Storyboards: Kinath

Author’s note: I'd like to take a moment to make a general statement. Kinath's future stories are likely to contain some disturbing content. As part of the character development, the flashback scenes are going to be increasingly graphic. For some, this won't be a problem. For everyone else, I extend the invitation to note me if the stories become too violent for peoples' tastes. I am fully aware of the age range of the players of Prophecy, and will do my best to avoid offending anyone. However, I sometimes get carried away. If this story or a future story, appears to be "too much", please let me know. Thanks.
And for anyone wondering: No, I won't include "questionable" content, i.e. anything sexual in nature. The "graphic content" simply refers to my attention to detail in terms of slicing people into little pieces.

Descent: Voices in the Dark | Inner Demons

Descent: Voices in the Dark
"... Do it..."
Kinath looked up sharply.
"Something wrong, Kinath?" The professor arched an eyebrow. Kinath shook his head.
"No sir, nothing." Nodding, the professor continued his lecture.
".. You know you want to..."
Kinath looked up again. The professor was still droning on about some historical event that really had nothing to do with Kinath, or why he was at the university in the first place. Sighing quietly, he glanced out the window. The sun was slowly starting to set, and class would be over soon. Kinath fondly stroked the hilt of his dagger, trying to ignore the pestering voice. The dagger had been a gift from Kinath's brother. Late brother, Kinath corrected himself. Chuckling, he returned his attention to the window.
"Something funny, Kinath?" The professor's voice had startled him. Kinath looked at the professor, a sullen expression on his face.
"Yes, sir." The professor looked at him with that infuriating way professors have of looking at indolent students.
"Would you mind sharing with the class then?" Kinath thought for a moment.
"I was merely thinking, professor, that the world would have been better off had the Rivan Warder run Torak through when he had the chance. Instead, all he did was uncover his shield, the watch as Torak fled." The professor's face turned red.
"The Rivan Warder did what fate had prescribed for him, boy. Nothing more. It was not the Warder's place to rid us of Torak." Kinath arched an eyebrow.
"No? Then whose place is it?" Kinath grinned. The professor's face grew even redder. "How about it, revered teacher? How would you like to go down in history as the man who would slay Kal Torak?" The professor spluttered as the class went into an uproar.
Shouts of "Heathen!" and " Traitor!" could be heard. Kinath walked from his seat and stood next to the professor, whose face was turning purple.
"May the excellent teachings of our revered professor fill your days with wisdom and knowledge." Kinath gave the class a mocking bow. "And now, my friends, I bid thee farewell." He winked at the professor, then sauntered out of the room.

Laughing all the way to town, Kinath finally stopped in an alleyway. By this time, it had grown dark.
"Very smooth, Kinath."
Kinath looked up sharply, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger.
"Who's there?" He peered at the shadows around him, positioning himself with his back against a wall. The dry voice chuckled.
"A friend."
The voice sounded familiar somehow, but Kinath couldn't place it. Drawing his dagger, he stepped carefully away from where he thought the voice was coming from.
"Don't run, Kinath. Stay, and speak with me awhile."
The voice came from directly behind him. Whirling in place, Kinath plunged his dagger into....... Nothing. There was no one there. Feeling slightly foolish, and very angry, Kinath turned again, his eyes scanning the alleyway. Whoever it was chuckled again.
"You are to be complimented on your skill, Kinath, but somehow, I think the air got the best of you."
Kinath growled. He wasn't in the mood for games. Spitting contemptuously, he turned and headed out of the alley.
"You can run, Kinath. But wherever you are, I will find you." Kinath ignored the voice. Someone had been trying to make a fool of him, and it appeared they had succeeded. Finding his way to a tavern, Kinath sat at an empty table and ordered some ale. He had strategically placed himself in a position to watch every door in or out of the room. If whoever had been in the alley had followed him, Kinath would see them if they came into the tavern.

