The Gift: Chapter Two

The Gift: Chapter Two Completed

[COMPLETE] With the gods dead and dragons slowly spreading their dominion over the land, will you fight for something? Or die with nothing?

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Setting: Norr2011-03-23 06:46:37, as written by Talisman
Laeral, Jurial Plains

Caine strode into the town after "Captain" Wrath had assigned him to his squad. A frontliner no less, not like he was surprised. Caine didn't speak at all during the squad assigning, although he did pick up on the hollow tone the Captain had with him. He merely nodded and entered the city. Of course, distancing oneself from Caine was natural, seeing how the Captain had met the Berserker. Blind to all but bloody fury, he had the brilliant idea to try eviscerate everything that even deemed slightly hostile. Caine's anger was a brutal mistress, to enemies, to allies, and even to himself. The scars that adorned his face attested to that fact. The only thing that had stopped Caine's bloodlust was Wrath. Of course, this had bound to put a sour taste into the man's mouth.

He was part of another squad before being conscripted to the 40th. The outcast legion it seemed. They had been set upon and they had fought back valiantly. Though, not without cost. Caine was not sure of the losses, as he had devolved into the signature Berserker rage and lost all thought except kill or be killed. Dodge that attack, strike out with the sword, Kick at the assailant. Kill, kill, kill. He only snapped out of it when Wrath had shown up. That was when he was conscripted. Perhaps they saw something him. More likely however was that he was deemed too dangerous to be in a proper legion.

"Put me in front sir, I'm bound to get killed killing things," Caine mocked in a dark, low voice. Although he spoke the words, there was a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He wasn't expecting to get killed anytime soon. The sole reason he fought was to survive, to live. Hiding in a hovel isn't a way to live, and one is just as likely to die there as on the battlefield now-a-days. His true motivations to fight? He didn't completely understand them himself. A twisted sense of revenge perhaps? He was one of the dying breed of humans. And heavens knows what the man had experienced in his past. Caine shrugged, as if throwing all of these thoughts off of his shoulders.

He then moved further into the city, just to be moving. He had nowhere to go, he had nothing to do, and he didn't have any money to do it with. He was just there. Caine chuckled to himself. The story of his life. Then he stopped the laughter and grimaced. He was being dark and broody again. That never worked out. Pity for oneself is a sign of weakness. He was a warrior, a proud son of the dying human race. He shouldn't show weakness. He shook his head and try to cheer up. As cheery as the human berserker could get, which was very.

He decided to give up on the sight seeing and immediately found and entered the Boulon Brother's Inn. He found himself a unoccupied table and sunk into the uncomfortable chair. He grumbled about this fact, but didn't try to escape it, instead removing the blades strapped to his back and sat them beside him. Someone came up to him asked if he wanted to order. Caine did and ordered, "A bottle wit' a bite." As the person went to fetch his order, Caine drew a sword from one of the leather wrappings that was a sheath and looked over the blade. It was a grimy, low quality steel sword with flakes of dried blood on the blade. He licked his thumb and rubbed the flakes off. By now, the waiter had returned with a dark colored bottle.

Caine received the bottle and gave the waiter whatever coins he could fish off of his person. He bit the cork at the mouth of the bottle and spit it to the side. The bottle wasn't going to survive the night. He took a long drought, the bitter liquid sliding down his throat, burning. Perhaps it was bad form to drink while one's captain was so close, but honestly. Caine didn't give a damn.