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Author Topic: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu  (Read 2776 times)

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"There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« on: December 19, 2014, 08:08:26 PM »
((The fire of the Vistani camp sputters and crackles feebly, surrounded by the oppressive mist in every direction. A dark-armored figure stares silently into the flames; under his hood, ice-green eyes sit in insomnia-darkened sockets, russet bristles of the first true beard of manhood sprouting from the scarred chin. Despite his youth, he has already been many things: a humble warehouse worker, a proud militiaman, a mercenary deserter, a veteran of a true battle. A comrade. A friend. In love. The events of the last two months whirl through his mind like a hurricane of painful memory even as his face remains stoic as stone, lit moodily by the failing flames...))

All for the Wachters...

It seems so hollow now. It's never meant less to me... but in some ways it means more than ever.

Everything I ever needed to know I thought I learned at my bunica's knee: Work hard. Tell the truth. Do what's right, even if it hurts now, because it'll hurt a lot less later.

I wonder what Dimitrij Wachter's bunica taught him.

It doesn't matter. I'll teach him everything I know. Everything I learned that early summer night, in the courtyard of the Vallaki Citadel, trying not to throw up as good men were executed on a whim all around me. Everything I learned when Dalca's blood sprayed hot and coppery into my mouth, the salt of it stinging my eyes through the tears of fear. Everything I learned when I picked up his corpse and thanked Count Von Zarovich for his... for his 'mercy'. For his 'justice'. Everything I learned as I watched Ioan Wachter spiral into madness, cooing and petting his father's corpse even as he threw it like a sack of turnips over the cemetery fence. Everything I learned when I helped bury three men, perhaps not innocent, but they were only following orders.

Following orders. We followed Ivan Wachter's orders and one in ten of us were butchered like pigs. Ioan Wachter followed Ivan Wachter's orders and was made Burgomaster of Krezk in his father's place. Dalca walked by his father that same afternoon, said that he could talk to him later, and that we should get back to our patrol. What was the last thing he said to his father, I wonder?

There's no such thing as justice. There's no such thing as freedom. The only real thing are consequences.

That night, I stopped being a man, and I started being a consequence for Dimitrij Wachter's... petty, stupid betrayal of his own brother, and every man who'd fought for the name of Wachter. I'll see his head on my spear or die trying...

I'll die with this crystal on my neck and your name on my lips, Anca Valentin...

Thank Refugiu for small victories, for happy endings amidst such tragedy. I have never regretted anything more than I do that kiss, the kiss in the dingy darkness of a Vallaki warehouse where for a single moment I tasted an entire lifetime of what could have been. I love her more than I've ever loved anyone else and I wish I'd never met her because of it. I betrayed my oath as a soldier for her, I nearly broke a home. She gave me a necklace on the day I fell in love with her, a simple crystal on a leather thong, cold to the touch... and yet, for so long, that cold prism was my only comfort. At nights, alone in the barracks, I could feel it nestled against my heart, a drop of hard coolness against the heartache of the long lonely hours, and I could think of her and smile.

When I discovered her... secret... I fled the Province, across the river, freezing to death in the uncaring snow so I would not have to choose between her and duty, and when I lay awake nights, tears on my cheeks and a hand on my dagger because I -knew- that tonight was the night Radkov or maybe even Gavril himself would slit my throat, my other hand clutched that crystal, and it gave me peace.

I thank Refugiu that she is the woman she is, and that Gavril is the man he is. She stood strong against my youthful idiocy, and he forgave me for the same. When I embraced the Corporal for the last time, he said that he hoped if their child was a son, that... that it was as I was... brave and passionate, were the words he used, but really we both knew he meant stupid and impetuous. I've never, ever been paid a higher compliment and I never will be again. Anca... Anca was as graceful as ever, I couldn't even look at her in my shame, but she embraced me then, as a friend, the way things should've been. Should've stayed. I tried to give the crystal back, so she'd have something to remember me by, but she insisted I keep it for the same reason.

Like I could ever forget her.

The last words I ever said to her were "I'll die with this around my neck and your name on my lips, Anca Valentin," and... I still wonder if it was the right thing to say. It was the truth, but... I hope that it didn't make things harder for her than they already were. I don't know that I could ever bring myself to set foot in the Province again, but if I do, I'll make sure to visit the Valentins. I hope that she finally let him retire, have a farm and a pile of kids like he wanted. I hope Svetozar is still kicking as well, and Tomescu and all the rest. I hope old Ferdinand has a distillery and I can drink his aged palinka and his rye whiskey and everything else the old coot thinks to brew.

