Difference between revisions of "Story of a Knight I (Sieg)"

Revision as of 20:36, 4 October 2014

Charles de Gaulle Airport Paris, France Last Evening

Four figures stand engaged in a scuffle in the airport. A strange magical field has driven the people within the airport mad, causing them to dive headlong into their worst vices. The airport is looted and filled with the sounds and smells of debauchery of all kinds. Occasionally, violence has broken out, but even the emergency personnel who arrived began to go insane as soon as they came. Only those four were unaffected.

One of them is a young man, sandy-haired, short, and of a slight build. Red eyes mark him as a homunculus. A fist is raised against a woman who has begun attacking the group with strength beyond the limits of a human body. But, the raised fist is frail. Electricity crackles around it uselessly as the spell the homunculus casts fizzles, and his hand breaks.

Sieg was not made to survive, much less to fight.

Hotel Napoleon Hours later

Sieg lies in bed, his left hand locked in a cast. It had been taken care of relatively quickly, but it still aches. He drifts in and out of sleep, his thoughts incoherent and distant. The painkillers he was given have made him a bit loopy, and he's more susceptible than most.

Images begin to form in his mind. They are of a Servant.

To begin with, he'd been surrounded by twisted people, and there was hardly a soul in his life that didn't act to use him for their own gains. Even his own grandfather treated him as a pawn to be moved across the board, though he never knew a true family. He wasn't perfect, and often he reacted with great anger when a cooler head would have saved him a great deal of trouble. Most of all though, he was someone who acted on behalf of others.

It was easy to think of him as merely foolish, rather than someone who genuinely wanted to help the people who came to him. Sometimes, it wasn't even wrong, and he was tricked into believing that an enemy was a friend. The truth was, he had more enemies than friends from the very start, so his idea of friendship was twisted even later in life.

As the dream comes to a close, Sieg feels himself lifting a cup from a friend's table. He knows that it is a friend's table, though he doesn't know who the friend is. As the liquid passes between his lips, something very important slips away from him, and he barely has the time to realize it before even the idea that something has been lost escapes him entirely.

Red eyes drift halfway open, barely seeing. Morning has already come, and it's a little cold out. Rain trickles steadily outside the window, and the sky beyond is a hazy gray. Sieg sighs, leaning back into the mound of pillows that he'd set up against the headboard, and stares off into the distance.