A Novella: Wergild

Wergild was written in one of my last creative writing classes before graduation. I was torn between writing for the elitists and the pop cult kids who normaly write cliche poop on paper. That being said, during the first class period the elitists said that there was no way anyone could write fantasy good enough to bring to class. I aimed to prove them wrong. This piece received mainly rave reviews, and was said to be possibly the best piece of fantasy written at the university. Okay, that may or may not be a true statement, but it was said by someone who i respect greatly for his intelligence and abilities as a writer/poet. Needless to say, here it is:

Chapter one:
The Artist
The young Adrian sat quietly in his dimly lit room accompanied by his only friends, two long wax candles that added a haunting glow to his small oak desk. The desk was scattered and unconventional, decorated with parchment and writing utensils that he used as his tools for his trade. His room was bare with the exception of his writing desk and a small bed in which he slept. He did have one worldly possession that added a small touch of vibrancy to his murky quarters, a vivid oil painting of his mother that sat above his desktop. The painting was an elegant portrayal of his late mother depicting her long brown hair resting on her shoulders. Her thin face and deep blue eyes were painted patiently on the canvas with perfection. The artist captured all that his mother was: beautiful, strong, vibrant, loving. This painting gave Adrian a small escape from the loneliness that otherwise darkened his life. It was also, and more importantly, his inspiration.
Adrian sat methodically hunched over the smooth wooden desk dipping his pen into the pool of ink that sat next to him. He was no longer one with the outside world; he was in fact lost in the process of creation. His mind drifted far from the problems of his everyday life. It was here, in his small room, along side his mother’s warm eyes that he could find peace and comfort.
Adrian was a young man in his mid-teens, taller then most boys in his village, but his wobbly frame left him an outcast. He grew up in a large cottage towards the northern end of The Village of Agrona. He was the son of the mighty Pherick, who at one time was the village’s most dominant headsmen within the militia guild. Adrian was nothing like his father. He had no love for fighting. He bore no resemblance to his father’s massive frame, his broad shoulders or his sturdy stance. Rather, Adrian took after his late mother. Skinny, timid, and much more conservative.
Adrian heard a knock on his bedroom door. He frowned from being beckoned away from his writings. Slowly he lifted one of the small candles and walked towards his bedroom door.
“Open up boy. I have news.” His father’s boastful voice rumbled the door frame.
“Father?” Adrian poked his head out. “What is it? It is late. I was deep into my work.”
“Work? Don’t be silly, let your father in. We must talk, and my legs are not like they used to be. It would be nice to have a seat with my only son.” Pherick smiled as he let himself into his son’s room.
“Sorry, I was just kind of busy. I did not mean to be rude.” Adrian dusted off a corner of his cot for his father to sit.
“You are lost within your writings again? If the young boys I used to train at the guilds were half as dedicated to knightly hood as you are to writing, our empire would shower us with gold and the Gods would not punish us so.”
“It is my passion, it’s all that I know.”
“Ah yes, I know Adrian.” Pherick took a seat next to his son on the small framed cot. “We do not talk much these days and I apologize that for much of my life my knightly duties seem to over shadow my fatherly ones. I hear the mingling out in the streets. I know what our people whisper about us.”
“They are ashamed of me. I do not fit in this village.”
“When you were born the village thought you would grow to replace me as our guild’s top headsmen. They were wrong. You must understand our village’s top staple for our empire’s mighty hand is our ability to ready them the best warriors and knights in these lands. The art of war is what keeps the village wealthy. Do not think low of yourself though son. You were the lucky one. You took after your mother and not your foolish old man. I envy your skills.” Pherick took his mighty arm around his son’s shoulder and smiled. “Your mother took to books over steel. Much like her you will be one of the few from this village that will realize there is more to life then training for your own bloody death in some far away war.”
“Mother also wrote?” Adrian’s eyes shifted from the wooden floorboard towards his father’s eyes.
“That she did. She was a playwright in the great empire. When I was granted a noble by my deeds on the battlefield I was able to attend such events. We fell in love and moved back here to my home village, not long after she became pregnant with you.”
“Father, you never speak of mother openly.”
“She was beautiful wasn’t she?” Pherick stood up from the corner of Adrian’s cot and walked over to his wife’s painting above the desk. “I have been relieved of my duties at the guild. I no longer will spend my days training the village’s youths for battle. I am much too old to continue the trying tasks.”
“Then you will be home more?”
“Aye, I got a message from your Uncle Percious that he and his step daughter will need a place to stay.”
“I have an uncle?” Afar from his father he knew nothing of his lineage. The thought of meeting his mother’s brother brought a smile to his face. Potentially he thought this was the closest he would ever get to knowing her personally.
“He was your mother’s only sibling. He married a few years back out in a small fishing village called Garum. His wife recently gave way from an illness and he has no way of keeping his estate. He asked for our help. He and his step daughter Camille will be arriving in a few nights to lodge with us until he can find a steady means of income.”
“Well, our cottage is much too large for just the two of us. Perhaps it will be nice to have some company.”
“I am glad you are okay with them staying with us. I haven’t much time to get to know your mother’s family with my duties here within the village. It is something I have always wanted to do.”
“What did he do in his village? Was he a warrior like you?”
“He was a fisherman. That is all I know. I have yet to meet the man personally. We only have exchanged letters. But he comes from your mother’s blood. He will be that of a saint, I am sure of it.” Pherick looked over to his son with a smile. “Your room is so bare, why not let me furnish it. I know a great craftsman who works like a magician with wood.”
“No thank you father. My room is furnished in my mind. Anything else would just clog my way of thinking. I need open space to pursue my thoughts. I can fill in the gaps myself if I wish. I have mother here; she is all I need.”
“If you insist my boy. However, do not stay up too late. We must awake early and begin readying our home for our guests.”
“Of course,” Adrian held his bedroom door open for his bulky father. He nodded, said goodnight, and quickly retreated back onto his wooden whicker chair. He looked down at his works with a faint smile. He soon lost himself once again into his creations.
They woke early the next day and began the preparations. Pherick was happier than usual as he and his son worked around their home readying it for their future guests. The constant pressure and focus of his knightly duties were no longer causing him stress or keeping him bogged down from enjoying his own life. He, much like his son, welcomed their new guests with optimism. Together it did not take them long to change their normally dull lodge into a warm and welcoming home.