But even if that never happens I will see justice for Ivan Wachter. I'll see justice for Catunesti and Dalca and even the old Ham Beast who I'd met just before the Battle for the Citadel, and the hundreds of others that were martyred for... for nothing, for iadul nothing. I'm... inside, I'm not a man anymore, I'm a force of nature, like the apple that falls in autumn, like the seasons that change, like the waxing and waning of the moon, like the tides of the sea and the swelling of the mists. I am inevitable, and I am coming for you, Dimitrij. Not tonight. Not next week, nor month nor maybe even year, but I'll lift your head from your shoulders right before the Count strikes me down. This I swear, I swear to Refugiu and Iadul and Ezra and the Morninglord and Old Noapte and anyone else that's listening.
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #1 on: December 21, 2014, 07:23:52 PM »
((The bright streetlights and gendarmarie lamps drive back the darkness of night in the Quartier Publique of Port-a-Lucine, illuminating faintly the trim silhouette of a young man, sitting on a bench, watching the black waters of the bay with an open bottle of wine as his only companion. He has clad himself in the armor of anonymity, wearing reasonably fashionable Dementlieuese garments of modest cotton and wool with a thin epee buckled to his narrow hips; walking down la Rue de Soleil, he is at once taken for a young noble of a minor house or perhaps the scion of a well-to-do merchant. A hood has been sewn into his jacket to conceal his features, though from the right angle a curl of red hair or the glint of russet stubble can be visible on a scarred chin. Ice-green eyes look to the dark horizon, lost in thought even as the waves lap soothingly at the quay beneath...))

Anca would like it here, I think. She would love it, actually.

The jewel of Dementlieu, they call this city, and although like any city it has its dirty, its poor, its undesirables, its beauty is undeniable, and its knowledge is unquestionable even if they are a bunch of snooty bastards about it. I've seen more in a few days in this city than I have in the last ten years of my life. The jammed bookshelves of La Grande Bibliotheque, the incredibly fun wonders of La Rue de Pistoles, the incomprehensible opulence of La Hotel du Governeur, the subdued grandeur of La Theatre du Cathedrale, even the wax horrors of Le Maison de Cire, though I know from experience that the Count von Zarovich is much taller in real life...

It took me becoming an outlander to find out why outlanders thought us Barovians so backward. I ran into the kind witch Gwenn here, and did some very regrettable threatening in the library before I realized she had not been hired by the Ionelus or someone else to find and kill me. Radkov followed me here once from Vallaki, it's not so far-fetched that someone else might, especially after the Trial. She forgave me my paranoia and agreed to help me learn more of my home... I have found myself drawn to the Grande Bibliotheque many days, hoping to by chance find another history of my home. I've already devoured the book she gave me, and another two detailing the birth of the Black Duke of Invidia and his mother, as well as the origins of the Gundarakite rebellion. Obviously I have some experience enforcing Barovia's laws against Gundarakites, but I never knew why. Gwenn also agreed to help me work on my Tradetongue, which I know is terrible, and we may even learn some High Mordentish. In some ways it's... vaguely similar to Balok, but some of the pronunciation apparently requires you to have more than one tongue.

I just wish the Grande Bibliotheque didn't devote so many of its shelves to that Zecht d'Silvarine rahat, or that Love Beyond the Grave idiocy. Who could love immortij? That's disgusting. Tch.

Anyways.

I have now also walked the black sands of Har'Akir with a pitic priestess of some... bear-god, I think. I am not sure and I don't think I want to know. We faced terrible immortij that sprang up from the sands themselves, but I simply kept my distance with my trusty white-stag bow while the priestess called down the wrath of her fuzzy patron. It worked. I am glad she was not among the defenders in Vallaki, or else that battle would have gone very, very differently. I don't think I'll be going back to that desert waste often unless business dictates, though, I felt like I was cooking inside my armor even at night.

Every day it seems I learn more and more of the world beyond the Province, and understand more and more how small my place in it truly is. But... my oath still remains. All of this, these experiences, this learning, is simply sharpening and honing the blade that is my life so that I may plunge it deep into the heart of Dimitrijie Wachter. He'll pay for his idiot ambition, for the lives squandered.

