“What have you done?” The voice whispered in his ear while blood pooled around his knelt body. “What have I done?” he replied, hoarsely.
Farming life was the definition of menial, in Murdock’s opinion, but for better or worse, it was the hand that had been dealt to him. The Bauer family farm had been passed from eldest son to eldest son as long as Impiltur could remember. As the next in line for the inheritance, he would have to put on that same grim face and fulfill his family’s legacy.
At night, when he laid down from a long day’s shift of shoveling manure, cropping plants, and milking the farm animals, he would dream about the opportunities his younger brother, Benjamin, and his sister, Rosie, might have that he wouldn’t. Benjamin was naturally creative, finding wit and humor at every turn, sparking a laugh in people that they didn’t see coming. It had that effect on his family, his neighbors, any visitors that happened on the farmlands - all except Murdock. He found it aggravating, and nearly every time, he would respond to the chorus of laughs with a heavy sigh before slipping out to finish his duties.
Honestly, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Benjamin first began to show a natural affinity for touching the weave. It started out small, with little pockets of luck seeming to happen for Benjamin. By this time, rumor had begun to spread that magic was making its return to the world. And, of course, Benjamin had been the one chosen. This made Murdock’s final teenage year, a time when he should have been celebrated as becoming a man, instead one of being overshadowed, pushed aside, and feeling forgotten.
Mucking through the dirt and rain, when all had seemed to slip and fall, Benjamin had somehow been able to keep his footing. When lost in the adjacent woodlands, and daylight dwindling to a peer ray, he’d remember the proper direction to venture back home. Each time it happened, Murdock grew more and more tired of his brother; more and more jealous of his applause, congratulations, and the adoring look of his parents on him. In some ways, his attunement toward the arcane was justification that Benjamin wasn’t just better - he had a special leg-up.
“Dock,” his father had said, sitting him down by the hearth while all others had fallen asleep. “We need to talk, son.”
It was in this conversation that Murdock was both freed and broken down. His father had explained how Murdock never really wanted to inherit the Bauer property. That Benjamin was a better suited candidate; his ability to light a fire with the snap of his finger, or encourage the animals to shepherd along was just overall better for the family’s historic legacy.
Murdock was to enlist in the army the following month.
Rosie was the only one to look Murdock’s way during this time. She had seen his eyes grow distant, his voice grow quieter while all else looked to Benjamin and the bright future of the Bauer farmlands.
Murdock devoted his time to different activities now that the farm responsibility had shifted from his shoulders to another. Instead, he deployed his time working his father’s rusted longsword against stacks of hay - attempting to prepare himself for the life of a soldier that now awaited him.
Each night he came in to retire from his crude try at training, he noticed the bookshelf growing fuller and vaster with tomes of arcane and magic that his mother accumulated with excitement of her sorcerer son.
“I always knew there was something special in our blood,” she would tell the neighbors, “magic’s finally returning and it chose our boy. What a blessing. Gods be praised.”
When the heat of the fireplace had all but dissipated, Murdock would slip out from his bunk and scour through the volumes, studying all he could about the weave, magic, and all things related at some sick thought of igniting a dormant, unmanifested power through the acquisition of the written word. But, ultimately, nothing came - and for this, he forsook the very gods that his family praised at each meal and prayer.
Rosie’s words of encouragement rang hollower and hollower at each syllable and Murdock’s heart grew more and more bitter. With only mere days approaching until his departure, he took to sleeping among the stars to ease the pain of separation that he knew was coming. In addition to training his swordsmanship, he had to train his mind for the completely different trajectory his life was about to take from what he had been groomed to do.
It was on one of the last days of his time remaining a civilian that he smelt the smoke growing in the air. Understanding crept into his mind quicker than he had anticipated, and with that rusted blade in hand, he sprinted for the farmhouse. The closer he came, the thicker the smoke grew, and the flames shouted, and the panic set in.
“Mom! Dad!” he barked out into the burnt vapor for an answer. “Rosie! Ben!” he continued to nothing.
The smell of scalded skin and hair violated his nostrils like moths to a flame. His eyes watered, both from the scent and the understanding. When his frame entered the threshold of the burning abode, he saw only one person lingering before where the hearth had once been.
“Benjamin,” he growled, furious. “What have you done?”