The week came and went quickly as the Village of Agrona saw the first frost fall upon their fields. The bitter cold of winter was coming early as Adrian’s and his father sat patiently outside the village’s gates wrapped tightly in their heavy cloaks. It was mid day and despite the bitter chill of the wind the sun shined brightly down onto the eager father and son.
It was an eerie scene as the two sat waiting for the carriage to come forth into the Village’s limits. Outside of the protective stone gates of Argona those known as the “reapers” past by the duo carrying with them their daily load of victims, a mound of lifeless bodies stacked upon a large wooden flat layered wheel barrel. It was these so called “Reapers” whose job it was to set out for each house within the village and gather and dispose of the victims who fell from the mysterious illness that haunted the empires many lands.
There were three reapers all shrouded in long black garments that covered the entirety of their bodies. They pulled the large wheel barrel a few meters past the village limits towards a large whole that had been previously dug earlier that morning. They dropped the dead bodies into the ditch one by one, two reapers per one dead body, heaving them into the grave. The sickening thud of empty bodies smacking flesh upon flesh made Pherick turn his head in disgust. Adrian, however, watched on eagerly. After all the bodies had been dumped the third reaper began to pour a strong smelling liquid across the carcasses. The bitter smell hit Adrian’s nose causing him to wince. The third Reaper lit a match and tossed it into the pit causing the bodies to burst into flames and release a thick cloud of death.
“I am sorry you had to see this son. This illness is hitting the commoners hard. I have never seen so many bodies in one burial.”
“It is fine father. I have seen death before.” Adrian wrote down all that he saw. He took meticulous notes on how the reapers carried themselves seemingly untouched from their deeds. He wrote largely on the vacant look within their eyes as they disposed body after body.
“What are you writing?”
“I am merely observing and writing notes. This is a touching scene, look at these men. They have been stripped from their humanity. They burn their fellow brothers but have no sense of remorse for the fallen.”
“They have seen too much death. It no longer affects them such.” Pherick bowed his head. “We should give them a prayer.”
“A prayer? What for?”
“To ask the Gods for forgiveness, and hope for these poor fellows be granted into the kingdom.”
“The Gods are the one who brought this death to our homes. Their deaths were destined to be so. Our prayers will do nothing.”
“Son, it saddens me you have such a bleak outlook on the world. You are your own man and do what you believe, but I shall pray for my brethren.” Pherick nodded to the three Reapers as they past them heading back into the stoned gate of Argona. They however did not oblige.
“I wonder what we have done to deserve this plague. It is true our numbers of warriors have slowly dropped, but we still are the empire’s number one export. Why are they so angry?”
“Does the creator need any real reason?” Adrian replied.
“What do you mean?”
“Perhaps the creator deemed our world as being too dull. Maybe he created the plague to make our small village seem more real, or even more interesting. Why must there be a reason on our behalf for this act of pestilence.”
“What do you mean seam more real? How can anything be more real then real? We live and breathe here, with or without this plague we would still be real.”
“But the creator does not live here with us. He does not breathe our air, does he? He is in complete control. Perhaps this plague is indeed no more then a way for “God” to give our lives more depth, more adversity. It pays no mind to ask why, or to pray for this or that. All things happen at his hands.” Adrian stood up from the small bench and pointed to the horizon where a small carriage came into view.
“You are much too like your mother. She often would say such outrageous things.” Pherick joined his son in standing, holding back a smile.
“They are here.” Adrian smiled.

Chapter Two:
The Joker
They sat at the dinner table, Adrian, Pherick, Uncle Percious and his step daughter Camille. Percious hadn’t stopped talking once since they met outside the village gates. Adrian thought at first glance that he was quite a vivid character full of life. He was shorter then he with a round plump frame shaped like that of a pear. Percious’ face was large and round, and when he spoke his double chin jiggled with every word. He wasn’t huge in any means, Pherick still towered over him in both height and size but Adrian knew Percious was not built for a warrior’s deeds. He hoped that due to his Uncle’s size that they may have quite a bit in common. Camille on the other hand hadn’t spoken once, and when Pherick introduced himself to her she was abruptly interrupted by Percious’ boastfulness. She had not muttered a single word since. Camille was a year younger then Adrian and she came off very timid and shy. She held her long auburn red hair back and stood about a half a foot shorter than Adrian. She was pretty indeed, yet not beautiful, but Adrian found comfort in her soft features.
“This meal is glorious, never have I tasted such miraculous steak, so tender, so juicy. Tell me Pherick, you must pay a large portion of your weekly earnings to keep a chef as good as this on hand.” Percious cut a large piece of his steak and plopped it into his mouth.
“I am glad you like it. However I pay no chef to cook our meals. Adrian here is practically a master chef himself.”
“Lord forbid!” Percious began to choke until he coughed up the large piece of steak and spit it onto his plate. “My nephew lowering himself to such tasks? Is he not a man? Granted he may not look like much of one, but he shouldn’t stoop to such lows.”
“Percious,” Pherick could not hide the anger in his face, “You dare insult my son in front of me, within my own home no less?”
“Please do not mistake my comment for such rudeness. I was merely suggesting now that myself and Camille are here she can perform these tasks. It is her duty as my daughter.”
“My son may not have the sheer stature of a warrior that our village is famous for Percious, but he will be more of a man then most of the people you have probably ever known. You should be warned to watch how you speak to us. You may be my beloved wife’s brother but I will not allow you to speak such things within my home.”
“I mean you know disrespect. As a show of thanks, let my daughter clean up this mess. She will do the chores. How’s about you and I take a step outside. I have a few lovely wrapped cigars we could share. Let me talk of my lovely sister with you.”
“I shall accompany you. However, Camille, you do not have to worry about these dishes Adrian and I shall take care of them later. For now, Adrian, please keep our guest company.”
“Yes father.” Adrian smiled.
The two adults left the dining area and headed towards the front of the house. Adrian began to gather the dishes. He looked up to Camille and smiled.
“I am going to clean this place up for my father anyway. You can help if you wish.” Camille returned the smile and stood up from the table.
“You don’t speak much? Then again, you probably don’t have much of a chance to with Uncle Percious as a father.”
“He is not my father. I hardly know him.” She finally broke her long silence. “I am sorry for what he said. It was cruel.”
“It’s okay, I hear it every day of my life.” Adrian scraped the remaining food from his plate on to another then stacked the empty plate underneath the full one. “What do you mean you hardly know him?”
