"T'was a small town the young family lived in. It was situated right at the base of a snow-capped mountain. The snow reflected the sun in such a lovely way..."

Alexander smirked to himself and set down the book on an end table beside him. It sounded much like the town he lived in in reality. The first snowfall of the season had blanketed the village with a thin layer of snow, however the sun wasn't shining today. Silver clouds covered the sky outside from one side of the horizon to another. It covered the mountain's peak and left his small town foggy. It was a peaceful afternoon of quiet with both of his brothers out of the house. It left Alexander craving for a hot stew or soup. He wondered what his mother would be making for dinner.

As if on queue, his mother, Elaine, entered the room with his younger brother Markus. He instinctively smiled politely at them, but Alexander's smile faded quickly. Alarmed, he stood from the wooden bench that they called a couch. They may not have been wealthy, but their father knew enough about carpentry to supply them with the basic furnishings. But at this time, that was besides the point.

"What's happened? Why does it look like you've been crying?" Alexander asked the two of them. Elaine coughed back a sob in her chest.
"It's your brother," Elaine's eyes grew glassy and watered over and down her cheeks. Alexander looked at Markus but he appeared to be fine. That left one brother, Thomas, who happened not to be in the room with them. Trying to calm Elaine, Alexander took the liquid of her tears from across the room and evaporated them so she wouldn't have to wipe them away. He did this whenever he saw someone crying but he never thought he would have to comfort his mother this way. She continued on, saying, "Markus watched a group of the king's soldiers take..." she swallowed hard, "take his life."

More tears welled over their mother's eyes. All Alexander could do is stare at Markus, wondering how he had managed to get away unharmed. He knew that Markus must have done everything he could have to help his brother escape from such a terrible fate, but all Alexander could think to feel was the pain of losing a brother. He knew that hearing the story would cause him more pain and grief than he'd ever felt, but he had to ask. How had he lost only one brother? How had Markus gotten away once Tommy was pronounced dead? "Tell me what happened," Alexander requested. He felt as though a large weight had been put on his shoulders, and he sat back down on the bench to try to relieve the new pressure.

(OOC: Let me know if Thomas is an okay name for the brother. It's the first name that came to mind that sounded like it could fit the name scheme for the brothers. xD)

Snow swirled in tentative halting flurries of icy fluff spat from the heavens, and Markus's breath fogged the world before his nose for seconds at a time. The cold was distasteful. It made his skin cold, in the way that a man with his front to the fire's back begins to freeze. Thomas was ahead of him, and they were both leaving prints in the snow. The older boy was jogging slightly, and occasionally would send a light gust of wind to blow backwards at his brother. They would both laugh, the sound frozen upon leaving their lips, leaving the merriment like ice encrusted doves tumbling to the ground. They were off to the sparse forest that attempted to grow its way up the side of the mountain, searching for fallen branches that would be easy to pick up and carry home. With the oncoming of a chilly winter all the firewood that could be obtained was needed.

It had been easy to convince his older brother to accompany him to the forest after the idea had bloomed in Mark's sandy blonde head. Tommy's darker head, one that was more similar to Zander's, bobbed eagerly when Mark offered the question. And off they'd gone. The makeshift sword had been hard to write off, but Mark managed to convince his brother that it was for cutting any skinny branches up to take as well. And now here they were, just into the safe haven of the trees who's branches cradled the heavens and cupped the boys to the earth.

And then he struck from behind, jamming the weapon into his brother's back before he could move. Blood. Blood everywhere. How could there be so much blood. And Thomas fell face forward, writhing and crying out. And then Markus ran, ran with all his might. Oh God, what did he do now? He stumbled and fell face first into the snow, picked himself and kept running. he'd have to lie. He didn't have the weapon, and only his hand had been bloodied. Which he fixed by quickly wiping them in the snow before kicking more snow over it to hide the stark red horror. The weapon was somewhere in the woods, flung there moments before the boy fled.

Markus's face was blank. The adrenaline still pulsed in his system, but the cold was just beginning to set in. He'd killed a man. namely, he'd killed Tommy. His older brother. In was inconceivable, but made crystal sense. Or was it more like glass? He'd had to kill him. It had been the perfect idea, the perfect time, the perfect lie. The plan hadn't simmered at all. it had just happened. It had just been carried out as soon as the idea popped into the boy's head. His chilly fingers knit together, still wet from the snow. He'd tripped in his escape, landed on his face. His shirt was wet too, and he was too shell shocked, still recovering from his actions, to do anything about it. His fingers were to numb to properly set anything alight.

He swallowed at his brothers request, the one he'd known would come. He blinked a couple times, momentarily meeting his brothers eyes. He could feel a tad bit of fear rising in his belly, that it wouldn't work out for he didn't want to be revealed as a murderer. it wasn't part of his new found plan. "I-I, um, me and him were going up to the forest to gather branches for firewood." He said, staring fixedly at the wall behind his brother. "An-and then, " Mark was shaking violently in a mixture of a chill and of fear. He'd killed someone. And if he didn't do this just so he would get caught. Suddenly he didn't feel nearly as sure of himself. What had he gotten himself into? "A handful of horsemen came out from the woods as we were headed in. Three. They hailed us, and Thomas hailed back. We went over to them. The first one asked what we were doing. I said that we were collecting firewood. Then he asked Thomas what he'd been doing as we were walking up." Mark paused for a moment, blinking again, trying to orient himself, come back to the story forming in his mind, the one that he'd been jolted from by his mother's shaking sobs. He hadn't told her the entire falsehood, just what she'd told Zander.

