#gen4.1

Strangetown, The Westside Wastes, Murodia

It just itched at her, the way finding her mother did. She just had to know why they were what they were. Why she was what she was and that all, well that all started here. 

“I - I don’t know how I got here... I just knew I needed to be here.. for them and I thought for you..” Bastian’s hands began to curl. “but I guess I was wrong...just as I’ve always been wrong about you...” 

Her grandfather’s old home was nothing as she thought it’d be. With the way she felt standing there she expected land barren and broken but before her was soft turf and manicured scape. The pristine nature of it all almost made her want to turn away... She had sacrificed so much to get here though so despite her reservations it was time to begin. 

“Olfathers, Almothers, songs sung of old. Let your music ring, let your story be told.” 

“But take this advice, if I have any and you are seeking it know this - you will live a thousand lives and die a thousand times. You will watch those you love wither while you carry on with no relief. There will come a time when you will beg for death and it will find you lacking. The Black keeps its own close and it will not let you be until its own work in you is done.” Maddox raised his arm with slight care, “But for now I will give you what peace I can, a rest you’ll never know again. You are weak, please now sleep.” 

 “There is no compassion for our kind, not in generations.” The elder sighed, “Not for our cursed line.” 

“What does weakness matter?” The younger snapped, “It is not as though you have provided us with any strength of spirit. You have only ever criticized and humiliated us. What kind of creatures did you expect to beget but wounded animals with such action? Do you not understand this? Do you not care for us at all?!”