“He was only married to my mother for a few months. When she passed away I was obligated to stay with him. If I were to run away I would have been labeled a castaway. However now I wonder what would have been worse, staying with him or living in a cell.”
“Is he that bad of a man?” Adrian posed the question.
“Don’t let his charming language fool you. He is not a good man. I think he may even have had a hand in my mother’s death.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“They say she died from the plague, but there were no symptoms. One day she just did not wake up. I don’t trust him at all.”
“Do you have any proof? Why would he want to kill her?”
“I have neither proof nor any idea why he would do such a thing. I wish I knew why my mother married him. But please do not tell your father. If Percious finds out how I feel I fear of what he would try to do.”
The two finished up the chores with haste. Adrian felt troubled. His Uncle raised many questions. What if Camille was right? If so what was Percious’ true intentions for coming to their home. He did not have much too long to think of these questions as his father and Percious made their way back into the house. He had hoped Percious had opened his mouth up again and said something stupid to his father, but it appears as if they were laughing and getting along quite well.
“Aye son,” his father chuckled. “Thank you for cleaning up. You as well Camille. It grows late though. Why not show Camille to her room while your Uncle and I share a few drinks.”
“Yes Father, of course.” Adrian replied with a forced smile.
“Behave yourself daughter. We are their guests so mind your manners.” Percious added as he patted Pherick’s back and poured him a drink.
Camille followed Adrian towards her quarters. Her room was small but cozy and was much more furnished then Adrian’s room. She had a nice comfortable cot along with a matching bookshelf and chest of drawers. In the corner sat a small desk with two candles much like that of Adrian’s room.
“I hope it suits you. My father and I spent some time preparing it.”
“It looks lovely, thank you.” She nodded.
“Well then, I left you some parchment and one of my feather pens if you wish to write. It is what keeps me sane at night.” He smiled.
“You’re a writer?”
“Well, I attempt to be yes. If you need anything I’m right next door. Feel free to knock.” Adrian smiled and closed the door behind him.
For the first time ever in his life Adrian found it hard to concentrate on his writings. He could not help but to ponder about his new guests. Camille was lovely; he had never met someone who seemed as sweet and pure as her before. She did not need the fancy dresses and wealthy garments to portray her beauty. Hers was in her eyes, deep blue just like his mother’s. However he knew that she must be masking her true self as he knew all people tended to do so. He knew more then the average villager about human qualities and their ability to adapt. He wrote about them all the time. As a creator he had to know of these humanistic qualities.
Deep down he knew she was not perfect, for the perfect form of man does not exist. He thought though, that perhaps her flaws were minor enough to be masked through her current conflict. He had written about girls like her in his own works. The girls who was helpless and alone, the one in dire need of some form of savior. He never thought of himself as a savior before. It brought a faint smile to his face.
His Uncle however did not put a smile on his face. He thought of Percious and his personality quite deeply. He thought about how he would have created this character in his own works: savvy, smart, and very charismatic. He would create him with the ability to portray multiple masks, to jump back and forth from roles. These characteristics all pointed towards a cunning villain. Could it be? Was Camille correct about his uncle? Adrian’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard a light knock at his bedroom door.
“Is everything okay?” Adrian asked as he let Camille enter his bedroom.
“I can not sleep. Forgive me but this is a strange house. I have never stayed outside of my old home back in Garum.”
“I’ve thought about much of what you said. Uncle Percious does have quite the vile personality. He seems untrustworthy to me. But it’s just all speculation.”
“Perhaps it’s just me though. I have been a wreck since my mother’s death.” Camille walked over to the large oil painting of Adrian’s mother.
“That’s my mother.”
“She is beautiful. Where is she now?” she asked.
“She is there in that painting. It is the only physical aspect of her self left. She died during my birth.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It happened ages ago.”
“Are these all your works?” Camille began fingering through a large collection of parchment on his desk. “There’s so much.”
“I have been writing that story for three years now.”
“What is it about?”
Adrian could not help but smile. No one had ever asked that question to him before. “To be honest I am not sure, it’s a work in progress and I never know what will happen until it actually does.”
“Just tell me about it. Perhaps it will soothe my mind and help me sleep.”
“Well I have created this fantasy world centered on a small village where a young boy is raised as their future savior. He is supposed to grow up and save them from the Empire’s stronghold and set their homeland free. But he realizes it’s not the Empire that creates the stronghold but rather the creator or God who wills it. Thus as the author, I am this God and creator. So this central character I created must find a way to ultimately kill me.” Adrian saw Camille’s brows frown in confusion. “See, he figures out that the only way he can change the past or future of his people is to find a new hand of God to create it, or rather rewrite it. So if he can kill me, he ultimately chances erasing their whole existence, which is if no one else picks up where I left off after I die. What he really wants is to find a way to kill me, and have someone take over my works and alter their reality in their favor.”
“So this story you’re writing is about a character who is trying to kill you because you are his creator?”
“Exactly.”
“How is that even possible.”
“It’s not possible. How can you kill your God?” Adrian replied.
“But you know you are human, and therefore you can die. Right?”
“I guess that depends on what you believe makes us human. What you view your reality is. I am aware there will come a point where my physical body will expire.”
“It’s so complicated. Will you read to me your story. I think it will help me sleep.”
“Sure. You will be the first person to ever hear it. Possibly the only.”
Adrian sat next to Camille with his large stack of parchment and began reading.

Chapter Three:
The Show
Adrian and Camille awake late the next morning to find their fathers still sitting at the breakfast table, not having moved an inch from when they left them there that prior night. They smelled strongly of booze and liquor as they continued to laugh and joke.
“Father you look terrible.” Adrian replied sifting his way through the smoky room.
“A long night it was indeed. How early is it?”
“It’s early afternoon.” Adrian spoke with a slight disgust in his voice as he looked at the blood shot eyes of Percious, who in turned winked with a smug grin.
“Heavens, we talked the whole night and morning away my dearest friend.” Percious noted as he downed the last but of his pint.
“Let us wash up and make plans for this evening Percy.”
“I heard of a pub down the road. I would love to play a game of cards or two.”
“Indeed, I could go for a few games, perhaps win some extra money.” Pherick cracked his knuckles “I used to be quite a player in my day.”
“Father are you sure you want to gamble? It’s not like you.”
“Don’t worry. It will be fun. Before I fell in love with your mother I played every weekend. We’ll leave in a few hours. Let us rest a bit shall we Percy?”