The look of pain and guilt that met him stunned him. His brother, his face covered in ash and soot, stood crying before him. “Murdock! Oh, Dock, thank the gods. I don’t know what happened!” His voice was a panicked squeal. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Tears streamed down his brother's face and Murdock was left defenseless to it. He opened his arms wide to embrace his broken brother. Benjamin hadn’t asked for this, a voice in the back of his mind had buzzed. He needs his older brother now.
It was in this final moment, just before he sheltered his wounded brother, that Murdock caught sight of Rosie’s scorched body behind Benjamin’s withered visage. Murdock’s jaw set, and the blade in his hand was brought up. It all happened so fast, but Benjamin, being as clever as he was, saw his death coming. Before the sword impaled him through the gut, he blew a terrible breath of fire into Murdock’s face.
“What have you done?” Benjamin had inquired through gurgled breaths of bubbling blood. It was a question that would never leave his mind.
***
For years to come, Murdock would find work at neighboring farmlands. “Have you heard about the poor lad? The Bauer boy. His family was taken by a mad fire. All of ‘em. Aye, Benjamin, too.” Their pity enabled him to put food in his mouth, flashing believing him to be a family less victim rather than his brother’s murderer.
Every time he saw his scarred, burnt reflection, his hatred for magic grew. It had taken away his family, his beloved sister, and left him desolate, naked, and alone. His father had always spoken so highly of purpose; that every man has to find theirs else they are lost. What was the purpose of a scared and scarred young man; a farmer that didn’t have a farm? His mind and body devoted itself to practicing with the rusted sword he had found in his farmhouse all those years ago. As he searched for his meaning, he shoved the possible answer deeper with every swing of his blade, held back tears with each imagined parry, and fueled his endless anger with all the hacked hay before him.
It was the refusal of this thought that finally forced Murdock’s hand to seek out something more. A place to aim his anger; to harness the glorious purpose his father had preached, to not be known only as an orphaned victim.
His travels brought him further away from the farmlands of his childhood and more into the unknown of his future. Time spent among a pack of mercenaries was short lived, if not informative; he even gave caravan protecting a go, but came away uninspired by the process. It was between the assortment of odd jobs, in the epicenter of Sarshel, that a revelation had finally found the blooming man.
When disappointment and loneliness should have flooded his veins, something else entirely filled his mind: “What have you done?”
An answer finally protruded from the depths of his psyche.
“My purpose.”
***
Farming life was the definition of menial, in Murdock’s opinion, but for better or worse, it was the hand that had been dealt to him. The Bauer family farm had been passed from eldest son to eldest son as long as Impiltur could remember. As the next in line for the inheritance, he would have to put on that same grim face and fulfill his family’s legacy.
At night, when he laid down from a long day’s shift of shoveling manure, cropping plants, and milking the farm animals, he would dream about the opportunities his younger brother, Benjamin, and his sister, Rosie, might have that he wouldn’t. Benjamin was naturally creative, finding wit and humor at every turn, sparking a laugh in people that they didn’t see coming. It had that effect on his family, his neighbors, any visitors that happened on the farmlands - all except Murdock. He found it aggravating, and nearly every time, he would respond to the chorus of laughs with a heavy sigh before slipping out to finish his duties.
Honestly, it wasn’t much of a surprise when Benjamin first began to show a natural affinity for touching the weave. It started out small, with little pockets of luck seeming to happen for Benjamin. By this time, rumor had begun to spread that magic was making its return to the world. And, of course, Benjamin had been the one chosen. This made Murdock’s final teenage year, a time when he should have been celebrated as becoming a man, instead one of being overshadowed, pushed aside, and feeling forgotten.
Mucking through the dirt and rain, when all had seemed to slip and fall, Benjamin had somehow been able to keep his footing. When lost in the adjacent woodlands, and daylight dwindling to a peer ray, he’d remember the proper direction to venture back home. Each time it happened, Murdock grew more and more tired of his brother; more and more jealous of his applause, congratulations, and the adoring look of his parents on him. In some ways, his attunement toward the arcane was justification that Benjamin wasn’t just better - he had a special leg-up.
“Dock,” his father had said, sitting him down by the hearth while all others had fallen asleep. “We need to talk, son.”
It was in this conversation that Murdock was both freed and broken down. His father had explained how Murdock never really wanted to inherit the Bauer property. That Benjamin was a better suited candidate; his ability to light a fire with the snap of his finger, or encourage the animals to shepherd along was just overall better for the family’s historic legacy.