Many, many hours later, Kinath leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closed. He held an empty ale mug in his hand, and his mind was clear of all thoughts.
"Kinath."
His eyes snapped open as his boots hit the floor. Looking around, Kinath's eyes were wild. The tavern was empty, save for himself, the serving wench and the barkeep.
"It won't be so easy to rid yourself of me, Kinath."
The voice came from behind him. Impossible! Kinath's back was to the wall. His right hand trembling violently, he ordered more ale in a shaky voice. Draining the mug in one swallow, he ordered another. And another. And yet another. Eventually, the barkeep refused his orders, which was pointless, because by that time Kinath had become blissfully unaware of everything around him. His snores filled the room, and the barkeep shook his head sadly as he blew out the last of the candles.
Somewhere in the deepest, darkest part of Kinath's mind, something stirred. The dry voice that had followed him from the alley began to chuckle again.
"Soon, Kinath. Very soon."
And was silent once more.

Descent: Inner Demons

Kinath lurches awake, a scream dying in his throat. Groggily pulling himself to a sitting position, he is covered with sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. Looking around, he realizes he's in the forest somewhere, lying in the mud. The rain had lessened to a nasty drizzle, and he was soaked. His right hand twitching madly, he wipes his face with the left. Squinting up at the moon, he has no idea what time of night it is, but guesses it's late. Or early, depending on one's point of view.
"No point in laying around," he mumbles. He picks himself up out of the mud, staggering slightly. There is an insistent dull ache in the back of his skull, and his right hand twitches violently. Digging out a wineskin, he pulls the stopper with his teeth and drinks until the skin is empty. The tremors lessen, and he tosses the empty skin over his shoulder. He turns his head as far as it will allow him, trying to get his bearings. Off to the east the signature glow of a town catches his eye. All towns were brighter than the surrounding landscape on account of the fires burning in homes everywhere. It must not be as late as he thought. Still staggering, he heads in the general direction of civilization.

The man screamed once and was silent. Devoid of emotion, the killer went through the pockets, looking for something, anything, of value. Finding little, the killer kicked the inert body contemptuously, and skulked toward the other end of the alley. It was still daylight, but not many people were around.
Spotting another potential target, the killer drew his dagger and silently followed. Still angry over the scant fortune of his last victim, the killer took his time. The screams of this victim lasted much, much longer. Taking a macabre delight in methodically butchering this man who'd done nothing but been in the wrong place, the killer grinned as the light faded from his victim's eyes. A thorough search produced a pouch filled with gold and silver coins.
Cackling madly, the killer pocketed his treasure and ran off even as guards were coming down the street in response to the dying man's screams...

Kinath reaches the gates of the town, not knowing where he is exactly, just knowing that it was getting later and he was starting to shiver. Staggering into an inn of some sort, he asks for a room. He falters as the innkeeper takes a step back, his eyes wide. Kinath looks down. In addition to the mud, his hands, tunic and boots are covered in blood.
"Belar, man!" the innkeeper swore. "Ya get jumped by someone?" Kinath blinks, his bloodstained hands still not registering. His right hand, however, had begun to shake violently again.
"I... I think so." Kinath's voice sounded like he hadn't spoken in years. "I... I can't really remember."
That much was true. Kinath had no earthly idea why there was blood on his hands. "Well, son. Let's get you set up for the night." Kinath follows the innkeeper to a room, where a washbasin was already set up. Nodding his thanks, Kinath closes the door, still looking at his hands.

"Wake up you lazy ... "
Kinath wakes with a start. That damned voice again. No matter. He lifts a small vial to his lips and shudders in pleasure as his mind begins to numb. Ah yes. Anything to quiet that damned voice. He looks around, bleary-eyed. Bearskins? Oh, right. Bearcult. Yes, now he remembers. His fanatical friends had convinced him to join their group. Praise Belar, or some crap. He doesn't mind. Listening to their ravings means he doesn't have to listen to his own. Free booze and a place to sleep. Kinath really can't complain. He absently picks at a scab. His last fight had left him badly wounded, but he'd come out on top. One thing he and his new friends agreed on: the blasphemers had to go. Bloody heathens. Kinath spits in disgust. He will take it upon himself to help cleanse the world of the unbelievers, thankful that his friends stand behind him in his endeavors. Secure that he has found his rightful place in the world, Kinath finally succumbs to the numbness spreading through his body.

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