“Of course, we need healthy eyes to play cards.” Percy returned a smile.
The two men took their leave once again of the children and retreated into their separate quarters. Adrian was visibly upset as he took a seat at the large oak dinner table rapping his fingers nervously.
“You seem bothered?” Camille asked as she began to stack up the dinner ware.
“It is not like my father to gamble anymore. He always spoke to me of its evils.”
“Percious has the ability to weasel people in to doing things they usually would not do. I saw it first hand with my mother.”
“The more I know of him the less I like.” Adrian stood up from the table and gathered the remaining plates. “If you’ll excuse me, after these chores are finished I think I will head to my room and work on my writings. I need to clear my head from this mess.”
“Yes of course,” Camille replied.
Adrian and Camille finished up the afternoon chores quickly and went their separate ways. In his room Adrian lit his two candles and sat amongst his works for hours. His mother’s eyes rested down on him comforting some of his restlessness. Even though on normal days he was quite easily lost within his creations, today he was haunted by his Uncle. It did not help him that for the first time in his life he experienced what is called writer’s block. After years of creating this story, he had never once been stuck on what to do next. Yet now that he was at the tale’s end he did not know how to end his epic. He knew he had a statement to make, he knew more then anything that the end must be perfectly written for his ideals to come to life. The problem had no simple solution. How can his main character physically kill the “God” who controls and creates his life. The more he tried to think about his story the more his brain sidetracked and focused on his Uncle.
“Mother I am worried.” He spoke to her painting. “Ever since your brother showed up he has brought uneasiness to our home. Even his own stepdaughter thinks he has something to hide. I wish you were here to tell me more about him. Perhaps I am just thinking too deeply about such matters. After all, he is your brother. I can’t imagine a monster like that being related to you.” Adrian was interrupted by a soft knock. He recognized it quickly as that of Camille’s.
“Camille?” his bedroom door squeaked open.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No, I could not concentrate anyway.” He tried to hide a feint smile.
“Were you speaking to someone?”
“You heard me?” Adrian blushed slightly. “Sometimes I find it soothing to speak to my mother’s painting as if she can hear me. I know it may seem childish, but it seems to help.”
“That’s not childish at all.” She grabbed from around her neck a small locket to which she opened. “This is the only photo I have left of my mother, I speak to her constantly. I like to think she is watching over me. Do you believe in that?”
“I think it’s a nice thought. I would like to believe that.” Adrian replied closing his large book of parchment and replacing his feather pen back into its holster. “Is everything okay? You look bothered.”
“Well I had gone out in the back of the house to fetch a fresh pail of water from the well when I heard some voices coming from behind the shed. I was going to make you some fresh tea. I thought it might help you relax.”
“Voices?”
“Yes, they startled me. I thought both Percious and your father retreated to their rooms hours ago. So I snuck up as close as I could against the shed wall. I do not know for a fact who was all there. All I could hear were their voices, but I know one of them was Percious. I could tell his whiney voice from anywhere.”
“What did they speak of?” Adrian’s brow rose.
“Percious seemed very nervous, he even stuttered when he spoke. The other men did not say much of anything but Percious had told them something to the effect that he had everything under control. That if they gave him one week he would clear everything up.”
“Interesting,” Adrian frowned.
“I don’t know what any of it was about. But after that I think they heard me, they broke up quickly.”
“I see. Perhaps I should sit down with my father before he leaves and catch him up to date with what we know. Better safe then sorry I suppose.”
“You should hurry, catch him before Percious does,” she suggested.
Adrian agreed and they both left his room and headed upstairs towards his father’s quarters. There they saw his bedroom door already opened and heard both Percy and Pherick talking and joking loudly. His father’s room was large and decorated with countless awards and trophies he earned from his years of duty for the empire. Adrian always thought it more of a trophy room then a bedroom. Whenever he set foot into it he would feel the blunt pain of shame in his stomach. He knew he would never receive such awards.
“I think we’re too late.” Adrian frowned as he walked in.
“Son! Your Uncle here is quite generous. Look at what he has done for me.” Pherick held up an old weathered coat with a broad smile across his face. “He stitched up the seams to my old jacket. Your mother bought me this jacket many years ago. You are too kind Percious.”
“It is nothing. When I was a fisherman back in Garum I was quite good with a needle and thread.” Percious put his head down attempting to hide a small frown. “How I miss such simpler times.”
“Let us not dwell on the past my friend. Let us cheer for the future and for the opportunity for us to finally meet. It boggles my mind as to why my wife never requested your presence while she was alive.”
“Agreed, for you are doing me a huge favor by taking up my daughter and I while we attempt to gather our bearings from our recent loss. But for my sister, it was unfortunate that she held some what of a grudge with me. When I heard of her death, it saddens me that I was never able to apologize. You think you have a whole lifetime to make things right…”
“I understand all to well the pain that comes in losing your beloved wife. Nothing can compare to its treachery. That is unless of course you were to lose the life of your own child.”
“Don’t be silly father. No harm can come to a person who sits his life away at a desk.”
“Aye but it is your duty. I will admit I was not fond of your writing at first. Your mother however was thrilled. Who am I to go against her will? Let’s not forget that someday you my son, will become a living prodigy through your works.” Pherick gave his son a quick wink of the eye as if sharing some secret between the two.
“I can only dream of that day father.”
“Pherick come, the night is near.” Percy interrupted. “We should make our way to the bar so to see that we are able to get good seats. I do not want to get stuck playing cards with the town drunks. They haven’t enough money for us to win.”
“You are wise as you are kind Percy.” Pherick threw his newly stitched jacket over his large muscular frame with pride. “It has been many years since I felt the warmth of this jacket.” He smiled. “Let us go, for it has been even longer since I have partaken in a game of cards.”
“Father wait!” Adrian burst out. “I would like to speak to you before you leave. Alone if I may.”
“Can it wait? We are on our way out.”
“But father?” Pherick had already opened the door and taken one step outside.
“I promise son, as soon as I get home we shall talk the night away.” And with that being said the large wooden frame of the door slammed shut leaving Camille and Adrian once again alone.


