Before the Storm

Chapter 26: To Chase... The Demons

What did it take Senn to climb out of the abyss in which he found himself ten years ago? What did Jerome have to do to train his mind, body, and soul to harden the bark around them?

It wasn't easy, and it was not without its hardships over the years

Author' note: EMERGENCY BACKGROUND DEVELOPMENT CHAPTER

yes, this should have come sooner, but we've made it fit here nonetheless. a forewarning: the following contains some graphic depictions of some very twisted motives. while the following contents are no more than thoughts, they are more descriptive than we would normally apply XD

we now commence flashback plus terrible zombie drawing (and terrible sword drawing; but that goes without saying because I can't draw weapons)

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"What's this?"

"For now, it is just a wooden sword – nothing lethal nor dangerous – but something with which to find your feet."

Senn looked at the wooden sword alien in his hands, as though he had never held a weapon in his life, let alone used one for himself.

As though he had never killed anyone with such a blade.

"I don't understand what for?"

"You will." Jerome smiled and patted Senn fondly on the back as a show of comfort, although back then, he could chide himself for being so folly as to underestimate the boy's inner torment. He had so much to learn about his would-be Master, but he wanted him to grow into the fighter that he knew his brothers once were; and this was his outlet.

If Senn could learn to master the art of combat, then he need not be so wrapped up in all of the negativity that surrounded it. If Jerome thought about it, then he could pass it off as a simple passing of tradition – from him to his Master – and he would think then of the honour that it could bring; but for the longest time, Senn had thought Jerome as being pushy and unfair. Both had their reasons to think such, for Jerome found a centre – a peace of mind – in ritual combat. It gave him a mental strength that he wished he'd had when he lost his father, and subsequently his mother. Even now, he wondered how he had made it this far without such, but Senn was in a situation all too similar to himself. It may not have been his parents in the brutality of clan attacks, but he had lost those closest to him in similarly cruel ways.

Jerome looked at the broken boy, only a handful of weeks into the confines of snowy Hailstone, and it was like staring into a mirror. He took one look at Senn, and he only saw himself. He snapped at the opportunity to help him upon his arrival, but he was mindful not to dive in too far too quickly and so he waited a while before gifting him the treatment that he had been gifted – by Ruhan, no less.

He guided Senn into a large open hall in the centre of Hailstone and waited for the younger to acquaint himself with these new surroundings, entering the hall as though gazing upon the art of history written along the walls. They were bare and seemingly barren, but much like the way Senn saw his journey with Thalleous as 'an adventure,' he saw the hall as colossal, vast, and exciting. His eyes lit up in place of real lighting and he spun in circles, his mind light for the first time since his arrival.

"Where are we?" he asked, although despite his amazement, his voice was still timid, still sprouting from his shell.

"The Old Hall," Jerome announced, raising his arms aside himself in a grand gesture. "It hasn't been used since Ingressus' return, but it was once a grand venue for clan gatherings of all events – initiations, birth announcements, the odd rollcall that we would have to do, general announcements..." He paused and relaxed his stance. For a moment, he tried to hide the upset that crept along his features as he wandered into reminiscence. "As you can imagine, its use dwindled with our numbers..." Jerome allowed himself a wry smile. There was little call for any of the above with the passage of time.