"He'd been blowing snow back at me and I'd been dodging it. So he told them. And they asked where he'd gotten the power to blow things about like that." Another pause and a deep shuddering sigh. He could finish this. he could drag himself out of the mess, and if it ended well, then the means were justified. "And then...they exchanged a few more words, and the second man dismounted from his horse, a sword in his hand. He looked at me, and Tommy looked at him. Then he seemed to realize something." Another shaking gasp for air. This story was beginning to feel real to him. "The second man asked if I could do such things too, and then Tommy grabbed my arm and told me to run. And I did. And...and then..." Markus paused, wondering whether he should say it. Wondering how black it would make his soul to lie that much. He blinked again, took a deep breath, and continued. With a part of the truth. "I-I could hear him screaming as I ran, then I fell, but I kept going." The boy's eyes lifted to meet his brothers. "I-I ran away and he died. I ran away." The young man was close to tears now. He'd admitted it with his mouth. Tommy was dead. Even though killing him was justified, the fact that he was dead was was a heavy weight on Mark's chest and throat. he couldn't possibly get another word out.

He continued to stand, his body shaking, his hand lifted up to wrap himself, pull himself tighter to his core. As if that would prevent the others from seeing the black inferno that was the lie in his chest.

The story cut through Alexander's heart like a knife. Many knives, actually. One for every turning point in the story. What sent the deepest cut, however, was Markus describing how he could hear Tommy's last screams before he fell. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real life. It had to be a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. He brought his hands up to run his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly hard on his dark locks just to reassure himself that he could feel any sensation besides disbelief.

When his gaze lifted from the floor of their cabin house, his eyes fell onto his mother. Her face had changed colors as though she were holding her breath. Alexander immediately stood from the bench and walked over to her, wrapping her in his arms. The color in her face returned to normal as she exhaled and tears came flowing out. The cabin was silent except for their mother's cries. Alexander had never been in a place where the air felt this heavy.

"Mark, gather all of the coin you can manage." His voice was deathly quiet. He knew he would be heard. "I'll do the same. We're going to need to invest in two horses from Phillip's stable in town." Alexander hugged his mother closer to his chest before releasing her, his hands resting on her upper arms. "Tommy was killed for an impecible gift he was given at birth," tears now flowed down Alexander's face. Though his heart was filled to the brim with pain, a new emotion began to churn inside of him. It started out as a small flickering flame of anger until it began to strengthen. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he knew what it felt to burn from the inside out. His skin felt as though it would be hot to the touch. The pain in his heart moved aside for the thirst for revenge.

Alexander's eyes returned to his remaining brother. "I believe that you did all that you could. Tommy's last effort was to save you, and you fulfilled his last wish. I'm... proud," he wasn't sure if that was the right word. If he had stayed, could Markus have saved them both? "Of you. Today, we prepare. We'll need to pack all of our hunting and survival gear and anything we'll need to take care of the horses we'll buy today." Alexander left the living room to his room, of which he shared with his brothers, to begin gathering his things. He continued voicing his plan outloud from there. "Tomorrow... We set out to show the king and all of his pathetic soldiers just how mighty our detested gifts are. Then Thomas will look down at us from the heavens and be proud of us for making him a powerful name."

The silence was like a blanket of fresh snow, and his mothers sobs were flecks of blood being flung down like paint from an angry artist's palette. Half of Markus's mind was beginning to break down in silent wails of its own. What had he done? What was the ends of all this pain? Why had he done such a thing, caused such pain to his mother and his brother. The other half was stone cold. He'd done what he had to do to achieve his goals. And they'd believed him. he had to suffer through the pain to achieve his goals. He had to act on his ideas. They were perfect. They worked. And if they worked, then that meant that they had to be used, or that was genius wasted.

And then came the soft voice of his brother, soft but cutting like gentle fire through sweet grass. Markus's fingers shook. His body shivered. His lips trembled slightly. But his mind was still as he listened to the words. What was his brother planning? It wasn't usually like him to speak in such a tone, or with such a furious force behind each word. The youth stared at his brother, green eyes dull. But a tinge of fear began to grow in him at the other's first words, the words that grew in intensity as they were spoken. And then Zander's eyes met his. It hurt slightly, the weight of the lie, but the stone portion of his heart, the all or nothing, the end justifies the means portion kept it beating still.

"Yes brother." He mumbled softly. It was the wisest thing to do, complying. He followed Zander into their room, his mind whirling, groping for an idea where there was none. He'd exhausted his bank of thought for the day. All that was left was a knowledge that he had to protect himself from his brother and his mother realizing what he'd done. The crime he'd committed. His plan of personal gain.