Chapter Four:
Trickery

The night grew late and Adrian and Camille waited as patiently as they could for the two men to return home. They spoke that evening mainly of Percy and all of his possible agendas. Adrian thought it out in his head. If he were writing this tale, the story that is his current life, how would he play it out? What would he have created as Percious motives? Adrian already knew the characteristics of Percious, he already dwelled about what those make in a man. As much as Adrian thought and mused about this mysterious agenda of his uncle, he knew that it all fell under mere speculation. Possibly nothing more than hearsay stemming from his over stimulated mind. Yet there in the corner of the psyche he could feel the constant prick of curiosity. Above all else he questioned “God” or as he preferred to call it the “creator”. Adrian was not fond of religion or dogma. He had his own concepts of what the creator actually was. Often times as he sat down writing his own stories he felt like that of a God, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if he too was not simply but a tale being written by someone not much to different then himself.
“I think this is silly” Camille added. “I agree he is crooked. But your father is well respected in the village. He is known as the greatest warrior in all of Argona. What possibly could Percy ever do to him?”
“True, yet it still worries me. My father is too trusting.” Adrian replied.
“Let us put this aside. We should make something to eat for us both. I am starving and I am sure they will both be hungry when they return.” Camille walked towards the kitchen. “How does pasta sound? My mother used to tell me I made the best in all of Garum.”
The two spent the rest of their evening in the kitchen speaking as little as they could about Percious. Together they made a large feast suited for well over four people. Adrian was surprised how easily Camille was able to keep him from thinking about his Uncle. He was grateful she had come to live with him for the next few months. Adrian never knew what friendship truly felt like until she showed up at his door. However before they could enjoy the fruits of their labor a loud thud came from the front of the manor.
“My heavens what was that?” Camille jumped causing her to spill a large plate of roasted potatoes onto the floor. She and Adrian ran quickly to the front of the house where Percy sat hunched over breathing heavily in the threshold.
“Uncle Percious are you all right?” Adrian asked.
“Adrian my dear boy…” Percious wheezed loudly as he spoke. “Something dreadful happened.”
“What?” Adrian’s mouth immediately frowned. “Where is my father? Did you leave him?”
“Please fetch me some water so that I may talk. I am winded. I ran all the way here.”
“Answer me!” Adrian’s face grew redder with every breath.
“You must listen close then boy. Your father was caught cheating, in front of everyone at the bar.”
“My father is an honest man. He would never do such a thing.”
“All that I know is that he was winning an absurd number of games, and the man he was playing called him for cheating. Your father boasted in his face that he has never cheated a day in his life. He welcomed him to inspect him further to prove him wrong. So the man did, and there he found hidden cards amongst his possessions.”
“Percious you lie…” Camille blurted.
“I only speak truth. There in front of the whole pub your father was caught cheating. Ask any man there, they will back up my words. The man had no choice but to protect his honor, the mob of people demanded a duel. He struck your father with his blade piercing him through the heart. Your foolish father never once drew his blade in defense.”
Camille gasped. “Is he all right?”
“He is dead.” Percious said bluntly. “You know what you must do now don’t you boy?” Percious eyes peered into Adrian’s whose burned with watery anger.
“My father is not dead.” Was the only reply Adrian could muster.
“He is, and now you must honor your father’s name. You mustn’t let him die with disgrace. If you sit back and do nothing towards your father’s killer you dishonor your father and all that he stood for. You know the laws of this land. You must collect the wergild so that he may rest in peace, or you shall make the man pay in blood. You must boy, or forever you shall feel the dull pain of humiliation.”
“Leave us Percy. You do nothing but make this matter worse.”
“I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. But I am just the messenger. Camille, if you wish to be of help instead of wasting space, you should help Adrian get ready.” Percious dusted off his clothes and took a deep breath. “You must make your father proud.”
“Where are you going?” Camille asked as Percious turned from the two.
“It does not matter where I go. The only thing that matters is where Adrian goes. You should leave soon, catch that bastard before he is able to leave the sight.”
“He will do no such thing! Percious go hide in your room like the coward that you are. I will take care of Adrian.”
“I would expect you to leave within an hour’s time, Adrian. Do not be a fool…” Percious stormed away quickly up the wooden stairs.
“Adrian, I am sorry….” Camille’s tears flooded down her cheeks.

Chapter Five
The Wergild
Adrian did not sleep that night. He sat on his desk staring at his mother’s painting unable to shed a single tear for his father’s untimely death. It was still too new, too fresh for the young man to fully comprehend. Anger swirled about, his fists clenched tightly at his side. Percious’ words burned him. They etched anger into his soul for both his hatred for his uncle and for whomever it was that struck his father down. Above all else though, Adrian blamed the creator. He could not understand why his father was to die. Why a man of such high prestige, who gave the empire so many ready warriors to fight and die for both their Gods, and their empire should pass on with such a dishonorable death. Was it a sick joke? Did Adrian not have enough adversity in his life already?
A loud knocking hit his door. He knew from the force and quickness of the knock it was not that of Camille’s. He did not move or answer. He did not need to. An angered and red faced Percious burst into his room before Adrian had anytime to react.
“What kind of son does not honor his own father? He was killed by a fellow Argonian. Do not let him die like this, for your mother would turn over in her grave if she knew what sort of pathetic son she bore.”
“Shut up!” Adrian stood from his desk tossing his chair into the wall causing a loud thud that echoed throughout the room. “You do not speak to me as if you knew my mother, or as if you knew my father. You are nothing to me. This village and their sick idea of blood for honor disgusts me! I have always been an outcast in my life. It makes no difference to me what they think of me. And what of you Percious? Why did you not stand to protect my father when that man raised his blade to him? You did nothing.”
“It was not my place. Are you so dense of our laws you do not understand the basic warrior principals? Pherick was to protect himself, he was caught red handed. No one could possibly have known he would not defend himself.” Percious grew frustrated cracking his pudgy knuckles as he spoke. “But yes, I see that anger boils in your veins. You see how you threw that chair? That is what you need boy, take that and use it as a weapon.” A grin came about Percious face. “Confront the man, get the payment and not only will you have saved your father’s legacy, but you will be viewed as a whole new man. Your father was a renowned warrior, the wergild price would be heavy.” Percious stopped and looked around the room with his arm spread out. “You may have this house under your name now that your father is gone but you have no sort of income or means to keep it up now do you? You need this money to live off. More importantly though Adrian, you have never known respect, have you? It is because you lack the power to fulfill Argona’s prophecies. You live amongst warriors yet you are not. You live by our laws yet you scoff at them. You are no better then the rest of us. Its time you stand up and become a man. We as Argonians Demand it!”
