Post by Calot on Jul 8, 2023 17:10:17 GMT -5
The cold.
The cold was always the first thing he felt in the morning. Eyes opening to a blank expanse of nothingness, the last son of Tirisfel gently urged his still-tired body into action, inching toward the leftmost side of the bed before finding the edge and swinging his legs over the side in a single, methodically smooth motion.
Sighing, the blind man rubbed the remaining sleep from his sightless gaze, head tilting upwards to greet the warmth of a sun that he hadn't seen in a long, long time.
Another day, another dollar, as the humans say.
Rising to his feet, Calot Tirisfel navigated his way through the vast area of his bedroom, having memorized every single bit of the trek before him to an exact tee. Living alone in a home as formerly grandiose as his whilst blind forced certain, adaptations to take place, and the memorization of his every step and motion of his childhood home was only one of many. Running a hand through his spiky, nappy hair, the noble halted as his feet came into contact with the familiar, chilling feel of his bathroom's carefully carved porcelain floor.
His morning routine continued on from there. It was not one that stood as particularly unique from any other persons when they wake, really, apart from the fact that he just so happened to curve around the caveat of being blind. It was a monotony that the young man welcomed with open arms, really. Other than the incident that left him blind and by his lonesome in the first place, nothing else since then had ever incited a need, nor want, for any type of shift at all. Calot preferred it this way- too much change could only lead to further turmoil and considering all he had already lost in light of such change; he would rather not lose what little he had left.
And so, here he stood, the former royal finishing off brushing his teeth and proceeding to finish off the rest of his daily ritual. A cold shower here, a change of clothes there, and soon enough, Calot found himself making his way down to the ground floor of the Tirisfel Manor below.
Careful steps echoing throughout the husk of a home, Calot sauntered down the steps of the grand staircase that led from the upper floor all the way down to the base of the once energetic family manor. At one-point Calot would have been greeted by the hustle and bustle of various servants and maids making their way by, but no such noise had sounded their way through the house for many years now. The last of the staff under Tirisfel employment made their leave years ago, though it wasn't of any concern to Calot, really. No need for re-staffing if there was no need for such manpower in the first place.
No, indeed, Calot was the only remnant of a truly by-gone era, one that once held his family in the highest of esteems before the horrors of their, well, his father's past had caught up with them. And still, Calot indeed remained- alone, isolated, and barely living from day to day.
Why, one might ask, would anyone sentence themselves to such a meaningless existence?
To that, Calot would have no answer- not that he had to really worry about needing to have answers in the first place. No once came by these parts anyways, seeing as the manor itself was hidden in a tucked away bit of forest preserve far, far away from any societal influence. Perhaps that was why the hybrid remained so stubbornly attached to the property to this day- he had nothing else of his own to cling onto.
And perhaps there was more to it. Again, not that it particularly mattered all that much- there was no one to challenge his established beliefs. No one to even suggest that there remained something better beyond the walls of his manor's empty halls.
Instead, Calot had more prominent things on his mind, like breakfast.
---
Normally, Calot would remain inside for the duration of his meal, sitting in silence within the small family dining room set aside for the days when his parents could manage to get the whole family together in one place for even just one meal spent with each other. But occasionally, there were days when Calot wished to feel the warmth of the sun upon his skin as he partook in his humble collation, and after feeling the morning heat of the sun when he awoke, he was sure today was a perfect day for such an endeavor.
So, gathering his humble bowl of porridge, Calot slowly, but surely, made his way out of the front doors of the manor, to the rest of the somewhat overgrown property outside. No legitimate gardening work had been done in considering, again, no staffing- but Calot did do a little bit of magical trimming here and there to ensure things didn't get to a ludicrous level of lush overgrowth. Stirring the still somewhat scalding bowl of porridge in his hands, the halfling made his way to the outer edges of the property, where he'd presumably find comfort in the canopies offered by the tall, oak trees that lined the outer edges of the manor proper. A place where he'd be able to enjoy the sun's kindred warmth without getting too far off the beaten path, so to speak.
Or so, at least he assumed.
It seemed as though fate, however, had finally gotten reason to break his routine after all.