Murdock was to enlist in the army the following month.
Rosie was the only one to look Murdock’s way during this time. She had seen his eyes grow distant, his voice grow quieter while all else looked to Benjamin and the bright future of the Bauer farmlands.
Murdock devoted his time to different activities now that the farm responsibility had shifted from his shoulders to another. Instead, he deployed his time working his father’s rusted longsword against stacks of hay - attempting to prepare himself for the life of a soldier that now awaited him.
Each night he came in to retire from his crude try at training, he noticed the bookshelf growing fuller and vaster with tomes of arcane and magic that his mother accumulated with excitement of her sorcerer son.
“I always knew there was something special in our blood,” she would tell the neighbors, “magic’s finally returning and it chose our boy. What a blessing. Gods be praised.”
When the heat of the fireplace had all but dissipated, Murdock would slip out from his bunk and scour through the volumes, studying all he could about the weave, magic, and all things related at some sick thought of igniting a dormant, unmanifested power through the acquisition of the written word. But, ultimately, nothing came - and for this, he forsook the very gods that his family praised at each meal and prayer.
Rosie’s words of encouragement rang hollower and hollower at each syllable and Murdock’s heart grew more and more bitter. With only mere days approaching until his departure, he took to sleeping among the stars to ease the pain of separation that he knew was coming. In addition to training his swordsmanship, he had to train his mind for the completely different trajectory his life was about to take from what he had been groomed to do.
It was on one of the last days of his time remaining a civilian that he smelt the smoke growing in the air. Understanding crept into his mind quicker than he had anticipated, and with that rusted blade in hand, he sprinted for the farmhouse. The closer he came, the thicker the smoke grew, and the flames shouted, and the panic set in.
The smell of scalded skin and hair violated his nostrils like moths to a flame. His eyes watered, both from the scent and the understanding. When his frame entered the threshold of the burning abode, he saw only one person lingering before where the hearth had once been.
“Benjamin,” he growled, furious. “What have you done?”
The look of pain and guilt that met him stunned him. His brother, his face covered in ash and soot, stood crying before him. “Murdock! Oh, Dock, thank the gods. I don’t know what happened!” His voice was a panicked squeal. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Tears streamed down his brother's face and Murdock was left defenseless to it. He opened his arms wide to embrace his broken brother. Benjamin hadn’t asked for this, a voice in the back of his mind had buzzed. He needs his older brother now.
It was in this final moment, just before he sheltered his wounded brother, that Murdock caught sight of Rosie’s scorched body behind Benjamin’s withered visage. Murdock’s jaw set, and the blade in his hand was brought up. It all happened so fast, but Benjamin, being as clever as he was, saw his death coming. Before the sword impaled him through the gut, he blew a terrible breath of fire into Murdock’s face.
“What have you done?” Benjamin had inquired through gurgled breaths of bubbling blood. It was a question that would never leave his mind.
***
For years to come, Murdock would find work at neighboring farmlands. “Have you heard about the poor lad? The Bauer boy. His family was taken by a mad fire. All of ‘em. Aye, Benjamin, too.” Their pity enabled him to put food in his mouth, flashing believing him to be a family less victim rather than his brother’s murderer.
Every time he saw his scarred, burnt reflection, his hatred for magic grew. It had taken away his family, his beloved sister, and left him desolate, naked, and alone. His father had always spoken so highly of purpose; that every man has to find theirs else they are lost. What was the purpose of a scared and scarred young man; a farmer that didn’t have a farm? His mind and body devoted itself to practicing with the rusted sword he had found in his farmhouse all those years ago. As he searched for his meaning, he shoved the possible answer deeper with every swing of his blade, held back tears with each imagined parry, and fueled his endless anger with all the hacked hay before him.
It was the refusal of this thought that finally forced Murdock’s hand to seek out something more. A place to aim his anger; to harness the glorious purpose his father had preached, to not be known only as an orphaned victim.
His travels brought him further away from the farmlands of his childhood and more into the unknown of his future. Time spent among a pack of mercenaries was short lived, if not informative; he even gave caravan protecting a go, but came away uninspired by the process. It was between the assortment of odd jobs, in the epicenter of Sarshel, that a revelation had finally found the blooming man.
When disappointment and loneliness should have flooded his veins, something else entirely filled his mind: “What have you done?”
An answer finally protruded from the depths of his psyche.
“My purpose.”
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