2nd of Fall – 511 AV Venidus sulked through Ravok’s pathways as usual. The Symenestra went over bridges and other such passages with no destination or place in mind. It was just like every other monotonous and awful day in the dark city, but he had no complaints. His mind was blank and his heart empty, but he clung to hope that the new season had offered. Though it had been only two days since summer’s end and things were much the same, there was a magic that the changing on the seasons offered. So even though filled with much the same despair, a slight optimism could be observed in his demeanor. Things will be better. I will accomplish things this season... I will be somebody. I will bring change! Vice will weep as justice rejoices because of me... Every step was more confident and every moment loosened the scowl etched into his face. Perhaps this transformation should have taken place on the first, but he had slept most of the first and, when he awoke, stayed in his room. He had apparently missed the magic of the new season while lazily sitting in the darkness. Venidus’s crossbow hung heavily on his back and the bolts in his quiver rattled with every step. The crossbow was drawn, which was probably bad for the string but it mattered not. A quick first shot could easily be the difference between life and death... or freedom and slavery. Venidus had never had the chance to fill a slaver with bolts yet though. Being a Symenestra, such actions would be harshly punished in Ravok, but the weapon still acted as a powerful deterrent. He hadn’t been mugged or beaten or even threatened in weeks. His golden eyes scanned the stony paths ahead. If someone approached, he would make sure that they were many feet apart when they passed. This was for his safety and everyone else’s comfort. People tended to be a bit skittish around his type and women tended to be outright terrified. It would seem rumors of harvests reached far and wide. Perhaps it was a story mothers told their daughters to make them obedient... Venidus sighed loudly, which earned him a frightened stare from a nearby child. He was deeply troubled by the conflicting feelings running through his head. He imagined few had felt such hope and despair simultaneously. What he really needed was a sign. He needed some sort of sign that would tell him that things would be different this season. The preacher fixed his dark silvery hair as he walked, wondering how long he would survive or if another season would bring his eventual demise. |