🌫Part Three: You look just like her 🌫
Cain, a name that could mean clear water. The blues of his eyes still piercing, sharpened almost with age. Wearing and cracking like ice. A river of emotion always held back, always threatening to spill over. He should have died. The templars should have smited him instead of her. He was later found cradling his fallen friend. Unfamiliar arms pulling him from his thoughts and sorrows. Mind too far gone to process the mechanics of standing, being guided away while words unheard passed through his ears with no meaning. “Haven’t you heard? The Divine will set things right. She has to!”
“Oh pish off, she’s part of the chantry int’she? Probably protect the damn Templars.” “But if we go maybe we can stop things like this happening!” A man in robes gestured to Cain with some deal of empathy. The woman beside him scowled. “Looks bit broken to me. Don’t know why you bothered taking him, he hasn’t spoken a word, for all you know he’s a bloodmage!” The word hissed out in venom.
Cain said nothing, eyes on the dirt in front of him as two strangers guided him further from the river. “Non-sense! He’s just shaken is all. Know I would be.Poor lad Let’s just take him to the conclave. If everything works out then I’m sure he’ll find the means to send to someone.” A nudge to the ribs and Cain drew his face up to glance at the smiling man, he tried to smile back but no doubt it was a pathetic attempt. Maker it should have been him left in that river. He couldn't remember casting, killing the men who attacked so willingly. It was all black. He knew it wrong, but there was no denying he would kill them again if it would bring Ann back.
Then he arrived seperated, confused, more death. An explosion, chains, a familar face and foreign accent.
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