He gathered his things, trying to think of someway to stop it without being too obvious about it. Perhaps if he brought death to Zander's mind it would change it? "Zander." He said softly, almost a question for him to continue speaking. usually he was much less serious than this, but what he was doing now required a stark amount of precision, and he didn't think he could keep the facade up any other way. "What if they kill us too? I don't want ta die like Tommy did, Zander." The weapon that was inherent in being the youngest was wielded. His fingers were tangled in one of his shirts, and he looked up at his brother, but didn't attempt to meet the other's eyes. he just stared fixedly at the young man's chin. He could always kill Zan too, but water was much more effective on water than wind was, and Mark wouldn't have the same element of surprise. Zan would be wary. Not of him, but of merely a threat. and he couldn't reveal himself unless he finished the job. And he had to kill Zan himself. it was the only way he could satisfy himself. To be unique meant to be the one to eradicate the opposition himself. A show of power.

OOC: Sorry it took me; I was gonna post last night but company came over and I didn't have time.

Alexander filled a large tan leather pack. He found himself frustrated when it was only filled halfway and he'd packed nearly everything he would need to survive for a week. There was a survivalist book in the pack that would tell him what would and wouldn't be safe to eat on the trail. There were arrows, a dagger, coin, clothing... all sorts of items. He had three canteens just for himself to be filled with water from the creek that cut through their village before they left.

He heard his brother enter the room. He was hesitant to begin packing, and then tried to get Alexander's attention. He mentioned his fear of dying the way that Thomas did. Alexander set down the map he was going to pack, and then sighed. "It won't be easy, Mark. It's going to be scary and hard and... not fun. But Tommy didn't deserve this. I want his ghost to be contented knowing that his family will do all that they can to avenge him; as cliche as that may sound." Alexander made sure the map was folded properly before setting it into his bag. "If you're not ready for this or feel that you're too young, then stay here. I know Mother could use the company during this time. If you're tagging along, pack your things. Food, weapons, water. I've got the map. As soon as we're done here, we're going to see Phillip and buy two horses off of him."

Slowly, half an hour passed. Elaine's wails in the kitchen never ceased, nor did Alexander's determination. He stood, looking around his room to make sure he hadn't missed even one arrow or canteen. When he was confident that he hadn't, he heaved the leather pack up and carried it to the living room. Alexander quickly realized that he would gain a lot of arm strength from lifting this pack on and off of his horse. Exhaling loudly as he set it down on the floor of the living room, he left to enter the kitchen. He embraced his mother again, trying to calm her. "I can't fix this, Mom, but I'm going to make you and him proud." She stayed quiet, burying her face into her son's shoulder. He continued, "I'm going to talk to Marissa about her coming to stay with you while we're away. Don't be surprised if she knocks on your door with packed bags. I'll be back to get my pack after I acquire a horse, and... I'll be off then."

Alexander kept his tears back and tried his hardest to make the lump in his throat disappear. He turned away from her, back to the living room. "Mark, if you're coming, let's go." Alexander didn't want to be in this house of grief and dread any longer.

Tagging along. Zander made it sound like they were running off on some kind of picnic or some such thing. A slight huff if air left Markus's lungs sharply, sigh of annoyance. At himself in part. But mostly towards his brother's obstinate attitude. "I understand, brother." he said, looking down at his hands, the knuckles of which were white. He had a decision to make. Well, he couldn't just stay home, what if his brother managed to get himself killed in a way that Mark didn't have a hand in? Mark didn't much want to put himself in the way of any kind of extreme danger, but this plan seemed to be worth it. Hopefully it was worth it. All that work would be a shame to waste.

The youth worked to pack his things as swiftly as possible, but not without a tad of grudging. This would not be very fun at all. But it would perhaps give him more time to plan. Although, was he up to killing again? The first one had brought a new weight into his chest, the weight of shock at himself, the weight of grief, even the weight of his half hardened heart. The stone was what weight him down the most. That and the wet clothes he was still clad in. Inside and out. As time passed, stiff with the continuing silence, Mark let his mind go. Relax. It was a sweet bliss. The whirring quieted, and his eyelids dipped slightly. The blankness was welcome.

Of course, it was interrupted by Zander exiting the room. Mark lingered, setting his fingers alight to see if he could. The flame burst forth but died after a few seconds. That was a relief. He'd been a bit worried when he hadn't been able to catch anything on fire earlier. But the rest of his mind had brought the control back to him. His brother's voice floated to him as he systematically dried his clothes using short burst of flame from his finger tips. An exhausting feat to say the least. Conjuring fire from nothing was no easy task. No kindling or any thing for it to catch hold of made everything that much harder. Moving flames always proved to be easier that creating flames.

Alexander's voice, directed at him, caught Mark's attention just as he'd nearly finished his task. "Coming." He cried out, reaching for his bag. He slung it onto his shoulder and stepped swiftly to the older Fischer boy. He ran a hand through his hair as he crossed the doorway from the bedroom to the main room where Zander was standing. Time for an adventure, a setting up of a new chessboard, the falling of a new blanket of snow. With whom's life would the white of new beginning be bloodied?