Keep marching forward // Dnd stories/oneshots

God, I Have My Father's Eyes.

He stands in his room, staring at the mirror.

The man that looks back at him looks just like his father. The man that looks back at him is him.

The white hair, the white eyes. Everything about him is a carbon copy of his father.

Even the freckles.

He hated it, but as much as he hated it he knew his father hated it more. His father just hated him in general. Kalroth hadn't done anything wrong bar being born.

His birth had killed his mother. His father hated him for it.

He spoke up against his father. He was hated for it.

He tried to be a good child, but that was never enough. The slightest mistake earned him a punishment far worse than his "crime" against his father.

He was 20 now, he shouldn't be dealing with his father but he still is.

Kalroth had no job, he didn't know what to do with his life. He grew up with his father telling him he'd amount to nothing, and that's exactly what was happening.

His father's words echoed in his head. All the time.

He was worthless. He was of no use. He was unlovable.

He was "lucky" his father hadn't gotten rid of him.

He'd help people in the streets, but the people here were horrible. He'd try to do things outside of his home, but the people here didn't deserve his kindness.

His sister truly was the kindest person in this kingdom, but that didn't mean anything to his father.

He wanted her to be married, to be of use to a man and he always got what he wanted. The man he chose was terrible.

Nai went with it though, because she always did.

Kalroth looked away from the mirror when he heard a voice. But there was no one.

It was weird, it sounded like someone asked him a question, but he didn't quite catch it.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard someone who wasn't there speak.

Nevertheless, he didn't care too much. He had other things to do today.

Like reading, because reading meant he escaped his world for a while.

Reading meant he didn't have to deal with his father.

Reading was good.

He likes reading.

But just as he sat down on his floor with his book the voice rang out, louder this time.

It felt like it was in his head.

"Why do you listen to him?" Kalroth didn't focus on the question.

It wasn't the first time. And it was one of the more harmless things it'd said.

It didn't concern him anymore. Which was more concerning. The worst part was that he was starting to agree with what he was being asked and told.

A sinking feeling dawned on him.

He was going crazy, wasn't he?