23rd SEARING, 115 AOS
Florian Albrecht was an angry boy. He had always been an angry boy, something that both deeply contrasted the soothing countenance of his mother and that she had subtly fed. She would soothe his passions, but she had always taught him that sometimes it was best to follow them through. To mean what you said, and to keep your fist where you kept your words.
Florian Albrecht was also an anxious, nervous boy. Still, it was not difficult for the anger to win out. He kept his mother's words to heart, and he was not the best brawler, but he was not one to take an insult lightly. It was his first mistake.
Florian Albrecht had two horns. They were almost fully grown, long and graceful and extending from the top of his forehead and back, with a little twist at the end. Something from his father, he imagined. He was on the cusp of adulthood - seventeen, almost eighteen, with little in his life ahead of him. He could find a job, sure, but he did not simply want to sustain himself. He wanted more. The Lysanrin had always felt that he was destined for more, and he was certain that whatever happened in his life, he would take it.
As hated as they may have been, as much as wariness took hold in the eyes of others...for the most part, the Lysanrin in the Knob rarely needed to worry about physical altercations or outright bullying. Staring, maybe, but most people didn't even bother with the staring. Their money was as good as anyone else's, and didn't that matter the most? But Florian could not stand the staring. Hytori did not receive the staring, Dratori, Hobgoblins, Siltori...at least here, where the nonhumans pervaded and the humans were too poor to care, they were not feared. The Lysanrin could not escape their fate, because their magic was born with them, and that - that was something everyone knew. And their magic was evil, even evil-er than anyone else's, because even some magic was licensed and used in Zaichaer. It may have been magic that was used to stop other's magic, but it was still a rune, carved into the flesh of its users.
Florian Albrecht had never had a chance to use his inborn curse, yet, he assured himself, but he knew it would take him far if he could. And it was this ruminating that led to his lack of awareness, and suddenly he had run into a man among a group of men - human, of course, loitering in an alley. Florian was much smaller than the man he'd run into and had landed, ass-first, on the ground. After his infiltration into his personal space, the human man stared at him, his eyes full of hate but his mouth contorted into a smile. "You lost?"
"No." Florian stood up and brushed himself off, getting ready to walk past the men - until a hand stopped him.
"You sure?"
"Wh— get out of my way?" Replied the teenaged Florian, much to the amusement of the other men. They acted like it was a game, and didn't move. Florian, on the other hand, was like a buzzing little hornet. He had the unfortunate quality of always looking for a fight. He knew this didn't have to be a fight - they teased, and there was malice, but it was not for him to be hurt. But the boy didn't care. He pushed past the man, with much force. The rest of the alley was deserted, and he'd interrupted them - whatever it was they'd been doing.
And then his collar was grabbed and he was pulled back, like a kitten by its scruff. He faced the man, who bent over just a bit to look into his face. "That's not polite, you know." The man laughed, and Florian, the violent little hornet, brought his knee between the man's legs. That man doubled over, but the tone of the scene changed.
It was barely a fight. Another man grabbed the reed of a boy and threw him against the wall, where Florian fell and laid in the shadows of the alley. It was over as quickly as it started, and with a sickening crack, the largest of the group stepped on his horn, and Florian was almost as blinded by pain as he was by rage. They laughed among themselves and said nothing to the boy who lay on the ground.
And then they left, and Florian was left to wonder why in world he'd started that.
Florian Albrecht was also an anxious, nervous boy. Still, it was not difficult for the anger to win out. He kept his mother's words to heart, and he was not the best brawler, but he was not one to take an insult lightly. It was his first mistake.
Florian Albrecht had two horns. They were almost fully grown, long and graceful and extending from the top of his forehead and back, with a little twist at the end. Something from his father, he imagined. He was on the cusp of adulthood - seventeen, almost eighteen, with little in his life ahead of him. He could find a job, sure, but he did not simply want to sustain himself. He wanted more. The Lysanrin had always felt that he was destined for more, and he was certain that whatever happened in his life, he would take it.
As hated as they may have been, as much as wariness took hold in the eyes of others...for the most part, the Lysanrin in the Knob rarely needed to worry about physical altercations or outright bullying. Staring, maybe, but most people didn't even bother with the staring. Their money was as good as anyone else's, and didn't that matter the most? But Florian could not stand the staring. Hytori did not receive the staring, Dratori, Hobgoblins, Siltori...at least here, where the nonhumans pervaded and the humans were too poor to care, they were not feared. The Lysanrin could not escape their fate, because their magic was born with them, and that - that was something everyone knew. And their magic was evil, even evil-er than anyone else's, because even some magic was licensed and used in Zaichaer. It may have been magic that was used to stop other's magic, but it was still a rune, carved into the flesh of its users.
Florian Albrecht had never had a chance to use his inborn curse, yet, he assured himself, but he knew it would take him far if he could. And it was this ruminating that led to his lack of awareness, and suddenly he had run into a man among a group of men - human, of course, loitering in an alley. Florian was much smaller than the man he'd run into and had landed, ass-first, on the ground. After his infiltration into his personal space, the human man stared at him, his eyes full of hate but his mouth contorted into a smile. "You lost?"
"No." Florian stood up and brushed himself off, getting ready to walk past the men - until a hand stopped him.
"You sure?"
"Wh— get out of my way?" Replied the teenaged Florian, much to the amusement of the other men. They acted like it was a game, and didn't move. Florian, on the other hand, was like a buzzing little hornet. He had the unfortunate quality of always looking for a fight. He knew this didn't have to be a fight - they teased, and there was malice, but it was not for him to be hurt. But the boy didn't care. He pushed past the man, with much force. The rest of the alley was deserted, and he'd interrupted them - whatever it was they'd been doing.
And then his collar was grabbed and he was pulled back, like a kitten by its scruff. He faced the man, who bent over just a bit to look into his face. "That's not polite, you know." The man laughed, and Florian, the violent little hornet, brought his knee between the man's legs. That man doubled over, but the tone of the scene changed.
It was barely a fight. Another man grabbed the reed of a boy and threw him against the wall, where Florian fell and laid in the shadows of the alley. It was over as quickly as it started, and with a sickening crack, the largest of the group stepped on his horn, and Florian was almost as blinded by pain as he was by rage. They laughed among themselves and said nothing to the boy who lay on the ground.
And then they left, and Florian was left to wonder why in world he'd started that.
