Post by Deleted on Jun 24, 2014 3:24:03 GMT
Marcus had just finished up selling the last bit of stock he and his brother had gathered the day before. His family sold everything from eggs, to firewood to little sterling silver pieces that his mother had collected as a lad. There was one piece of silver that he didn’t sale and probably would never either. A locket of the sorts that held a picture of his mother and sister inside. He remembered paying an artist a great deal for these pictures to be drawn and it was well worth it. Practically a month’s salary at the most. But the piece served more than just a memory. It served as a reminder as to why he hated the noble so much. He was certain, that it was them who killed his mother and sister, though he was denial of course. Wrapping it around his head, he would slip it underneath his old, ragged shirt and let it dangle.
With him he had two weapons. A sword which he had picked up along the roads of his many travels and a dagger tucked away in his boots that were a bit out of shape. He didn’t live the most fascinating of lives but it was worth it, and to him, better than being cooped up in a stone wall any day. Here he could at least escape the madness to his haven and write notes, music or poetry. He didn’t have any real friends and needless to say he figured he didn’t need any. Today however, was different. He felt creative and had a spur of the moment when he started speaking out loud amongst the people in the square. Would they even make a peep at his oddness? Probably not, many of them were just passing by. But to those who did stop and listen he say:
“Come together my friends. Gather ’round.” There’s a cold wind a-blowin, far beyond the hills. Sending chills through our spines. A heart that beats one last time. Their eyes are closed for now, sleeping til’ the morn. When they wake, they will find, a heart that beats, one last… Time.”
With him he had two weapons. A sword which he had picked up along the roads of his many travels and a dagger tucked away in his boots that were a bit out of shape. He didn’t live the most fascinating of lives but it was worth it, and to him, better than being cooped up in a stone wall any day. Here he could at least escape the madness to his haven and write notes, music or poetry. He didn’t have any real friends and needless to say he figured he didn’t need any. Today however, was different. He felt creative and had a spur of the moment when he started speaking out loud amongst the people in the square. Would they even make a peep at his oddness? Probably not, many of them were just passing by. But to those who did stop and listen he say:
“Come together my friends. Gather ’round.” There’s a cold wind a-blowin, far beyond the hills. Sending chills through our spines. A heart that beats one last time. Their eyes are closed for now, sleeping til’ the morn. When they wake, they will find, a heart that beats, one last… Time.”