Ancarti Athtok- Rage fuels me
stats not totally final, will post update close to ‘live date’ and once a starting level has been set
As a youth, I was full of rage. Out of control. My earliest passions where seeing how far I could bend, nay force, the will of others to my doing. I certainly made those who crossed me regret it. I lived. I laughed. I danced on top of the world.
At least, it felt that way at the time.
Little did I know that I was a small fish in a very, very, VERY big pond. Yeah, a few months in the slammer changes your perspective on things.
Sure, I could bore you with details. My parents kicked me out for my recklessness. My friends alienated themselves from me when I couldn’t control my anger. City watch knew me by first name and for the reason you might expect. But, I don’t think you really care about that.
Why I am sitting here, in this cell?
I killed a man.
And his family.
No, it wasn’t an accident. Yes it was intentional.
Looking back, I should of walked away. It wasn’t that I hadn’t been called a streetrat before. I mean, I was at the time. But I didn’t feel like it. And I certainly hadn’t been called that in as dark of a mood as I was in that day. I snapped. Nothing else mattered in that moment. The world was blood red. I had to show him that I wasn’t going to take his insult. His treating me like that.
I turned and something inside me went… off. I still don’t fully understand it. I wanted him dead. I saw a… force… leave my body. The next thing I know is that he was grabbing his eyes, falling to his knees, screaming in pain. When the screaming stopped, I felt myself feel prideful, the world returned to a normal vision. The man lay in a pool of his own blood, his eyes bleeding out.
Then I heard the crying. His wife. His daughter. Witnesses. I panicked. In hindsight, I should of ran. I mean… how many streetrats are there? Surely, I could of laid now and got a new set of clothes. But I didn’t. And when it was all over, I felt the burly hand on my shoulder. A man, much stronger than I had ever felt before, took me away.
And so I have been sitting here. I would like to believe that I have learned to control myself. But only time will tell. In the meantime I have been reading on this strange.. magic?… that manifested itself that night. They don’t give us much access to books here in jail, but I think I might be onto something. The witch who visits us at night tells me I am special. That I need to continue to learn to control my rage.
These walls are comforting and shield us from much of what we had to deal with on the outside. My sanctuary. My temple to pray for strength, for forgiveness of sins. As if I really have anything to repent for. But, I do have plenty to pray for. Much to pray for.