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The city of Aquor bustles with life. Refugees, once hungry and forgotten, line the streets with healthy businesses. They push their goods on any who pass through, be it blue or white collar. There is a roaring rumble of trade and opportunity hanging in the air. Prosperity. Smiles. Life.
The day fades away. The merchants and travelers disappear into shadows, taking with them their hopeful voices. One by one, the street lamps wink out of existance.
Dusk descends on the town of Aquor, and with it, an appaling shade of grey dispair.
Maverick strolls the streets he helped shape. The buildings are strong again. Roads are paved and cobbled. The defenses are rebuilt. But without life, there is only grey dispair.
A breeze floats in from the mountainside. And before Maverick's eyes, the grey structures of all he helped build become ash. The soft wind takes his dream and scatters it to oblivion. Somewhere, a baby cries...
Maverick Bell snaps awake with a drunken snort. His face is sore. He picks a splinter from his cheek, undoubtedly picked up from the table where he passed out. He is still covered with the mud and the grime from the fire.
...And now the memory descends on him like a flock of ravens. He ran into that house. There was a baby. He had it in his hands. It was in his hands...
His nightmare snaps. The vision of the fire is gone, and he is left staring at his own grey hands. Grey, lifeless, covered in soot and ash.
He clenches those hands into black fists. He felt life course through those hands - rage and anger, but life, nonetheless. And a whisper in his mind tells him, "...Anson Graves..."
The day fades away. The merchants and travelers disappear into shadows, taking with them their hopeful voices. One by one, the street lamps wink out of existance.
Dusk descends on the town of Aquor, and with it, an appaling shade of grey dispair.
Maverick strolls the streets he helped shape. The buildings are strong again. Roads are paved and cobbled. The defenses are rebuilt. But without life, there is only grey dispair.
A breeze floats in from the mountainside. And before Maverick's eyes, the grey structures of all he helped build become ash. The soft wind takes his dream and scatters it to oblivion. Somewhere, a baby cries...
Maverick Bell snaps awake with a drunken snort. His face is sore. He picks a splinter from his cheek, undoubtedly picked up from the table where he passed out. He is still covered with the mud and the grime from the fire.
...And now the memory descends on him like a flock of ravens. He ran into that house. There was a baby. He had it in his hands. It was in his hands...
His nightmare snaps. The vision of the fire is gone, and he is left staring at his own grey hands. Grey, lifeless, covered in soot and ash.
He clenches those hands into black fists. He felt life course through those hands - rage and anger, but life, nonetheless. And a whisper in his mind tells him, "...Anson Graves..."