No justice, no freedom, only consequences. Fierarescu, Catunesti, Borislav the Ham Beast, Dalca. Every name a twist of the knife for you, Dimitrijie, betrayer, kinslayer. Iadul take us both.
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #2 on: December 26, 2014, 12:32:12 PM »
((The first rays of dawn creep over the mountains, sweeping the darkness of Barovia before its advance; monsters of the night hunker down in their holes to sleep before the next night's hunt, while ordinary folk wake to another day of tasks. In a well-appointed private room at the Blood on the Vine Inn in the Village of Barovia, a young man pensively sits on the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of thin woolen sleep pants. The candlelight softens the extensive scars on his exposed torso as he turns to glance back to the sleeping girl, Barovian as they come in body but something else entirely in mind. A small smile lights his features for a moment, but thought overwhelms him again as he looks back at the floor between his legs, returning his face to its carefully guarded neutrality.))

I really don't get women. I don't think anyone does. I don't think -they- do, for iadul's sake.

I found a girl begging on a streetcorner. Covered in filth, dressed in rags, looked like she hadn't eaten in at least a day or two. My bunica told me that giving a beggar a coin just lets them eat to beg tomorrow, and that if you really want to help someone, you give them the means to make their own coin. Madalina, she said her name was, and she was eighteen. Eighteen. Same age as me, and yet look how different we were. I brought her with me, cleaned her up, gave her a meal, gave her some gear, and offered her a job as my 'squire'.

What? It's just a joke. I'm no knight. This isn't the first time I've hired someone to help me, carrying packs, holding lanterns, helping me with my armor and such, it's a good way to get people back on their feet and help them realize how brave they can really be.

She was... a lot more than I expected. The very first night, she confronted me about my drinking.

I hadn't slept a full night since the Decimation unless I was passed out drunk. I couldn't. The faces and the taste of Dalca's blood and Lord Wachter's whimpers and that... that voice, that terrible voice, proclaiming us traitors... they grip me as soon as my eyes close... only the bottle kept them at bay. She couldn't be made to understand that. She couldn't possibly understand what it was like that night, what it was like to bury them, watch your lord beg like a child, walk away from everything and everyone you knew yet again...

Well, she might understand that last part. She called me out. Called me a coward, used Anca against me. I was furious. She nearly walked away... but she came back. Gave me a piece of her mind. I'd never had a woman talk to me like that before that wasn't my grandma. I was speechless... all I could do is ask her what I should do, if I couldn't drink myself to sleep.

She held me in her arms, all night. It worked.

And then, in the Mist Camp, a templar, a... paladin, doamna Imrae... I'm not sure what she wanted exactly, but it was clear she was lonely. And in pain. I did what I could to help her with my words, despite the carnival of idiots that parades through that iadul place constantly barging in on the conversation. I'm... I'd never been with a woman (at that point), so... she made me nervous when she touched me, smiled at me, told me my atrocious Tradetongue was cute, but it went no further. I pity her. She's a stranger in a strange land, and she is simply trying to do what she thinks is right. I explored some of the possibilities of her circumstance, gave her what advice I could over the course of a few conversations...

Ha. Her god help her, ME giving ANYONE advice.

The witch Nelithia, however, is starting to concern me. I don't like her, and that's fine. I don't need to like everyone, and not everyone needs to like her, but in her mind, me not immediately accepting all of her vraja strangeness and thanking her for her selfless sacrifice is enough to warrant threats. She's... she's like a child, holding a flintlock, stomping her foot and pouting while waving around something that could kill either or both of us. She admitted that she'd put out a price on the head of all the Wachter Estate garrison at one point, but claims to have rescinded it. A feyblooded bounty hunter turned up at the Mist Camp once, claiming that someone had paid him thirteen THOUSAND fang for my life but he'd turned down the job... he didn't know who'd posted the contract, and it was pretty old, but I think it was her and I fear she could easily offer it again simply because I refuse to stroke her ego.

I took Madalina with me when I went to Port-a-Lucine... and that... was a good feeling, I'll admit. Seeing her eyes light up at the sight of the sea, the size of the buildings, the brightly clothed foreigners warmed something in me that had lain frozen since the night I told Anca not to come back. I wonder if I looked the same the first time I came there... probably not, I was too preoccupied with the job, and tend to have a perpetual scowl when I'm working. The business transaction fell through, so we camped on the beach outside the city that night. She wanted to swim, and so we did... I felt a strange fear then. The dark sky and the dark sea all around me reminded me of the night in the sun cult temple, when Old Night ripped half the roof off the sanctuary, and crushed that caliban... I had to get out.

