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A grey light began to creep it's way into the room, distracting Sain from his reverie.
Was it morning? He hadn't slept. He rarely slept through the night since the decimation of the Red Blades during the second sundering.
He had idolized those master swordsmen throughout his youth. The song of their blades resonated with the melody Milil placed in his heart. To him the their art became a way he could sing through his stutter. He worked tirelessly and was eventually selected as an initiate for the group.
Then came the Orcs. He lost all that had given him purpose. Even Peridan who, along with Osclow, helped Sain to master his stutter was lost.
Sain rubbed his eyes with his palms and his greenish gray skin came of in large flakes. He didn't notice. His flesh had flaked in that way since his birth. Perhaps his mother knew why, but she had left him in the care of the legion when he was just a boy and disappeared into the spine of the world, leaving only her son and a simple carved wooden flute.
The flute sat unnoticed in the corner of the cold stone room next to the item that currently demanded Sain's attention; his Red Blade initiate's short blade. It lay wired in it's sheath, unused these last 3 years.
The loss of his order, his brothers, and so many friends and mentors at once had left him broken and lost. He remained in the Legion not because of a sense of loyalty, but because it was easiest. To decided another path would have taken from him motivation and drive that he just didn't posses.
So he stayed. He fought. He patrolled. But his heart was never in it.
It was time to change that. Time to become a living breathing part of Sundren again. Time to use his skill at arms and the song in his heart to honor both Milil and the Red Knight.
The light from the window reached the etched flute, and it's reflection caught Sain's eye; and Perhaps it was time to renew his search for his mother and the answers to his cursed skin.
Rising gracefully from his bed he began his morning ritual of blade forms. It was time to reforge himself.
Was it morning? He hadn't slept. He rarely slept through the night since the decimation of the Red Blades during the second sundering.
He had idolized those master swordsmen throughout his youth. The song of their blades resonated with the melody Milil placed in his heart. To him the their art became a way he could sing through his stutter. He worked tirelessly and was eventually selected as an initiate for the group.
Then came the Orcs. He lost all that had given him purpose. Even Peridan who, along with Osclow, helped Sain to master his stutter was lost.
Sain rubbed his eyes with his palms and his greenish gray skin came of in large flakes. He didn't notice. His flesh had flaked in that way since his birth. Perhaps his mother knew why, but she had left him in the care of the legion when he was just a boy and disappeared into the spine of the world, leaving only her son and a simple carved wooden flute.
The flute sat unnoticed in the corner of the cold stone room next to the item that currently demanded Sain's attention; his Red Blade initiate's short blade. It lay wired in it's sheath, unused these last 3 years.
The loss of his order, his brothers, and so many friends and mentors at once had left him broken and lost. He remained in the Legion not because of a sense of loyalty, but because it was easiest. To decided another path would have taken from him motivation and drive that he just didn't posses.
So he stayed. He fought. He patrolled. But his heart was never in it.
It was time to change that. Time to become a living breathing part of Sundren again. Time to use his skill at arms and the song in his heart to honor both Milil and the Red Knight.
The light from the window reached the etched flute, and it's reflection caught Sain's eye; and Perhaps it was time to renew his search for his mother and the answers to his cursed skin.
Rising gracefully from his bed he began his morning ritual of blade forms. It was time to reforge himself.