“Do not speak to me of being a man Percious! My father was a man, a great man. Camille and I are aware of what you’re doing. We know you spoke to some men earlier today. We know you are hiding something.” Adrian began to feel the heaviness of anger within his chest as he spoke. As if every word he said to his uncle added more and more weight to his pure hatred.
“You are paranoid as you are weak.” Percious mocked. “I met with some business men earlier today, yes. I wanted to plan a large party for your father. To pay homage to him for his duties to this village and the empire. Even in my small fishing village we knew of your father’s deeds. Do not mistake my intentions because you have an over creative mind. Silly boy, I am here to try and set things right with your father’s death. If it is because you are scared to die, then admit to it. But I tell you now, the man we played has millions of gold backing him. He is the head of a rebel group, they are loaded with riches. You will not need to face him, he will honor the payment.”
“Percious?” Camille stumbled into the room after being awoken from the commotion. “What is all this noise? Why must you bother Adrian at such early hours, he just lost his father, he needs rest. Are you truly that selfish?”
“Camille you shall call me father. Never address me by my first name. Show some respect for your dead mother.” Percious looked back at Adrian as his harsh words stung Camille into silence. “You sicken me. Let your father’s legacy be tainted because of your selfishness.” He turned quickly and stormed off lost into the shadows of the large estate.
“Adrian I am so sorry. You look terrible. Please have a seat next to me.”
“I can not sit. Don’t you see Camille? He is right. This sick world we live in forces me to carry this act out. I have no choice.”
“What do you mean? Everyone has a choice. It’s a stupid barbaric principal that only leads to more and more bloodshed. That man may not even be able to pay the price. What happens then?”
“Then we fight for the honor and respect of my dead father. Of all the things Percious had said, he spoke of one truth. I can’t let my selfishness taint my father’s legacy.”
“You are no fighter Adrian, you are a writer. Your place is here, at your desk with your pens and parchment.”
“Don’t you see? We are all just parts of this god-forsaken machine. As much as I want to fight it and follow my heart as an artist and create, ultimately I know I am nothing more then another gear to add to its wealth. We are only here to protect and advance the machine, this ill forsaken empire who would rather send our young men off to wars in other countries then save us from this plague that is killing away our families. We have no choice, the creator created the machine, he has it in his control, and we are all forced to do what they want with us. Do you think no matter what I do is my own choice Camille? There is no choice…”
“We all have choices Adrian.”
“If the creator wills it, then no… I have no choice. Perhaps my whole existence in this world is to carry this act out. This is what I was meant to do.”
“That is not true, you are meant for something more. Percious is trying to con you into doing something that will inevitably be his gain. We all have free will. You are letting his tricks cloud your judgment.”
“I am not doing it for him.” Adrian walked over to his desk and pulled open a small drawer. “As much as I stand against this world we live in and those who are in control of it. I love my father and my mother more.” He pulled from it a small steel dagger. It was cool to his touch and much heavier then he ever expected. “My father gave me this blade on my tenth birthday. I never held it once in my hand until now…”
“Please Adrian, do not do this.” Camille begged. “Let us just leave this awful village. We can find a new home, a quiet home where you can write and be at peace.”
“Camille, it is set in stone. All of this, before we ever even met, the creator had a plot for us to follow. He knew exactly what we were going to do and how all this was going to pan out. We are pawns for their entertainment.”
“Enough of this nonsense. We are alive, you and I right now. This room is as real as real can be. Can you not breathe its air, feel its wood?” Camille’s eyes now were swollen with tears. “Don’t act as if you know the mysteries of life. You have no proof that we are all pawns in some God’s sick story.”
“Either way, I must carry this out.” Adrian walked passed Camille straying away from her eyes.
“Wait!” She reached out and grabbed Adrian’s arm causing him to turn to her. “You are going now? It’s too late. Please just wait and think it over.”
“I cannot wait. I will find out who it was and confront him. Please do not try and stop me.” Adrian pulled away from her grip. “I hope to see you again soon, Camille. If not, please take my writings and do with them whatever your heart suggests.” Adrian smiled as he tucked his blade into his belt loop and left Camille alone in his room to spend a night of waiting.
Chapter 6
The Murderer
Adrian walked down the dreary road that led into the pub. The night fit his mood perfectly, the moon held high in the sky giving off just enough light to pave his way. A slight rain hit his face and left the ground moist as he walked forth towards the bustling pub. His father’s murder was big news that spread quickly through the village despite the late hours of the night. By now a large crowd had formed outside the pubs entrance. The peoples chatter filled the air and as soon as Adrian’s presence was known a chilling hush came over the mob of people.
“Where is the man who killed my father?” Adrian spoke with no emotion to the large crowd. A large man easily three times the size of Adrian spoke up and pointed towards inside the pubs main entrance.
“You are his son?” a patrol officer asked. Adrian simply nodded to his reply. The officer allowed his entry into the building. “You may conduct your business with the man within the quarters. Your father’s body has been moved to the town hall for now until we figure out what to do next.”
Adrian largely ignored the officer and quickly made way into the establishment. The stale smell of smoke burned his nose. The building was quite small and overflowing with tables and chairs. Along the north side sat the long bar table ridden with empty mugs, towards the east side he saw the pool of his fathers blood stained on the dirty hardwood floor. Adrian felt his stomach cringe at the sight, and for a moment he felt as if he may be sick.
“You are his son?” a solemn voice spoke to Adrian’s left. Adrian turned to see a strongly built man sitting with his hands resting on his face. His frame was thick much like his fathers, his hair jet black and pulled back off from his face. “No doubt you came for vengeance.” He took a large drink from his pint. “I have not moved once since the incident occurred.” From beneath the table he pulled his blade, stained in blood. Adrian’s eyes swelled with pain at its sight. He had never felt the urge to kill a man, but now more then anything he wanted to stick his dagger into this mans flesh.
“You killed my father?” Adrian pulled from his belt his small dagger. He raised it slightly as his hand shook uncontrollably.
“Before you speak further child, let me have my say.”
“What can you say to me?” Adrian replied.
“I do not have the money to pay for a man like your father’s wergild. There is no way I could attempt to even come close to that sort of money. The money that flows threw me is not my own. It is saved for a greater cause, and I can not afford to sacrifice those riches to you.”
“Then I suppose we have no choice.” Adrian swallowed hard. He knew he had no chance of defending against a man of his stature. Adrian knew deep down he would much rather die there in that stale pub then live a life forsaking his father’s honor.
