Dreads of the past
Dreads of the past
Muffled whispers, footsteps, bashed in door.
One’s life can be turned around any moment. Fortune is said to favour the bold. Here in Baylara your fortune is decided for you.
Earlier today I watched a public hanging, two weeks ago one of my neighbours disappeared, before that the old man from the fish market went missing. I turned the other way, did not dare to question it. But now, now it is my time. The High Chief commands, his militia executes.
I get dragged out onto the street. There is no trial, still I am found guilty. Locked up in the chambers below the town for what must have been a few days, awaiting my sentence. It is no different from anyone else down here. Death is one of the better punishments you can receive.
Cannafus
* Era Vetus, Year 32
† Era Nova, Year 5
Found guilty of treason against the Chiefdom, worship of the devil, robbery, assault. Executed at the gallows.
Likely this is what the inscription on my tomb would have said, had I not shied away from the destiny that was chosen for me. Instead, I ran from it. I did not care about my chances, anything for a chance at life. Into the crowd that had gathered to see the execution and out of my hometown. The camel riders hunted me feverishly across the dunes.
I ran, reaching the edge of Baylara. But I did not stop.
I fled, reaching the edge of the desert sands. But I did not stop.
I paddled, reaching the far lands across the ocean. But I did not stop.
Exile is where I am heading. A place so rotten and dammed, so devoid of life and light that it daunts pursuers from following.
A place that harbours me like a sentinel.