Krausus
02-17-14, 05:58 PM
With a proper comparison of times gone an times to come there is a noticeable difference in the life that Sirius has lived. Now he is just another drunk sitting in the bars on the outskirts of cities, gone from hero to zero. But there was always one who could coax a person out of the stupor that was life. It was extraordinarily common for one plain man to be brought out by a beloved family member or a new friend met in the dark of night in the alley behind the bar in the smell of rotting food and many long gone bottle of milk.
"Why? Why did i ruin myself so!?" He shouted at himself in his home, eyes bloodshot, and behind him many little piles of broken objects were strewn about the floor. It was as if he had gone on a drunken rampage then tried to repent, trying to make it all better again. It was a madman's way of thinking. A mess of jumbled thoughts, and brash actions filling the space that should be instead occupied by battle strategy and compassion, not alcohol. But some time ago, another man had taken up a small spot where a person would be but it was diminishing rather quickly as he delved deeper into the world of stupor and many other things. Unfortunate really.
"I'm an idiot, i should have just admitted my death three hundred years back and left life follow in it's own footsteps, not have to be dictated by me."
He shook his head, turning towards the little workshop by the edge of the room, filled with little boxes of gears and trinkets imbued with some enchantment or tis and that, some liquids, solids, and few things in between. It looked rather like something blew up and then imploded upon itself on the large wooden table filled with pocks and scratches, burns and stains, that served as a workbench. Much of the problem was that he couldn't see what he was doing and often set fires instead of making what he wanted to make. Forlornly he shook his head and walked outside, looking to the north, where the mountains of Salvar awaited, one with a lone spec on the top, gently wavering then clapping out of existence in a flash of light, to reappear soon on the same spot.
“Well then. It seems I have an appointment with fate once more” He mumbled to himself.
"Why? Why did i ruin myself so!?" He shouted at himself in his home, eyes bloodshot, and behind him many little piles of broken objects were strewn about the floor. It was as if he had gone on a drunken rampage then tried to repent, trying to make it all better again. It was a madman's way of thinking. A mess of jumbled thoughts, and brash actions filling the space that should be instead occupied by battle strategy and compassion, not alcohol. But some time ago, another man had taken up a small spot where a person would be but it was diminishing rather quickly as he delved deeper into the world of stupor and many other things. Unfortunate really.
"I'm an idiot, i should have just admitted my death three hundred years back and left life follow in it's own footsteps, not have to be dictated by me."
He shook his head, turning towards the little workshop by the edge of the room, filled with little boxes of gears and trinkets imbued with some enchantment or tis and that, some liquids, solids, and few things in between. It looked rather like something blew up and then imploded upon itself on the large wooden table filled with pocks and scratches, burns and stains, that served as a workbench. Much of the problem was that he couldn't see what he was doing and often set fires instead of making what he wanted to make. Forlornly he shook his head and walked outside, looking to the north, where the mountains of Salvar awaited, one with a lone spec on the top, gently wavering then clapping out of existence in a flash of light, to reappear soon on the same spot.
“Well then. It seems I have an appointment with fate once more” He mumbled to himself.