[RPG] [RP] Foreign looked melancholic

[Jonas De Greef]

Foreign looked melancholic at the small dagger he had been playing with 
while shifting it between his fingers. The handle had been black leather, 
although age had turned it dark-brown by now, he had no clue how old it was, 
and he definitly didn’t want to know how many men it already had killed. 
Dropping the point on the table, he turned the handle around with the top of 
his fingers making the wood underneath curl up the blade while the dagger 
slowly drilled itself into the table. It was still deadly sharp and could 
split the top of the table with one heavy thrust, remembering him again of 
its possible victimes.

He had taken it some while ago, more than four months he thought, although 
he could not remember when, as no-one really seems to be able to point out 
exact dates of passed events these days. He saw the lightening in the 
reflection of the candle upon the blade, it glittered frantically and 
Foreign almost forgot reality. He could bring every second to his mind of 
that day, the innoscent expectation of the morning, the growing thrill of 
noon, and
 the evening. Had it been because of this dagger that the 
lightening had chosen to meet her on its path? Foreign knew she wore plenty 
of them, enough to draw attention of the cruel turmoil of light and heat. He 
had heared from a lot of learned men that such storms were brought to life 
by the gods to punish the souls of human, but somehow he had know no god was 
to blame for this storm. It was too savage, no storm caused by a god could 
be so destructive for no reason, truely, what could the gods possibly have 
want to punish her for?

“Aah, the fair Queen of Perdan
”, Foreign sighted, he recalled his struggle 
against the wounds of lightening that had struck her down, washing the 
deepest of them and fighting time to prevent the cloth to sink into the 
smouldered flesh. It was then that he had tried to remove every dagger he 
saw, as plenty as they were –making him wonder if she had really trusted his 
presence-, the heated metal could only result in more wounds. He had kept 
that one dagger for himself, partially because he saw the nearing peasants, 
and partially because he just
 wanted to.

He knocked twice with the handle on the table as if awakening himself to the 
presence, took a deep breath and slid the dagger back in the sheath on his 
belt. Such events drew a bond between two people, a bond based on terrified 
concern and dedication.

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