I went to sit by the fire to dry myself, and she joined me. We talked quietly, then, of things that had come before, and then plans for the future. I confessed to her my vendetta against Dimitrijie Wachter, my intent of being steadfast in a deadly purpose. I made it clear that my story would not have a happy ending, and that she could leave at any time. She knew enough, had enough to make her own way. She said she'd be there til the end... not if I can help it, but I didn't tell her that. It would be stupid of her to throw away her own life on my vendetta.

And then, in the Mist Camp while we were waiting for a vardo back to Barovia, she kissed me.

Again, stunned. Why? Was it pity? "Because you're a good man, Toma, and I'm very attracted to you," she answers with a shrug, as if answering why she picked rye bread over barley.

And then we were here, in the room.

And...

Let's just say I found a better way to fall asleep.

This complicates things, though. I can't let her distract me from Dimitrijie. I can't let feelings get in the way of my mission. I don't... I don't want her to care about me enough to hurt when I'm gone. Iadul.

Women.
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #3 on: December 31, 2014, 11:22:35 AM »
((In the darkness of a Vistani vardo, trundling its way through the Mists, a young man in unassuming Barovian clothing sits alone, hunched over with elbows on his knees. He is completely silent, though despite his stoic face, several teardrops have splattered the dusty wood of the floor underneath. Occasionally he swallows hard, or grinds his teeth, his mind racing through terrifying new territory, conscience lost in a vast and unfriendly wilderness. He learned long ago to ignore everything he heard outside the vardo, in the Mists, but today he learns that simply makes the monsters within louder.))

You're an idiot, Toma, you're an iadul idiot. How did you think it was going to end, hm? You thought you'd pluck her off the street corner and she'd just join your mad vendetta? You thought when she kissed you, when she gave herself to you, you think that wouldn't distract you? That she'd just roll off with a smile and keep cleaning your blood off your armor?

You think she'd have just watched as your threw your life away on revenge?

You're a fool. You don't understand women. You don't even understand yourself.

She knows about Dimitrijie, now, you realize that? You left her standing on la Rue de Solais with a sack full of money like an abandoned child... iadul, she looked so young... and you took her heart and you stepped on it with a plated boot, and SHE KNOWS ABOUT DIMITRIJIE.

Maybe... maybe you should have killed her, Toma.


((The man straightens suddenly with a sharp intake of breath through his nostrils, his glacier-green eyes widening in the darkness. Did... did he really just think that? Did he really consider murdering this sweet, innocent girl, who tried to help him, who gave him everything she had to give so that he could save himself, simply because she knew?))

Yes, you did, Toma.

The only way to hunt a monster like Dimitrijie is to become one yourself. You're not a child anymore. You told a secret to someone you shouldn't, like a stupid child, and now you have to deal with the...

The consequences, Toma, hmm? That's what you keep saying, isn't it? 'No justice, no freedom, no destiny, only consequences'? You've been on your little quest for revenge for less than a month and you're already going soft? It's time you closed your heart, boy, and gripped your knife all the tighter for it.


((The young man buries his face in his hands, painfully aware of the freezing crystal hard against his chest... Anca's crystal. Barely audible to the Vistani caravaneer is painful, wracking sobs, and the occasional cry of 'No, no!'. The Vistani smiles one of the little smiles that all his people share, the one they save for the misfortune of strangers, and the vardo rolls on through the Mists...))
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #4 on: January 19, 2015, 10:23:57 PM »
((The light of the fireplace of the Lady's Resting Place dances over the tired young man sitting in the large rocking chair. Sipping a small jar of tsuika, he looks like any other native after a long day of labor, albeit one in better shape and with distinctive red hair. His green eyes lose focus staring at the flames, lost in thought as he idly polishes a small piece of jet with his calloused thumb...))

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore.

I'm standing out by the church like the outlanders, waiting for sellsword work, wasting my days. They don't like or trust me because I don't like or trust them, which is fair, but in my defense I'm perfectly polite to things that aren't iadul calibans or twists. I don't understand them.

I still taste Dalca's blood when I wake in the night. I curse Dimitrijie's name every time I do, but I'm no closer to vengeance than the day I stumbled back to the Estate carrying Dalca's corpse. I don't have the first clue as to where to start. I find I don't know anything about him beyond the barest basics, and who in the world would I find out from that would give me the time of day?

