D&D backtsories

Andy Cart

Setting: Dark Matter
Race: Human
Class: Barbarian
Backround: Exile

The sky was dirty as ever. The air traffick bloomed above me, in a sequence which people call orderly. I don't like the look of it. As well as that of everything around me, the towering buildings, the organized streets, they all remind myself of where I am. Home, the place where I have lived my whole miserable life wandering around, being seen as nothing but a disgrase. I wasn't far of of being prohibited here. Look, I have had a pretty shit childhood. My parents didn't like eachother. They both hated me. I was only a tool that could be used to prove who's the better parent, and for them to show who didn't fuck up so hard as his father, or his mother. One day the arguing got severe. I remember the tension of two people not being able to stand eachother. I can recall a memory of me as a young boy, playing innocently with my dog whiles a storm was rising in the very same room. I wanted to give him his toy, the blue bone made from a translucent rubber. The eyes of my dog suddenly got their gaze away from what I was holding in my hand. He seemed frightened as he looked up behind me. I could have easily noticed, but I wasn't focussing. I didn't want to focus on what was going on, stupid, letting my gaurd down was not an option. I can still visualize how I got lifted up by her, how I looked down hopelessly at Lex, his toy was in my hand with a tide grip. Things are starting to fade from this moment on.

Our spacecraft. My mom. My bloody hands.

Those are the images I see when trying to remember how it was for me. But I know exactly what happened. Years ago, a spacecraft was seen hastefully attempting to leave the city. It did not make it far. The craft flew above a quite populated area when it suddenly tilted, lowered it's direction, and plummeted, crashing right through a building. Sparks, fire and thick smoke filled the air above the sight that day. There had been two casualties and ten heavely wounded including my mom. I was lucky to have survived the crash with only some scratches. But the term lucky only aplied until they found out how it happened. I had been savagely attacking my mother. She had been overwhelmed by my fierceness, not being able to match me, I committed my anger toward the control panel, and furiously turned the craft downwards. It was like the big impact of the fancy spacecraft's metal did nothing to me, nor the heat that came afterwards. There appeared a worrysome scent like burning cables that pierced through my nose and longs, as if the cabin itself was screaming it's final words of disbelieve at me. But all I felt was tired.