Tatter
09-14-2015, 06:57 PM
Tatter knows that he has a plethora of grandchildren; gods above, it makes the dead man feel old. There had been a few before he died—Gendry and Kyran and Araby—but over the years more and more have appeared. Several of them had been rulers—Oxytocin of the Valley and Straia, who still holds the Chamber’s throne with an iron fist. He knows his lines will live on through them and the others, but it makes him feel ancient. Don’t even get him started on great-grandchildren. There are plenty of them as well. He has always had a soft spot for children, but good lord they know how to reproduce.
He still remembers the day Karson was born; Frost had been grumpy for weeks leading up to her birth, though she had been as excited as him for their first child’s birth. The little pinto girl hadn’t been his first, but she had been the one that mattered. The woman in the slave pens never mattered, and even in death she still does not matter to him. He had punished her for killing his twin brother; it was a loss he had never gotten over. Even in the afterlife, he has not been able to see him again. Perhaps he had been too wretched in life to deserve a good afterlife. Maybe his twin’s soul had been too destroyed to make t all of the way here. Maybe he’s trapped in limbo somewhere.
The death of his twin has haunted him since the day he was murdered, nearly four decades ago. How could anyone be so cruel to a child?
No pain is comparable to that, not even when Felidae had cut him open and bled him nearly dry.
He would bear that pain tenfold rather than deal with losing his brother again.
He knows all of Nocturnal’s children, even if he never got to interact with any of them. Even little Noctem, who never got a chance to live, holds a portion of the old man’s heart. The others he does not know—he can hardly remember their names or their faces—but they are still precious to him as well, just in a smaller way. Nocturnal and her children will always be the most precious, diamonds in a sea of sapphires and rubies. You aren’t supposed to have favorites as a father, but he cannot help it. He is so proud of Nocturnal.
He is not alone for long, today; suddenly there is a yearling bounding around him, one who is very much alive and very bubbly. He cannot help but smile as Strange gushes excitedly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, little Strangelet,” he says, taking in the girl who should, physically, be much older than a yearling. Gods, she looks so much like Nocturnal that it takes his breath away. There is a fair bit of her other mother there, too—Quark—but all Tatter can see are the similarities to his late daughter. “I love your mother very much, sweetheart. You should tell her to come see me sometime.”
He knows about her ability and though he was never found of traits, he is curious about her. “Tell me about you, Strangelet. I know that you know a lot about me, but I know almost nothing about you.”
He still remembers the day Karson was born; Frost had been grumpy for weeks leading up to her birth, though she had been as excited as him for their first child’s birth. The little pinto girl hadn’t been his first, but she had been the one that mattered. The woman in the slave pens never mattered, and even in death she still does not matter to him. He had punished her for killing his twin brother; it was a loss he had never gotten over. Even in the afterlife, he has not been able to see him again. Perhaps he had been too wretched in life to deserve a good afterlife. Maybe his twin’s soul had been too destroyed to make t all of the way here. Maybe he’s trapped in limbo somewhere.
The death of his twin has haunted him since the day he was murdered, nearly four decades ago. How could anyone be so cruel to a child?
No pain is comparable to that, not even when Felidae had cut him open and bled him nearly dry.
He would bear that pain tenfold rather than deal with losing his brother again.
He knows all of Nocturnal’s children, even if he never got to interact with any of them. Even little Noctem, who never got a chance to live, holds a portion of the old man’s heart. The others he does not know—he can hardly remember their names or their faces—but they are still precious to him as well, just in a smaller way. Nocturnal and her children will always be the most precious, diamonds in a sea of sapphires and rubies. You aren’t supposed to have favorites as a father, but he cannot help it. He is so proud of Nocturnal.
He is not alone for long, today; suddenly there is a yearling bounding around him, one who is very much alive and very bubbly. He cannot help but smile as Strange gushes excitedly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, little Strangelet,” he says, taking in the girl who should, physically, be much older than a yearling. Gods, she looks so much like Nocturnal that it takes his breath away. There is a fair bit of her other mother there, too—Quark—but all Tatter can see are the similarities to his late daughter. “I love your mother very much, sweetheart. You should tell her to come see me sometime.”
He knows about her ability and though he was never found of traits, he is curious about her. “Tell me about you, Strangelet. I know that you know a lot about me, but I know almost nothing about you.”