I'm tired all the time now, just from standing out there dealing with fools. Every day when Old Noapte comes I'm happy to just slink inside here and drink my nights away, only to do the same iadul thing the next day. I haven't seen Madalina in days either. I worry about her so much, she bills herself as a mercenary now too but she and I both know she's not ready for solo jobs... she could be dead and I wouldn't even know. Or maybe she got picked up off the street by some rich young Dementlieuese noble and is living in the lap of luxury in some chateau. Tch.


((The young man grits his teeth and takes a looooong pull of the tsuika.))

The bottle calls to me still. I try and keep it to a couple of beers or a jar of tsuika or wine a night, but... the nightmares still plague me occasionally. Moreso with Madalina gone and having to deal with these idiots. But where else would I go? Barovia's my home. My time abroad after the Decimation was just as pointless and far more expensive. I just...

I don't know who I am anymore.


((The man finishes his tsuika, still lost in the crackling flames, and as the fire dies in the wee hours, his head nods to his chest for another fitful night of dreams before another day of standing...))
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #5 on: January 23, 2015, 06:10:45 PM »


((A hooded man in dark armor glides through the exterior of the misty Wachter Estate, drifting eventually to the tall iron fence of the adjacent graveyard. Hanging from the rusted bars, he peers in to the three newest graves, silent for several minutes, simply staring in. Finally, in a low voice, choked with emotion, he speaks to the silent stones...))

Catunesti, Blagoev, Dalca... I... I... hope you can't hear this...

I hope you rest in Refugiu, but... if you can hear me...

I'm sorry, domns. I'm so sorry.

I confess that... I didn't want to die, that night. I didn't even pretend to volunteer. I didn't raise my hand, call out to be chosen. I stayed silent. The only way I was going to volunteer is if Corporal Valentin had been chosen, and even then that would've been for Anca...

I'm a coward.

In all honesty, Svetozar should have picked me. I was the deserter, the one that ran. I had only come back barely a week previous to that night. Dalca... I still... when the...

I remember you saw your father the collier that afternoon on patrol... you passed him by, said that you'd catch up someday off duty. That... didn't happen... did it.

((He wipes his face with the back of his gauntlet, sniffling.))

I swear to you, I haven't forgotten. I'll never forget. I'll never forgive. I'll get vengeance. The others have moved on. Maybe I should too, but... I can't. I still have nightmares, and I've nothing to comfort or distract me. Coin is an outlander passion, and... I met a girl, but... I don't think she's serious about it.

((He laughs slightly, wiping the tears from his eyes with a thumb.))

I don't even know what I'm doing here. If you were alive you'd be laughing at me and calling me a fool. Slipping me some coin to go buy a woman and a ham sandwich for after.

...just... rest easy, domns.

((He sighs, releasing the bars, turning away and slowly making his way back to the Luna, polishing a worn piece of jet with his thumb...))
« Last Edit: January 25, 2015, 10:07:25 AM by superslacker »
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #6 on: January 25, 2015, 01:20:27 AM »
((Alone in a room at the Lady's Resting Place, a young man sits at the desk, a malicious grin on his face as he spins his dagger on its point, wearing a pinhole into the worn desktop.))

I'm coming for you, Dimitrijie. I don't know how it happened. I don't know what I'll have to do to keep it going. But you're dead, dead as your brother. Just a matter of time, now. I'll do whatever it takes but you'll feel our anger, you'll feel the rage of every tenth man, the unlucky winners of that lottery.

You'll know fear. I hope I'm there for it. I hope I'm the one that does it. Whatever it iadul takes. I don't give a rahat what this Radiant Tower is, if they can give you to me, I'll do whatever they ask.

No justice. No freedom. Just consequences. Consequences.

...I'm sorry Madalina, I'm sorry Anca... but... this is my one chance. I can't let this go. I'd rather he be dead than me be a good man...
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #7 on: February 02, 2015, 09:56:54 PM »
((A scarred young Barovian man sits on the edge of a bed in the Lady's Resting Place, nude save for a pair of simple woolen pants, the dim candlelight setting his russet hair ablaze even as it sparkles along the gleaming length of a spear of impossibly exquisite craftsmanship. Strangely though, the young warrior does not admire the honed, hair-splitting sharpness of the edge, nor the intricate gilding, but rather stares contemplatively the words carved simply into the haft: "MIGHT IT BRING HOPE TO THE DARKEST PLACES"...))

