Discrimination and Greed | open |
❧ Living the nomadic life was truly difficult, a lifestyle hardly fit for the weak-hearted, however some were without a choice. There were times when no place would accept a group of people, and they had to roam alone or lie to receive what they needed, whether it be nourishment or a place to sleep. It was something that had taken long to grow familiar with, and yet he managed, even after four-thousand years. It became far more tiresome, and frustrating, but he tried to stand up against it and there were troubles along the way. Those who faced extreme cases of discrimination or prejudice had few places to ever dare to call home, and so they were damned time and time again until they learned not to grow attached, not to love. If they did, they would die, not literally, but their soul would become tattered by the constant beatings whether emotionally or physically. He took it upon himself, and hated the humans.
It was for that reason that he had taken the path he had. For the half-elves he saw being executed as a child, and for his older sister, who was murdered by those same race of people. And he despised them, loathed them, and made them pay for their crime for four-thousand years-- so that those who never even hurt his sister paid the price. Maybe then they would realize what pain they went through every day of their lives, and how terrible it felt to be alone. Did it make him greedy? He wanted what the humans had, and wanted them to feel what they did, no matter how it made him look. It was unfair otherwise.
He sighed, and let his deep blue eyes wander to the blue sky above him. It was still so bright, even with these negative thoughts shrouding his vision, it continued to shine despite the chaos the world had faced only a short time ago; two years was no time at all. Maybe this world really wasn't his, and maybe he could take this as a sign that it would be absolutely fine without him. That it would keep spinning. Perhaps, too, it was something he should have looked deeper into in the past, further than it took to spill his doubts to an old friend. To actually apply his doubts to his actions, and change. Old habits would stay forever if one let them, however, and so his doubt was brushed away due to his stubbornness. That stubbornness led to his death, and somehow, here he was again; alive.
The sound of footsteps reached his ears, and so Mithos turned his gaze upward, and pushed himself to his feet. There was a stranger approaching, a stranger who appeared foreign to this place, wearing clothes that made him stick out like a sore thumb.
"Have you come for anything in particular?"
He wondered aloud, not caring even after realizing that it was said. It was alright, as these were in no way words that could hurt a person. Normally they would be, however there was no reason for anything of the type to escape his lips. Even if he was hesitant to trust anyone, he was smart enough to know when to be careful with his words.
"Perhaps you're lost here? I suppose I could help, if necessary."
That seemed like the only possibility, but he assumed that it wouldn't sound so well to anyone other than himself. It wasn't as if giving this person instructions would bother him any. Mithos knew this world inside and out.