“Please you must realize what had happened before you commit yourself to this act.” Adrian froze; he hadn’t a clue what he was to do. Behind him the officer stood as a witness to the ordeal. It was warrior code that in times of the wergild a nonbiased witness must be present to prevent criminal charges to be taken place and take notes on what happened.
“What needs to be said? The officer intruded. “You murdered his father. This is this boy’s first act as a man. The village is proud of him for showing up. No matter the outcome, honor shall be kept because of his bravery.”
“My people call me Hobbes. I am head of a group known as “The Body.” Perhaps you have heard of us?”
“My father made mention of them once or twice.” Adrian replied . “He said you were rebels, but that your cause was just.”
“Your father was a great man. He lived his life and gave his blood for the empire. I will not stand to say anything bad of him. I sit here now, staring his son in his face knowing I murdered one of the greatest men ever born of our empire. I ask you, before you draw your blade any higher, to listen to my story before you decide to die. It is not my place here to fall to your blade. I have killed one great man already. Please don’t make me kill another.”
“There is nothing to speak of.” The officer yelled from across the room. “You killed the boy’s father. He must seek the payment whether with your gold, your blood, or his own.”
“Silence!” Hobbes slammed his fist hard into the wooden table. “He is exactly the reason why I was forced to draw my blade to your father. It is because of this sick world that lives on spilt blood and revenge that made me commit this act. One of my men called your father a cheater during our game. He boasted for me to check him if I thought he was. You must understand I am the leader of “The Body.” If I look weak to the people, we ourselves will hold no respect. I checked your father and found within his sleeve a hidden pocket filled with cards. We were forced from the masses to draw our blades. If I did not draw my steel everything I struggled for would have been in vain. I had no choice. You have no idea the burden that rests in my soul.”
Adrian’s face did not change. He did not feel moved from Hobbe’s story. Anger still filled his every thought. “My father chose not to draw his blade, yet you still struck him.”
“He was a better man then me. I would like to think he knew what it was I stood for and that he sacrificed himself for the future of our people.”
“What is it that you stand for?” Adrian frowned.
“I told you I am the leader, the head of “The Body”. We stand for a change from the empire’s blood thirsty laws. We fight against these barbaric ways to bring harmony to these lands. If I am able to get enough of the people together to challenge the emperor himself, we can force the change. Doesn’t this plague that haunts our people bring enough death to our brethren? Must we add to it with petty laws that have us drawing blades against each other? The notion of survival of the fittest no longer holds true for moral and honest people that we are.”
“As much as I despise our violent ways I think you are a fool. I am only a teenager, but I know your ideals will lead to nowhere but an early grave. You will never force anything away from the empire.”
“You’re wrong. If I can gather the majority of the people we will have the strength in numbers. We can force a change. We can make a statement. We already have thousands that support the “Body”.
“It does not matter. No matter what you may or may not change, my father stays dead.”
“He was caught cheating. My blade was forced. This is exactly why I strive for a change.”
“You say you found cards in my father’s sleeves? That makes no sense. He would not cheat. Above all else, he was an honest man.”
“Your father spoke to me before he died. I held him up as he bled asking for his forgiveness.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me to tell his child that he was set up and that he would not kill any innocent man due to the greediness of another. He was with a friend who really pushed on the fact that he was winning so much, almost pushing the people to think he was cheating.”
“My Uncle....”
“I ask you, please let us walk away from this place with no more blood shed.”
“You say you stand for a change. That you want to see harmony reach our village. If my father would not kill an innocent man, then who am I to honor him by disobeying his final wishes. I know who is to be held responsible for his death.”
“I am sorry for your loss. It is a terrible burden that I must learn to live with myself.” Hobbes stood up from the table and bowed to the young Adrian. “What shall you do now? The Body is always looking for new recruits. I know of your ability with writing. Perhaps we can work together?
“Now I must face my Uncle.” Adrian lowered his steel and left Hobbes alone in his own misery.
Chapter 7
The Revenge
Adrian did not return home immediately following his conversation with the murderer of his father. Much had happened in the span of a few hours that merely weighed too heavy on his soul to travel any farther. He knew now there truly was no place for him within Argona. He had no clue what to do next or how he should react towards all that’s amounted against him. He knew for a fact now that he did not collect any form of wergild that he was truly an outcast from the majority of those who live by Argonian law. He sat there in the wet gravel road alone with his small steel dagger in his hand cursing the creator.
It was early the next morning when Adrian finally stumbled back into his estate. There Camille ran to him with open arms and tear stained cheeks.
“You’re finally home!” She cried. “What happened? Some strange people came here just a bit ago and stormed into Percious room.”
“What happened?” Adrian asked as he felt his blade tucked away in his belt.
“I’m not sure they have yet to leave. I ran down here to hide.”
Adrian immediately began to walk upstairs towards Percious’ quarters.
“Where are you going?”
“I was ready to die last night for my fathers honor. Now I want answers.” Adrian began up the stairs.
“If you go I am going with you.”
A loud thud came from Percious’ room as both Adrian and Camille stood outside the door, a muffled blood curdling scream seeped out of the large oak frame. Adrian quickly opened it to see two large men standing over Percious. He was tied to a wooden chair and gagged with a large piece of blood soaked cloth. The men were dressed quite nicely with expensive Argosian clothing that was freshly stained with Percious’ splattered blood. The man on the right stood with a large sledgehammer that too had its share of red. Percious was a mess and stripped to only his undergarments. His face was swollen and matted with blood and appeared to be barley conscious. Camille gasped at the sight of his right leg, which from what Adrian could tell had just been smashed with the sledgehammer. The leg bent awkwardly towards the right at the center of the shin, its bone sticking through the flesh almost as if it were dangling there by only its tendons.
“We have company.” The large man with red hair spoke.
“It does not matter. We are done here. Let the boy do what he will with the bastard.” The other man spit into Percious’ face.
“Wait.” Adrian darted at the door in order to block off the large guests.
“Move before you end up like Percious over there, boy.” The red haired man spoke.
“Tell me what my Uncle was up to. I want to know.”
“Your fat Uncle owed a very powerful man a lot of money. This was his second time he failed to deliver us the money.”
