side as the heckler raised his now only functional arm, and began a great vertical strike towards Markus. Markus fell into a roll, pulling a revolver out and shooting his attacker in both legs, and his arm, forcing him to drop the sword and collapse on the floor.
"You wish to visit my mother?" Markus growled, anger and barely held back rage clear in his voice, his eyes darkening to black.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Then you can join her in the abyss!"
Gripping his dagger and twisting it, he stood up, his cloak now with scarlet stains. He stalked toward the desk, snarled his name at the cowering receptionist, and left to go searching for someone more worthy of his wrath. Perhaps those slavers from earlier.
-----------
Leganth, North section alleyways
Markus knelt beside the door, his ear to the wood. The house was old and collapsed, not even enough shelter from the elements to attract the downtrodden and penniless. Markus had followed the slavers, bidding his time until he found their “merchandise. He tightly gripped his favorite dagger, curved and elegant, but most importantly, fully functional.
“We sold the three women, got a high price for them too. Nobody seemed to want the elf, kid and all.”
“Nice profit, put the girl with the rest and lock em up. Don’t want them escaping, would bring the watch upon us.”
He heard a trap door thunk closed, a hollow sound, but one that brought back memories.
*********
June 19, Year 1912 of the Rejunant
Sarenth, nomadic city of the eternal desert
“Kill the parents, take the kids!”
A loud crash woke Markus up, and the shout filled him with horror. He considered escaping through the window, just like his parents had planned, but a scream from the adjourning room caused him to discard the idea. Grabbing his father’s knife, Markus threw open the door, smashing it into to the face of an attacker. Using this opportunity, he awkwardly lunged, plunging his knife into the stomach of the slaver. The man stumbled, recovered, and with a mighty slap, sent Markus flying across the room.
“You cur, orders be damned I’ll skin you alive!” With a yell the man charged swinging a hook at the young boy’s face. Markus ducked and rolled under him, careening into a wall.
“Schiese, come back here whelp!”
Dashing forward he entered his sister's room, and was greeted by the sight of a club descending upon his head.
-----
An unknown length of time later
“Toss them down, the boss’ll come see ‘em later.”
Markus awoke as he hit the floor, and opened his eyes to see. And couldn't. He tried again, pawing at his face with his hands to find his sockets empty, taken out by the one he attacked.
“Nyanth, are you here?” he called out, hoping at for no response and at the same time fearing silence.
He listened intently, waiting.
From the other corner, he heard sobbing, the heart wrenching cries of someone who had lost everything, and he crawled towards them.
“Markus, ……. Moms …… Moms dead …… and Father too.”
“And …. and your eyes Mark, they ….. they pulled them out.”
He reached an hand out, wrapping his sister in his embrace.
“I know, but, it’ll …. it’ll be okay, they won’t hurt you. I won't let them.”
With an savage crash, an trapdoor closed, hiding from the world a blind boy huddled with his only remaining family, beaten, but not broken.
*******
With an grunt, Markus shoved upon the door, and stepped through.
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Authors CornerHeyo, this idea has been fermenting inside my skull for a while, so I thought I should sit down and free up some space up there. I love ze comments, they let me know that someone is actually reading this.I feel like this might go on for a while, so stick around.