it may sound absurd but don't be naive
even heroes have the right to bleed
The swordsman's routine, following his untimely memory loss, consisted of everything but the equivalent of fun, and it took every single uncollected fiber in his being to not recognize his boredom and just how typically mundane his everyday was, mulling over forgotten faces and facts long gone from the safe confines of his head, facets of his personality wiped clean like a porcelain dish. At first, Torian would dutifully attend to the need, given the emphasis that the origin spirit placed unto the responsibility. But the shine of unearthing his old secrets slowly began to dull over time, and the blonde was admittedly desperate to break the habit, considering how it brought about a consistent amount of depression the more he tried to pry. Memories were scarce as they came, and he had little to come by despite his efforts.
As much as Torian wanted to, there wasn't much to do about it - medically, doctors wrote about patience and how amnesia was a process and the days of its duration were numbered. Even with as much stress as the origin spirit would put to it, the swordsman saw no need to uphold the hunt so adamantly. Thrills became a necessity then when you were faced with things as vapid as moping around with an empty head.
Although, with his life lacking in any substantial source of excitement, that didn't seem to stop that entity known as surprise and its spontaneous visits. So early in the morning it was when an odd bird perched its tiny bird legs on the smooth oak of the window to his inn room, beady eyes watching his figure as the swordsman deftly tied a lazy knot for his cloak. It wasn't unnatural to have several feathered friends basking quietly in the sunlight that wafted through the window, but what was strange was that this bulk of feathers and tiny bird bones was intently focused on his person and it was...creepy, to say the least.
A fine crease began to fold over his brow as he approached the creature, though curiosity hardly drove his intentions as much as frustration did. The swordsman would only near the thing with his loyalty on the idea of shooing it off, perhaps hinder it from returning by closing the shutters and being on his merry way.
Tempting. But Torian had little time to manifest the idea as the bird stretched its wings and took flight, producing a small glass vial to sit as its replacement, the roll of paper in it visibly catching his attention as he rolled the fragile thing between his fingers. The lid was a cork that was far too easy to discard as the blonde fished the parchment from its container, a faint whiff of gunpowder clouding his senses, although briefly.
When unraveled, the small scroll would become a letter addressed to him, a brittle piece of paper existing atop the skin of his palm from a dubious sender - one that knew him by name, and also mentioned another. Who was the other? Perhaps he was the surrogate and this 'Terith' was the actual receiver. If that were the case, then the swordsman began to plant an incentive to pity this person, whomever he was, and whatever his circumstance could be.
As the blonde swordsman glossed over the information contained in the letter, his face appeared visibly elated. The first proposal of classing him as another rank eluded him, but the mention of a sword fight felt all too convenient for Torian, who was beginning to succumb to boredom and everything else that followed it. He'd roll the letter back over its folds, edging it back into the space before twisting the cap back on with a crisp popping sound.
"Heh...finally, time to make some new memories."
-'instead of clinging unto old ones.' he wanted to add, but feared that the origin spirit would bicker to him about it later on, as if he didn't have a nagging conscience beforehand. Torian deftly pockets the vial, patting the spot on his blazer before ushering himself outside, readily inching toward the map in his breast pocket, and a paper talisman in another, where the label printed in big bold characters taunted him like a vice.
"Well, here goes nothing."
As much as Torian wanted to, there wasn't much to do about it - medically, doctors wrote about patience and how amnesia was a process and the days of its duration were numbered. Even with as much stress as the origin spirit would put to it, the swordsman saw no need to uphold the hunt so adamantly. Thrills became a necessity then when you were faced with things as vapid as moping around with an empty head.
Although, with his life lacking in any substantial source of excitement, that didn't seem to stop that entity known as surprise and its spontaneous visits. So early in the morning it was when an odd bird perched its tiny bird legs on the smooth oak of the window to his inn room, beady eyes watching his figure as the swordsman deftly tied a lazy knot for his cloak. It wasn't unnatural to have several feathered friends basking quietly in the sunlight that wafted through the window, but what was strange was that this bulk of feathers and tiny bird bones was intently focused on his person and it was...creepy, to say the least.
A fine crease began to fold over his brow as he approached the creature, though curiosity hardly drove his intentions as much as frustration did. The swordsman would only near the thing with his loyalty on the idea of shooing it off, perhaps hinder it from returning by closing the shutters and being on his merry way.
Tempting. But Torian had little time to manifest the idea as the bird stretched its wings and took flight, producing a small glass vial to sit as its replacement, the roll of paper in it visibly catching his attention as he rolled the fragile thing between his fingers. The lid was a cork that was far too easy to discard as the blonde fished the parchment from its container, a faint whiff of gunpowder clouding his senses, although briefly.
When unraveled, the small scroll would become a letter addressed to him, a brittle piece of paper existing atop the skin of his palm from a dubious sender - one that knew him by name, and also mentioned another. Who was the other? Perhaps he was the surrogate and this 'Terith' was the actual receiver. If that were the case, then the swordsman began to plant an incentive to pity this person, whomever he was, and whatever his circumstance could be.
As the blonde swordsman glossed over the information contained in the letter, his face appeared visibly elated. The first proposal of classing him as another rank eluded him, but the mention of a sword fight felt all too convenient for Torian, who was beginning to succumb to boredom and everything else that followed it. He'd roll the letter back over its folds, edging it back into the space before twisting the cap back on with a crisp popping sound.
"Heh...finally, time to make some new memories."
-'instead of clinging unto old ones.' he wanted to add, but feared that the origin spirit would bicker to him about it later on, as if he didn't have a nagging conscience beforehand. Torian deftly pockets the vial, patting the spot on his blazer before ushering himself outside, readily inching toward the map in his breast pocket, and a paper talisman in another, where the label printed in big bold characters taunted him like a vice.
"Well, here goes nothing."
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pyxis ★