giuramento guerrieri
02-13-2016, 11:48 PM
Since learning about the destruction of the clan Basileus had learned what it meant to truly hate someone. Before he'd thought it akin to any other feeling. He'd used the word liberally; I hate the snow; I hate rabbit meat; I hate mornings. Now he knew. True hate was a visceral thing. It sat in his stomach with the weight of a sharpened stone. He felt it every second of every day; how it cut him, drove into his belly with every move he made. Instead of weighing him down he'd been renewed by it. Gone was his fatigue. If it was the last thing he did he would see the end of the oath breaker. He'd never been particularly fond of killing. Duty was what compelled him and duty made him unfeeling. But this killing would be different. More than anything else he wanted to look into Enrico's eyes. Basileus wanted to see the moment Enrico realized he was going to die. His breath caught and he stilled, his gaze fixed on a nearing figure. It couldn't be. Oh please, let it be. "Vittore," he breathed in disbelief, the name leaving his lips in a whisper. Louder, he shouted, "Vittore! Dimmi i miei occhi non sono sbagliate! Vittore!" Without waiting for a response he ran towards the man. More than anything else Basileus had been afraid for his family. He loved his clan brothers dearly, but he'd felt true fear for the ones he'd grown up with. If Vittore had survived surely the rest of his blood family had made it. What of those not in the clan? What of his sisters, his cousins, the children, those who lived outside the brotherhood? Where had the killing ended? He had so many unanswered questions! Reaching the man Basileus immediately reached out to touch him, to bump Vittore's neck with his nose. He was real. He was real and he was alive. "Oh, fratello! Oh, mio fratello! Non pensavo che avrei visto tu nuovo!" |
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