Darcy Silverwood, son of Augustus - trying to shape his destiny still, twenty-five years later...
Darcy sighed - his thinking on hold as he carefully placed a fine piece of linen back into his bagpack. Being a salesman is much harder than what I thought. People just don't seem to have any interest in anything I have to say or offer and why's that? Because I'm the son of one of the finest shipmakers in Zeltiva - dead or alive, his legacy will always haunt me. I'm more of a mockery, a let down to my father. Deep in thought, his brown eyes hardened as he mulled this over in his own head. He began to stare at his own hands, inspecting his fingers and the fine lines that adorned his palms. He carefully placed a couple of his fingers onto his face, gently stroking his features before sighing once more and heaving the bagpack back onto his right shoulder.
He was a tall, imposing figure - with dark, glorious features and a smile wide enough to break a few hearts. He wore a dark, tousled top with a pair of tight, black trousers and dark, scuffed shoes. There was also his trademark belt sitting proudly against his waist - the middle catch of the belt being that of a ship, his initials sewn into the sides.
I must leave now, it's getting darker and I'm tired.
He carefully made his way through the crowd, a few young girls snickering as he walked past. He looked over to glance and pulled a wry smile, one of the girls beginning to howl at Darcy. He felt his brows furrow and quickly strode on. Oh well, I haven't done too bad. I've sold a few things, just not as much as I could have. Darcy was an alright salesman, he was a man of few talents (including being a novice sailor) but there was one true gift he had and that was the gift of singing. He had never done this in public before though, only near the mountains of Zeltiva where he felt sheltered and safe - although the odd lone walker was known for hearing Darcy and pausing to catch some of the melodies which errupted from his mouth.
He stared up to look at the sun, the gold shimmering splendor seemed to be dying as the day drew on. Darcy didn't really have any friends, he spent most of his time secluded in his small, modest cottage or visiting his mother, who he liked to help out whenever he could. No, life for Darcy had been pretty dull and meaningless up until now. Only a few minutes away from his house now, he stopped to look at a big, wooden board - a poster gleaming out at him, the colours a frenzy to his eyes. He felt his pupils dilate as he read it, scratching his hair in wonder. Talent... CONTEST... there is to be a talent contest in a weeks' time, for all ages and all fields. Should I? He stared at the poster some more and bit his lip. It would be something he'd have to think more about.
Pulling away from the board, he saw a few more people walk past, their faces a blur. For some reason, Darcy didn't feel like going home anymore, at least... not just yet. He walked over a few rocks and began to make his way to some of the nearby mountains which he so very much adored. A good while later, he arrived, his eyes gleaming as the sun had now pretty much fallen asleep. He carefully placed his bagpack down beside his feet and began breathing out ever so lightly, watching it cloud up as it emerged from his mouth. He began to sing a soft, subtle melody - the mountains ringing this back to him as he did so.
And it was peaceful... and calm... and one of Darcy's favourite places. He was all alone, in the comfort of himself - just being himself in fact, in the serenity of one of the few places where he felt safe and truly at home.
He knew he couldn't stay out too late though, for there was to be a ball tomorrow night, something in which he was really looking forward to attending. Maybe I can even wear a face mask? That way people wouldn't even know who I was - Augustus' son! He laughed now, his voice breaking off, staring at the land in the distance, his eyes even more dark than usual due to lack of sunlight but dancing with amusement.
Darcy sighed - his thinking on hold as he carefully placed a fine piece of linen back into his bagpack. Being a salesman is much harder than what I thought. People just don't seem to have any interest in anything I have to say or offer and why's that? Because I'm the son of one of the finest shipmakers in Zeltiva - dead or alive, his legacy will always haunt me. I'm more of a mockery, a let down to my father. Deep in thought, his brown eyes hardened as he mulled this over in his own head. He began to stare at his own hands, inspecting his fingers and the fine lines that adorned his palms. He carefully placed a couple of his fingers onto his face, gently stroking his features before sighing once more and heaving the bagpack back onto his right shoulder.
He was a tall, imposing figure - with dark, glorious features and a smile wide enough to break a few hearts. He wore a dark, tousled top with a pair of tight, black trousers and dark, scuffed shoes. There was also his trademark belt sitting proudly against his waist - the middle catch of the belt being that of a ship, his initials sewn into the sides.
I must leave now, it's getting darker and I'm tired.
He carefully made his way through the crowd, a few young girls snickering as he walked past. He looked over to glance and pulled a wry smile, one of the girls beginning to howl at Darcy. He felt his brows furrow and quickly strode on. Oh well, I haven't done too bad. I've sold a few things, just not as much as I could have. Darcy was an alright salesman, he was a man of few talents (including being a novice sailor) but there was one true gift he had and that was the gift of singing. He had never done this in public before though, only near the mountains of Zeltiva where he felt sheltered and safe - although the odd lone walker was known for hearing Darcy and pausing to catch some of the melodies which errupted from his mouth.
He stared up to look at the sun, the gold shimmering splendor seemed to be dying as the day drew on. Darcy didn't really have any friends, he spent most of his time secluded in his small, modest cottage or visiting his mother, who he liked to help out whenever he could. No, life for Darcy had been pretty dull and meaningless up until now. Only a few minutes away from his house now, he stopped to look at a big, wooden board - a poster gleaming out at him, the colours a frenzy to his eyes. He felt his pupils dilate as he read it, scratching his hair in wonder. Talent... CONTEST... there is to be a talent contest in a weeks' time, for all ages and all fields. Should I? He stared at the poster some more and bit his lip. It would be something he'd have to think more about.
Pulling away from the board, he saw a few more people walk past, their faces a blur. For some reason, Darcy didn't feel like going home anymore, at least... not just yet. He walked over a few rocks and began to make his way to some of the nearby mountains which he so very much adored. A good while later, he arrived, his eyes gleaming as the sun had now pretty much fallen asleep. He carefully placed his bagpack down beside his feet and began breathing out ever so lightly, watching it cloud up as it emerged from his mouth. He began to sing a soft, subtle melody - the mountains ringing this back to him as he did so.
And it was peaceful... and calm... and one of Darcy's favourite places. He was all alone, in the comfort of himself - just being himself in fact, in the serenity of one of the few places where he felt safe and truly at home.
He knew he couldn't stay out too late though, for there was to be a ball tomorrow night, something in which he was really looking forward to attending. Maybe I can even wear a face mask? That way people wouldn't even know who I was - Augustus' son! He laughed now, his voice breaking off, staring at the land in the distance, his eyes even more dark than usual due to lack of sunlight but dancing with amusement.