“We had one of our boys follow you into the pub where he set up your father to be killed by that Hobbes man. He promised us the wergild of gold would be paid and he would use it to pay us off. After we got word the man did not pay then Percious was to be killed.” The man pushed Adrian away from the door. “He won’t survive after the beating we just gave him.” The large man pushed Adrian to the side and left with his other large friend.
Camille ran over to Percious and removed the gag from his mouth. Percious’ mouth spilled from it blood, almost like a faucet pouring onto the floor. There in the pool of saliva and blood were chunks of his teeth that had been smashed.
“The second time? You did something to my mother didn’t you? I knew it! I knew it!”
“Your mother was a lying whore…” Percious mumbled from his swollen jaw. “She told me… she had a wealth of inheritance.” He spoke with the little strength he had left.
“My mother just wanted to be loved. She would have said anything.” Camille fell to her knees. “You killed her…”
“I will not believe you are related to my mother. You killed Camille’s mother for gold. Then you pretend to fix up my father’s jacket only to plant cards in his sleeves.” Adrian gripped his dagger tightly.
“That Hobbes… should have been able to pay the wergild. He is head of the Body…he must have been rich.” Percious was baffled to why his plan had failed.
“It does not matter, either way he didn’t pay. He told me of how you acted there, setting my father up. Planting the seed of people doubting his ability to win so many games in a row.”
“Your father was a fool. He could have thwarted the whole plan if he would have struck him down.”
Adrian pulled from his belt the dagger and held it to Percious’ face.
“Don’t be a fool. You could never kill a man. You couldn’t even kill the man who murdered your father.” Percious coughed as he tried to laugh, instead more blood spilled from his mouth.
“Hobbes did not kill my father.” Adrian spoke. “You did.”
“Leave me to die here alone. I’d rather die in pain then to be mocked by a dishonorable joke like you.”
“Leave him, Adrian. He deserves to sit there in his own blood and beg God for forgiveness.”
“I only did what the world has taught me… You’ll never make it in this life if you aren’t willing to protect yourself.” Percious smiled with what teeth he had left. “You righteous bastards like Hobbes… you will only know misery unless you learn to conform. Now leave me be...”
“If I leave you here, knowing you, you could somehow lie through your teeth on your deathbed and steal a longer life.” Adrian took his blade and held it to his Uncles throat. “You will die here.”
“If you kill me…then you are no better then myself. Just another product of Argona. You of all people should realize…the irony you would commit. Here you are… the great writer, the great creator. If you kill me, you lose, you become one of us. You become just another… willing body to kill for those barbaric laws you hate so much.” Percious grew angry with every word he spoke, fighting back the pain just to get the last words in. With that last statement spoken, Adrian took his blade away from Percious throat. “I knew… you weren’t man enough.” Percious began to laugh as Adrian grabbed his throat causing his Uncle to gasp for air. With his thumb and forefinger Adrian grabbed his tongue and with his dagger he dug it deep into the depths of his Uncle mouth. He carved out the soft tissue of his Uncles tongue as if he was carving out the insides of a pumpkin, sawing through the tissue and cutting into bone. His uncle screamed in agony as the sharp knife cut through his jaw and throat.
There still tied in his wooden chair his uncle lowered his head pouring more blood then ever from his mouth. Adrian dropped the large chunk of flesh that once was his Uncles tongue between his legs.
“I may not be man enough to kill you. But at least if you somehow survive this ordeal, you will never be able to weasel your way into conning anyone else.”
Adrian turned from his bleeding Uncle and never to see him ever again.

Chapter 8
The Ultimate Rebellion
Adrian took his bloody hands and walked into his bedroom not saying a word to Camille who silently followed him. There in his room he was face to face with his mother for the first time since he left to seek out his father’s murderer. He stood there unable to speak or look directly into her eyes. He felt ashamed, that in the end he did not stick to his convictions. His bloody hands were proof of that.
“What do we do now?” Camille asked breaking the silence between the two. Her once joyful face had been etched away too swollen eyes and salty tears.
“I finally figured out the perfect ending to my story.” Adrian suggested catching Camille off guard.
“Are you serious?”
“See, in the end the main character has to kill his creator in order to right the wrongs that I created in his life. But in reality, it is mere fantasy to think that someone has any hand in killing their creator. I stand here with my own world falling apart around me with no way to extend my hands off the pages that make up my life. How can I kill a man who is not within my reality? I am living proof, if I had any chance I would gut the creator of my life. I would slit his throat and parade over his dead body for all the vile things he has created.”
“This is the only reality Adrian. We are here, with all this mess to deal with. We have to figure out what to do next. How can you think about writing at a time like this?”
“You would never understand the thought process artists go through. We have no control over when or where we spark our ideas.” Adrian walked over to his desk and sat down onto his familiar chair. “You know, when I was younger my father sent me to a very wise man when I first began writing. He was a famous “seer” of the Empire, a master of the art of foretelling futures.”
“Those actually exsist?”
“Supposedly I never took what he said seriously, but my father sure did. He told us that I would write a story would reach millions of Argonians and enlighten them. This was the sole reason my father supported my love for the arts. He told me that I was a prodigy waiting to open the masses to a higher understanding of life. I would single handedly change the way we live our daily lives.”
“Are you serious? That’s amazing.”
“Whenever the “seer” foretells a fortune it is always sworn to secrecy to protect the fortunes nature. But see, it has come to me now that this world we live in does not deserve this so called ‘enlightenment’”. Adrian grabbed his giant parchment that contained all of his writings and tales and ran downstairs towards the greeting hall of the estate.
“What are you doing?” Camille followed quickly as Adrian stood in front of the blazing fire place.
“Why should I give my heart and soul to a world that has no respect for my beliefs. A world that killed my father due to its blood lusting ways. The only way I can ever get back at this sick world is to destroy the one thing they could potentially hold dear. Maybe this text was meant to bring peace to these lands. The whole reason I wrote it was to convey the evils of our daily lives. If I destroy it now, they will never know the joys that it could bring.”
“Adrian are you sure? You spent so many years writing it.”
“I never believed that old man, but by chance if he was right.... don’t you see? This will be the ultimate act of rebellion. To strip them away of something they never even had the chance to know.” Adrian threw his parchment into the fire setting it ablaze. There as the pages turned to ash, so did Argona’s chance of ever becoming truly peaceful. There in one selfish act, a young man, a prodigy created by the creator to single handedly carry the weight of change on his shoulders turned his back on all his people. Or perhaps it was a mere play of irony to end the last significant thing the young Adrian would ever accomplish.