The cold was always the first thing he felt in the morning. Eyes opening to a blank expanse of nothingness, the last son of Tirisfel gently urged his still-tired body into action, inching toward the leftmost side of the bed before finding the edge and swinging his legs over the side in a single, methodically smooth motion.
Sighing, the blind man rubbed the remaining sleep from his sightless gaze, head tilting upwards to greet the warmth of a sun that he hadn't seen in a long, long time.
Another day, another dollar, as the humans say.
Rising to his feet, Calot Tirisfel navigated his way through the vast area of his bedroom, having memorized every single bit of the trek before him to an exact tee. Living alone in a home as formerly grandiose as his whilst blind forced certain, adaptations to take place, and the memorization of his every step and motion of his childhood home was only one of many. Running a hand through his spiky, nappy hair, the noble halted as his feet came into contact with the familiar, chilling feel of his bathroom's carefully carved porcelain floor.
His morning routine continued on from there. It was not one that stood as particularly unique from any other persons when they wake, really, apart from the fact that he just so happened to curve around the caveat of being blind. It was a monotony that the young man welcomed with open arms, really. Other than the incident that left him blind and by his lonesome in the first place, nothing else since then had ever incited a need, nor want, for any type of shift at all. Calot preferred it this way- too much change could only lead to further turmoil and considering all he had already lost in light of such change; he would rather not lose what little he had left.
And so, here he stood, the former royal finishing off brushing his teeth and proceeding to finish off the rest of his daily ritual. A cold shower here, a change of clothes there, and soon enough, Calot found himself making his way down to the ground floor of the Tirisfel Manor below.
Careful steps echoing throughout the husk of a home, Calot sauntered down the steps of the grand staircase that led from the upper floor all the way down to the base of the once energetic family manor. At one-point Calot would have been greeted by the hustle and bustle of various servants and maids making their way by, but no such noise had sounded their way through the house for many years now. The last of the staff under Tirisfel employment made their leave years ago, though it wasn't of any concern to Calot, really. No need for re-staffing if there was no need for such manpower in the first place.
No, indeed, Calot was the only remnant of a truly by-gone era, one that once held his family in the highest of esteems before the horrors of their, well, his father's past had caught up with them. And still, Calot indeed remained- alone, isolated, and barely living from day to day.
Why, one might ask, would anyone sentence themselves to such a meaningless existence?
To that, Calot would have no answer- not that he had to really worry about needing to have answers in the first place. No once came by these parts anyways, seeing as the manor itself was hidden in a tucked away bit of forest preserve far, far away from any societal influence. Perhaps that was why the hybrid remained so stubbornly attached to the property to this day- he had nothing else of his own to cling onto.
And perhaps there was more to it. Again, not that it particularly mattered all that much- there was no one to challenge his established beliefs. No one to even suggest that there remained something better beyond the walls of his manor's empty halls.
Instead, Calot had more prominent things on his mind, like breakfast.
---
Normally, Calot would remain inside for the duration of his meal, sitting in silence within the small family dining room set aside for the days when his parents could manage to get the whole family together in one place for even just one meal spent with each other. But occasionally, there were days when Calot wished to feel the warmth of the sun upon his skin as he partook in his humble collation, and after feeling the morning heat of the sun when he awoke, he was sure today was a perfect day for such an endeavor.
So, gathering his humble bowl of porridge, Calot slowly, but surely, made his way out of the front doors of the manor, to the rest of the somewhat overgrown property outside. No legitimate gardening work had been done in considering, again, no staffing- but Calot did do a little bit of magical trimming here and there to ensure things didn't get to a ludicrous level of lush overgrowth. Stirring the still somewhat scalding bowl of porridge in his hands, the halfling made his way to the outer edges of the property, where he'd presumably find comfort in the canopies offered by the tall, oak trees that lined the outer edges of the manor proper. A place where he'd be able to enjoy the sun's kindred warmth without getting too far off the beaten path, so to speak.
Or so, at least he assumed.
It seemed as though fate, however, had finally gotten reason to break his routine after all.
PL: 24,000 - WC: 939 - TWC: 939