Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-19164168-20161212045904/@comment-24530992-20161212153756

"Come on, get up sleepyhead," a voice had said. He opened his eyes groggily, looking to see where the voice was coming from. He saw a woman with raven black hair and piercing blue eyes standing above him, crossing her arms. "It's too early, mom... Just a little longer," the boy groaned, turning on his side.

"Now, Stauntax. We need to get started."

He sighed, kicking the blankets off of himself, slowly dragging himself out of bed. He pulled a pair of loose trousers on, paired with a light shirt and leather boots. He trudged out of his room to the outside where it was still dark out. The cold morning air caused him to shiver slightly, but once he started his training, he would quickly warm up.

"Now, put this on," his mother said, handing him a knapsack that seemed to weigh a ton. "You're going to run for as long as you can with this on without stopping. Climb the hill once you get there and I will go find you in a few. Don't let me find you sleeping under a tree. Understood?" She asked.

"Yes, mother," he replied, slinging the heavy bag onto his shoulders.

"Good, now go before your father and sister wake up," she said, ruffling his hair. The boy smiled lightly, then taking off. He had done this before. It wasn't his favorite excersise, but he couldn't object. He started off with a light jog, entering the forest, which was still dark. He was told that if he encountered anything strange he were to quickly return. Most mornings were fairly quiet besides the occasional wolf crossing paths with him.

After running for several miles, he reached a large hill with many large rocks protruding from its side. Stauntax immediately began to climb it, grasping onto any ledge or crevice he could get a hold on. He lifted his foot and placed it on a small ledge and began to hoist himself up, but he heard a crack and he lost his footing. He had tried to leap up to grab the next rock, but he had already lost his grip and began tumbling. Just before his sight went black, he heard his mother shouting from a distance.

Upon waking up, he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. His eyes slowly adjusted, being met with an excruciating headache that had hindered the recovery of his vision. He could, however, make out two figures in a shouting match, and two objects coming from his stomach with a red tinge staining his shirt. He tried to ignore it as he called out for the two figures. One turned their head and rushed toward him, but just as they were about to make contact, the woman coming to aide him was jerked back by her hair. A knife pressed to her neck and swiped along just below her jaw, a warm fountain of blood spraying the boy's face. He let out a whimper before the younger looking woman had left. Moments later, a man with fair blonde hair and crystal blue eyes had entered the home through the front door. He immediately fell to his knees, overwhelmed with what he was seeing. His eyes darted around the room, before setting them on Stauntax. They narrowed into slits before he stood and approached the wounded boy, his face red with anger.

"Did you do this?!" He asked, pointing to the body on the floor. He couldn't speak. All that had escaped from his lips was a low grunt.

"Well?!"

Nothing else was said. Everything after were muffled shouts and screams, followed by sobbing. Just before his vision had gone out for the second time, the last thing he saw was his father holding the woman in his arms before shooting the boy a glance full of hatred and grief. It had been the final image before his eyes had shot open, his palms clenched tightly with beads of sweat condensing on his forehead. He gasped as he rose, frantically looking around before realizing it had been a dream. He let out a sigh and stood up from his chair he had fallen asleep in and walked outside.

Stauntax had made a quick walk to the river, then taking a seat on its bank. He leaned over and looked at his mirrored image. What stared back was a man with bloodshot eyes, tousled hair and a dark brown stubble blanketing his jaw. He frowned, realizing he had looked like a beggar waking from a drunken stupor. He reached down and cupped his hands, filling them with water. He splashed his face and ran his hands through his hair, making himself look slightly more presentable. Once he had felt like that was enough, he stood and walked along the bank, trying to calm himself down.