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Meteorite
- Joined
- May 5, 2012
- Location
- USA
"Remember, my brother... We're too lucky to die..."
A chill crawled down the man's spine as those words surfaced in his mind, reminding him of his "luck." Is it really luck, or just dumb chance he's survived for so long? The years of hiding from his past and drinking his sorrows have truly taken a toll on Roth Alistair's image: the obsidian waves that made up his shoulder length hair has reduced to a drained ivory, his face beginning to reveal the cracks of time (at least the ones that weren't buried deep within the scars of battle). The only true symbol of his youth were his deep turquoise eyes, wide open and full of the energy he still defiantly carries. Those eyes quickly darted to his own garb, a set of chain mail armor that was cloaked in a suit consisting of red pants, a white shirt, and a red jacket. That relic was the only reminder of his past he preferred to carry, as it was the only honorable thing he wanted people knowing.
"The Royal Flush uniform..." He sighed softly, and walked over to don the uniform once more. It's strange to him, really. Every time he dons that old thing, those memories flood back to him, regardless of how much of a wall he's forged around his mind with alcohol. Those memories...
Instantly he found himself in a different scenery; a dimly lit bunker that reeked of sweat, blood, alcohol, and many other unmentionables. Instead of donned in the uniform of the Royal Flush, he was wearing a standard Aldrion soldier uniform, consisting of light mail armor, a standard iron helm, and a short sword with shield. Sitting at one of the multitudes of tables, Roth smiled a mischievous grin as he slammed his cards down on the table, causing a mixed series of reactions from the others who sat with him.
"There is no way!" Screamed one of the soldiers, beginning to suspect foul play. "Five ace three-of-a-kinds in a row!? Nobody's that lucky!"
"Nobody, but my brother." A voice rang out from the other side of the table.
"Ahh, Captain Clyde, I didn't see you there. How is it that you can lose all these games with him and not be mad?" That same soldier blurted out.
"For one, he's my brother. Secondly, The luck that Roth carries is one that I've come to admire. That is exactly why I have him in my squad. Also, brothers like us should never separate."
Clyde shot a smile in Roth's direction. If it weren't for the scar Clyde had over his lip, He'd be considered Roth's twin. Charcoal hair, turquoise eyes. The even had a slight accent that could be heard in high society. But if they had the looks of a noble, then why were they fighting with all the commoners? That question, among others, are always asked about these two. Of course, those that ask the questions don't take the time to realize that the two are orphans
A chill crawled down the man's spine as those words surfaced in his mind, reminding him of his "luck." Is it really luck, or just dumb chance he's survived for so long? The years of hiding from his past and drinking his sorrows have truly taken a toll on Roth Alistair's image: the obsidian waves that made up his shoulder length hair has reduced to a drained ivory, his face beginning to reveal the cracks of time (at least the ones that weren't buried deep within the scars of battle). The only true symbol of his youth were his deep turquoise eyes, wide open and full of the energy he still defiantly carries. Those eyes quickly darted to his own garb, a set of chain mail armor that was cloaked in a suit consisting of red pants, a white shirt, and a red jacket. That relic was the only reminder of his past he preferred to carry, as it was the only honorable thing he wanted people knowing.
"The Royal Flush uniform..." He sighed softly, and walked over to don the uniform once more. It's strange to him, really. Every time he dons that old thing, those memories flood back to him, regardless of how much of a wall he's forged around his mind with alcohol. Those memories...
Instantly he found himself in a different scenery; a dimly lit bunker that reeked of sweat, blood, alcohol, and many other unmentionables. Instead of donned in the uniform of the Royal Flush, he was wearing a standard Aldrion soldier uniform, consisting of light mail armor, a standard iron helm, and a short sword with shield. Sitting at one of the multitudes of tables, Roth smiled a mischievous grin as he slammed his cards down on the table, causing a mixed series of reactions from the others who sat with him.
"There is no way!" Screamed one of the soldiers, beginning to suspect foul play. "Five ace three-of-a-kinds in a row!? Nobody's that lucky!"
"Nobody, but my brother." A voice rang out from the other side of the table.
"Ahh, Captain Clyde, I didn't see you there. How is it that you can lose all these games with him and not be mad?" That same soldier blurted out.
"For one, he's my brother. Secondly, The luck that Roth carries is one that I've come to admire. That is exactly why I have him in my squad. Also, brothers like us should never separate."
Clyde shot a smile in Roth's direction. If it weren't for the scar Clyde had over his lip, He'd be considered Roth's twin. Charcoal hair, turquoise eyes. The even had a slight accent that could be heard in high society. But if they had the looks of a noble, then why were they fighting with all the commoners? That question, among others, are always asked about these two. Of course, those that ask the questions don't take the time to realize that the two are orphans