Hope.

I remember feeling hopeful the day I shipped from Krezk out to the Wachter Estate.

I remember feeling hopeful the day that Anca gave me the little crystal, and again the day I gave her the dress from Port a Lucine...

I remember feeling hopeful when I came back to the Wachters, my body still sore from Sergeant--well, Captain now--Svetozar's caning but sharing palinka with my brothers like I'd never left...

I remember the hope I felt when we stood victorious over the Vallaki Citadel, those few days when we thought we had brought justice to the cesspool of Vallaki, feeling that we were doing the right thing to avenge the murder of our Lady Gaelia...

All of that was ripped away from me in one bored command from the Devil Strahd. Since then I simply... I stopped hoping. I was steadfast in my quest for vengeance against Dimitrijie, but part of me knew it was hopeless. I would die trying, or die succeeding, branded a traitor, my memory cursed by all but a few.

Today, though... I did a good thing. I did a good thing without being ordered to, without negotiating payment first. I did a thing because it was the right thing to do. I nearly died doing it, I fought toe-to-claw with a fiend from Iadul knowing he would eat my soul, I closed my eyes against the tears as a vampiress drank her purring, delighted fill from my neck knowing she would drink me dry, and guarded domn Wund while he read the Terg scroll as vraja and fiends erupted from the stone beneath us knowing that I would be pulled down into Iadul...

But I did it anyway, and I lived. The sunkisser priestess, Lizuca, gave me this relic spear from a temple in Krezk as thanks, but... she... she gave me something else. She looked me in the eyes and told me that the Morninglord always had room for one more. I told her that my purpose was something her god wanted no part of, but... that... maybe after, if I live, I could find redemption for the wickedness I've done, and that I must still do. She simply smiled and nodded.

My life recently has been defined by fear. Fear of death, fear of failure. Fear for the world should I fail, fear of the immortij dragon which I still can't decide if it was real, fear when I was betrayed by the Nerullite cultists in that Akiri tomb, fear of my employer, even, in a way, and his shrouded purpose. Today, though... today taught me that maybe, just maybe, I will make it. I will have justice. My life will have meaning. And maybe my life may go on after, though I hardly dare to think it.

I said Anca's name, when the vampiress began to drink... she looked so much like her that part of me thrilled to feel the cold lips because I could pretend they were hers... and who knows where Madalina is. Perhaps it's time to stop fooling myself. My heart belongs in my chest, protected by armor and shield and spear and will like the rest of me, not in the shaking hands of another.

The Ray of Hope, this weapon is called... I can only hope its first kill is the dark despair inside me.
« Last Edit: February 03, 2015, 06:26:00 AM by superslacker »
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)

superslacker

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Re: "There's no justice to be had, lad,": Toma Roscatescu
« Reply #8 on: October 06, 2015, 07:02:16 PM »


((A scarred young Barovian man stands silently at the crest of an Akiran dune, surveying the ruins of an empire swallowed by the wasteland around him. The moon watches him like a baleful eye, but he is lit with the warm light of an ancient shield blessed by the sun itself. The surprisingly cool night-wind of the desert whips his cloak around him, but he remains silent and still as the surrounding ruins. In the distance, a fennec fox yips and pounces on a lizard, but silence quickly returns, leaving the young man with his thoughts...))

What am I doing?

I stand on the edge of a cliff. So easy, it would be, to step back away from that abyss, back into the light, and yet so easy to pitch forward and fall into the darkness.

Tali said my soul was screaming. Screaming how? With hatred, with anger? Screaming for vengeance? It still does.

But even those who lost everything in Vallaki have told me I am an idiot. My quest is a fool's errand. I will fail and die in agony, or I will succeed and die in agony, and either way little will change.

Is it justice? Or is it madness? Devotion? Or obsession? Love? Or hate?

I don't know anymore.

I just don't know.


((The rattle of ancient bones echoes from beyond another dune. The young man grips his spear, sliding down the dune, and is soon gone. The fennec chokes on a lizard bone, and within hours is eaten in turn by lizards. The world moves on.))
Toma Roscatescu - Wachter veteran/mercenary expat
Grigor - Templar Initiate of Ezra (inactive)
Nicolae Cojocaru - Vallaki Garda private (inactive)