11-22-2015, 11:53 AM
Years have passed, and no word from him. His mother, had gone insane, thinking him dead. She'd never known that he was immune to death. Hell, he hadn't either, and yet here he still was. Coming home, after all these years. Unknowing, and uncaring what had become of his had-been family. If they were all dead, it was simply less loose ends for him to tie up. It would suit him just fine. He was, after all, so used to being alone. So it was odd that he was coming back to his birthplace, after so many years of nothing but wandering, pillaging, and procreating. But one could only wander, pillage, and procreate for so long before the taste of it became stale and bitter.
He soon finds himself in a familiar, but strange, place. The field. It looked the same, but the faces here were different. The recruiters *cough* vultures *cough cough* were new. Yet the game was still the same. He continued through his old stomping grounds, rolling his eyes as hormone afflicted women preened, trying to catch his eye. He'd always hated Beqannan mares. Most didn't know what subservience was. Always too loud, too opinionated, and too damn dense to ever do anything for him. But don't tell them that. He ignores what he can, and gives a stoic nod to what he can't as he makes his way. There was a gnarled old apple tree at the top of a knoll he'd always loved, and he was on his way to see if it still stood. If not, he supposed he'd have to make new memories.
.
Gabbar
Immortality has its moments