Post by Agron on Jul 23, 2017 4:02:41 GMT
Tag: blood and battle
ARE ALL I HAVE EVER KNOWN
Ass Spartacus predicted, all of Capua was in chaos over the death of so many nobles. The rebels had achieved their first goal: to overthrow the house of Batiatus. But it came at no small price. The losses something that Agron felt . . . or so, would eventually. For he was still processing the loss of his brother. The shock of the event consuming him, his eyes still searching the crowd in the hopes of seeing Duro. It wasn’t until they found shelter for the night, a secluded area were they would not be discovered by soldiers . . . that Agron was truly left alone with his thoughts and thus, his pain.
His heart ached, fighting to hold back the tears. He tightly gripped the hilt of a dagger in his hand. His hair. It was a constant reminder of his beloved brother. The styling; the similarity. Never to witness the sight of him again, something within Agron snapped. Suddenly wishing to be rid of it. Wishing to honor his fallen brother. That Agron would never be the same without Duro in his life. Losing that connection to her German heritage.
He was hollow now. He felt tears sting his eyes, slowly trailing down his cheek. He had not yet cried for him -- apart from the moments of holding him in his arms as he drew last breath. The pain numbed by the anger and adrenaline it caused to course through his veins. But now, he cried. Now, he mourned. Bringing the blade to his hair he began to slice it off, uncaring at the lack of care he did it with. He felt his heart broken, feeling the weight of the hair fall to the ground. He wanted it gone. All of it.
His heart ached, fighting to hold back the tears. He tightly gripped the hilt of a dagger in his hand. His hair. It was a constant reminder of his beloved brother. The styling; the similarity. Never to witness the sight of him again, something within Agron snapped. Suddenly wishing to be rid of it. Wishing to honor his fallen brother. That Agron would never be the same without Duro in his life. Losing that connection to her German heritage.
He was hollow now. He felt tears sting his eyes, slowly trailing down his cheek. He had not yet cried for him -- apart from the moments of holding him in his arms as he drew last breath. The pain numbed by the anger and adrenaline it caused to course through his veins. But now, he cried. Now, he mourned. Bringing the blade to his hair he began to slice it off, uncaring at the lack of care he did it with. He felt his heart broken, feeling the weight of the hair fall to the ground. He wanted it gone. All of it.
