[RPG] [RP] Foreign's amnesia

[Jonas De Greef]

He coughed, a few drops of blood fell on the pillow, he could still taste 
some of it in his mouth. “Uh
”, he coughed even harder now, a line of blood 
ran down his cheeck from the left corner of his mouth and he swallowed. He 
felt numb, confused. Where was he? Why didn’t his body react? The questions 
buzzed around in his head, making it impossible to concentrate on them. 
Slowly he lifted his right arm and touched his head, feeling the blood on 
his cheek and pulling it back in fear. Blood? Was he dead? Can the dead feel 
pain? When he moved his other arm he let out a gasp of pain and the rooms 
started to sway around him and it turned black in front of his eyes


Brown, the curtains were brown. Was it brown? He could not move and tried to 
lift his right arm again, as he had done before. Had he done it before? When 
was that? He screamed and pulled himself up straight into a sitting 
position, nearly dropping back into unconsciousness. When his eye-sight came 
back from the dazed grey fog, he saw he had been laying on a table with a 
matrass on top, “God
” He searched his voice again while breathing heavily, 
“God
damned.” He coughed again and tried to touch the blody leg he had seen, 
his right leg, or what he knew was his right leg, as it was covered in red 
cloth.

A man falling, it had been a man falling. Why did he know that? He stared 
back at the red cloth, My leg.”, he plainly said. A flash of memory came to 
him, he saw himself standing on a wall, but in complete armor. He had been 
shouting commands, a flock, yes a flock of arrows, he remembered. The 
arrows, they had come, and his leg, his right leg. Yes. The man falling on 
top of him, a dead gaze in his eyes and an arrow in his throath, familiar. 
His scribe. Why did he had had a scribe? Why had he been standing there? He 
had tried to get up, the blood of the other man pouring upon his face, he 
had been frightened, trying to push the man away.

“Is anyone there?”, he felt the heavy weight of his left arm, that was 
hanging numbly at his side. He saw more blood, covering his entire left arm, 
he traced the origin of the blood back to his shoulder, that had indeed been 
acking when he had straightened up. Pushing the man away, he missed seeing 
the next flock of arrows pouring down on his men –his men? How did he know 
that?-, and got thrown back on the ground with a stick in his shoulder. At 
first he had not understood, a stick, an arrow it had dawned to him. Another 
men fell next to him, trying to pull out the two arrows that were stuck in 
his side and had probably perforated his liver as the blood was spraying 
down on the stones.

Had that really been him? The wounds told him the same story, but how could 
he know. Suddenly a man leaped into the room through the door and he 
realized it had not been a curtain. “Sir? Mylord? Are you all right? 
Shouldn’t you better lay down?” Willingly he let himself fall back on the 
table, losing conscious again.

As he opened his eyes again, a man –another man- was standing next to him 
eying him carefully, “How are you? Not feeling nausious lord Foreign?” He 
blinked to focus on the man standing next to the table and his voice was 
dry, “Who’s Foreign?”

A voice called out: "Foreign", he had started to accept the reality: he was 
Foreign. He was a noble, a member of the Curs family, he was 31 years old, 
he had been a senator, he was appearantly rather known for military 
advisory. "Yes?" The man -his personal healer as he had learned- came in the 
room again, pointing his attention directly at Foreign's wound in the chest. 
"Have you been coughing up blood again lately? Do you feel like there is 
water bubbling in you chest?" Foreign shook his head, "Bubbling? No, I 
stopped coughing up blood five hours ago..."  The healer nodded smilingly, 
"It seems the wound his closed from the inside of you lung already, that's a 
good sign!"

"And my leg?" The healer carefully removed the bandages and washed away the 
blood, "It seems the bleeding has stopped and the infection is nearly gone. 
You seem to have a tendecy to heal very quickly Mylord." Foreign signted, "I 
suppose... How would I know?" The healer frowned disapproving, “That’s no 
attidute to have right now.” Foreign grinned, “It isn’t because I have 
amnesia you should treat me like a kid, now get out.” The healer laughed at 
Foreign’s boldness, “Glad there is still some of you left in there.”

When the healer had left Foreign jumped agile off the table on his left leg 
and regained his balance quickly as he held his hand with a firm grip on the 
table. He set a few steps into the room, but almost immediately felt as if 
he was going to faint, and he stumbled forward against the desk. As he kept 
himself steady to prevent the grey fog getting control over him, he suddenly 
noticed a note:

NEXT TIME YOU WANT A KEEPSAKE OF MINE, ASK ME. NO NEED TO TAKE ONE WHEN I’M 
UNCONSCIOUS.

Foreign grabbed the dagger that had been stuck in the desk to pin the note 
firmly on it, and pulled it our with a surprising ease, although it had been 
pierced deeply into the desk. What was the note all about? And why was the 
dagger bloody? The silver was icy-cold and Foreign admired the 
craftsmenwork. He put the dagger the the sleve of his working arm and took 
the note again. It seemed oddly familiar, Foreign took a pen and scribbled 
down half of the same phrase and compared the two lines: it was definitly 
not his writing.

“Healer!” When the man came in he immediately ran to Foreign to support him 
in case he would fall. “You really shouldn’t be walking around sir.” Foreign 
pushed away the man’s grip, “Did someone came in here while I was 
unconscious? Someone out of the ordinary?” The healer nodded, “You can 
surely call it out of the ordinary, the Queen came rushing in, send us out 
and spend several hours sitting next to you in this room.” “Ow
 The Queen 
you say?”, Foreign frowned and went back to the table, a bit wavering still 
but more confident. What would the Queen mean with the message? He 
whispered, “The Queen?”

He could remember few, just parts of his past, and he tried to recall how 
she looked. Clarissa, he had already remembered so far, the fair Queen 
Clarissa. But he had trouble forming an actual image of her in his head, but 
every time he tried he would feel a warmth. He could definitly tell the name 
itself already brought up many emotions, but they were so numerous he could 
not tell the story behind them. As soon as he was healed he would try to 
figure out.

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