Timestamp: 8th Summer, 512 It had been a long day, despite the sun, Alvadas carried a chill on the wind and had punished Ronar for not wearing the appropriate clothing. All day he had wandered the streets merely observing the people as they went about their business. Ronar's habits had gone from wandering aimlessly at night to wandering the streets during the day, also. Of course, only on the days he was off work as he could not let his odd activities be picked up, or people would begin to get suspicious of him. Ronar had steadily been biding his time in Alvadas, he now had a home and a job coming on nicely, though he felt something was still not quite right; his life still had a gap in it which he could not fathom. The walks he had been taking helped him to concentrate, to organise his thoughts and gave him time to realise what this gap was and how he could fill it. Many weeks now he had been wandering, observing, and using his position in work to follow up his small curiosities. Alvadas was a wondrous place indeed, with many interesting and bizarre people to fill its streets. A thought had entered Ronar's head several days ago on one of his late night walks. Timestamp: 5th Summer, 512 The thought that had entered his head was a simple one and had occurred as Ronar watched an old man, dressed in rags and a wispy, white beard. Ronar had been stood in the shadow of a street corner of nowhere in particular, as are best part of the places in Alvadas, and as the man had come into sight, Ronar slipped into a slight shadow of a wall. It was night, so the wall was unneeded, but a sense of security still came over him while stood behind it. The old man shuffled his feet along the cobbled street, pausing roughly half way along. A wall, around seven feet high, ran along the side of the street. The whole wall was made up of thousands of pebbles placed one by one on top of each other but appeared to have no mortar holding the stones together. The man marvelled at the wall for a few seconds before sitting himself down just in front of it. He leant back and the wall waved slightly, like a ripple in the sea, then calmed itself back to being steady again. A grin moved across the old man's face, but it was a sad, lonely grin. Not ten seconds later, the old man pulled his legs up to his chest, linked his arms around them and rested his head on his knees. Ronar had assumed the man was homeless and was just getting comfortable before sleeping, but his thoughts were interrupted by a wailing sound. Looking over again to the man, Ronar observed him still in the curled up position, but raising his head and hitting it off his knees as he cried. The crying went on for a while, twenty chimes Ronar estimated. The whole time Ronar sat watching, knowing that he should probably go over and comfort the man, but his 'other side' was starting to come over again. Ronar was actually enjoying the man's pain. It was thrilling him in fact, knowing that the man was suffering so much that he would sit in an open street and cry. The thought aforementioned now formed in Ronar's mind and spread through him like an infection until his mind was focussed solely on it. How pathetic, this fool could be crushed so easily. Should be crushed, even. And the best part, is that no one would miss him.. No.. No one would miss him.. Thought Ronar to himself. The old man was clearly inferior. He should not be tolerated to live, it was so simple.. Delighting at the thought of his painful death, Ronar's lip twitched at the corner. The twitch steadily progressed into a grin and then on to a giggle. The laughter was building up in Ronar's gut now and he could hold it no longer. He burst out from his cover by the wall and began to laugh at the man out in the open. A few steps were taken and Ronar removed his Gladius from where it was strapped under his bag. Letting out one last laugh, the sword was swung high above his head and Ronar charged forward toward the man. With in a metre of his target, Ronar wound to a halt. He could no longer hear the man crying and he had not moved a muscle to dodge the attack. Is he dead already? Disheartened by losing his kill, Ronar calmed down a little. He placed the Gladius back under his bag and leant down. Feeling around the man's neck, Ronar found a pulse, but it was slow and lacked pressure. A groan came from the old man's lips and Ronar promptly removed his hand. He was sleeping. The old fool had cried himself to sleep.. Now, Ronar stood in the same spot just a few days later, hugging himself for a bit of warmth. It looked as if the skies were going to fill with snow, even though the season had recently switched over to Summer. The experience the other day had somewhat humbled Ronar and for the first day after the event, his Manic side made no appearance. Gradually though, it had crept back, clawing under his skin, hissing venom into his brain. By the third day Ronar could take it no longer, he had to find the man again. He had to let his Manic side out of it's cage for just a short while. The walks he had taken had added some formality to his life, some order, some organisation. But now the Manic creature inside of him tore down this order, ripped open Ronar's skull and freed itself. All through the third day Ronar had wandered the streets observing as he had done before This day something was different though. All day he had done his watching of people but now with an unnatural twitch about him. The old man was the only thing on his mind, rotting his thoughts. That old fool was insignificant. He was a bug to be squashed. He was scum, a waste of space. Ronar had driven himself to loathe the old man in just a matter of days. He just wanted the opportunity now to find the old man, throw him off a wall and rip his throat out. That, may be too quick a death though. The thoughts he had had of the man had forced Ronar to get twisted up in this state in the first place, thus, he concluded that the man must die. But he should die in a way that would please Ronar, a way that would help him to relax, a little. So there he stood on the street again. It was getting late now and as Ronar looked around he found himself back on the same street he had first seen the old man. Ronar had his Gladius strapped under his bag, as per usual, but had brought a length of rope with him also. Fifty foot of rope, to be exact, not that he would need that much for what he planned. He had purchased it earlier in the day at a market stall for a single Gold Miza, then spent about forty chimes cutting the rope up into two twenty foot sections and one ten foot section. Ronar stood patiently now. He had the feeling that the man would return to the same spot, even though the streets of Alvadas changed at whim. Ronar would take the old man in his sleep, tie him up and drag him back to Ronar's house. When inside the house, Ronar would decide what to do with the man, though already he dreamt of ensuring a slow, painful death to the old fool. After all, no one would miss him. |
Note on the indentThis might read a little odd, but the indented area is Ronar looking back on the memory
