So, I'm going to jump into the fire and post my first thread.
Now I'm sure each of your characters have their own stories to tell, especially in such an interesting place as the Silkroad. Tell the story of your character here. We're quite sure there's more to your character than being pure STR or INT or hybrid or tanker or nuker.
What was his/her life like on the Silkroad? What life did s/he lead before embarking on a magical adventure? What's it like being a hunter/trader/thief? It can be just a very short anecdote, or an elaborate epic. The possibilities are limitless.
Anyway, this is Hemlock's story. It's not done yet, and I'm not even sure what made me start writing it, or if I'll be finishing it, or if ever, how the rest of the story will unfold. At any rate, this one was easy to write, in a sense that it flowed from my fingers directly onto the keyboard, as if Hemlock's life was meant to be this way. Read on...
--
I am Hemlock. Or rather, that was the name I was given when I was taken in by the White Caravan, an acting troupe from the city of Chang’an. My life before then is unknown to me, and it is a life I think I would rather leave shadowed.
It was on the deathbed of Master He Xiao Tian, the leader of the White Caravan, where he relayed to me the events that happened nine years ago, the night I was taken in by the troupe. Their caravan was crossing Hohyeosi Mountain on the way to Hotan for a performance requested by the Emperor himself. Master He Xiao Tian said he found my unconscious body beside a fallen tree near their camp.
“Deep wounds marred every inch of your flesh, but none as deep as the wounds on your back,” he said grimly. And although I was shivering uncontrollably, and my consciousness was ready to cross The Veil, the Master was surprised to feel a distant roaring in my spirit fighting to keep alive.
It must have taken some time before his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the forest, but it was only after he has gathered my small, crumpled form into his arms that he noticed a disturbing sight. He said the whole clearing was suddenly awash in gentle phosphorescence, and there on the forest floor were five white tigers -- their furs almost glowing in the half-light. Each one still, each one unmoving, and each one undoubtedly dead.
One tiger had eyes staring up at the heavens, its menacing jaws wide open -- a portrait of unbridled anger and agony, compounded only by the shards of crystal (or was it ice?) protruding from its abdomen. Another form had the same kind of shards emerging from different parts of its body, but the head of this one was firmly spiked to the ground. Its eyes were closed, and an expression of shame and defeat crossed its face. The other three looked as if they were only sleeping, that is, if it were not for the swath of burnt flesh traveling the sides of their body.
The Master was careful not to disturb any of the carcasses as he stepped away from the clearing. He moved quickly but silently, intent on leaving the stench of death haunting the area. Whispering what little he knew of the arcane incantations he has learnt during their travels, he tried to find his way back to the camp. But no matter how fast he kept his pace, it seemed that the shadows were deepening even further with every step he takes.
It wasn't long before he heard a low, velveteen growl. He wasn't sure which side of the forest it came from, or if he were simply imagining it, but it did not deter his will from making it out of the forest. He checked the cooling, unmoving form he was holding for breath, and after being satisfied that I was indeed still alive, he closed his eyes tight and made a final mad dash into the direction of the light.
(... to be continued...)
