Text in English


Junre assured to me that the merchant was living alone in the house, but the woman that appeared at the open door of the room was contradicting that. I cursed my own stupidity and my excess of confidence. I left the dead body of his lover and I pursued her, hiding my face again. I couldn't run the risk of her getting the guards, of course, but I wasn't so sure about her seeing my face in the frecuent lightnings, so she had to die. I was lucky and the sounds of the storm muffled her desperate cries. I was on time to put a foot impeding her to close the door and I stubled to the door, pushing the woman, who fell to the floor. Everything happened very fast. I remember the wind had opened the windows, flooding the room, clattering once and again, joining with their sound that of the storm. The curtains and the blankets of the bed were waving like mad standards, ghosts that lust for blood and messengers of death. She get up and tried to get to the bed but I grabbed her by her hair and with a quick move I slit her throat, the blood stream making an arc. The woman fell, making unhuman sounds between her spasms.

Then, when I was about to clean my dagger in her tunic, was when I spotted her. The girl, who wasn't more than six years old, was standing up nine feet away form the corpse, her face and her white tunic stained with her mother's blood. Junre was wrong... or had lied. The merchant was living in the mansion with his family. The poor child probably was looking for shelter in her parents' bedroom because of the storm... and she found death. The girl had her eyes open wide and was breathing quickly. She was petrified, grasping tightly some rag doll. She didn't make a sound. The euphorics and the drunkess that the Seal was providing me were vanished in that very instant, leaving in their place a huge and cold emptyness that threatened to devour me from the inside like a an infinite dizziness. I stepped back. I swear by my own life that in that very moment I saw my sister looking at me with sad eyes, accussing me, judging me. And then I understood everything. The price of power was my soul.

That was more than I can bear. Today I'm not sure of how I escaped form there. By the window probably. I only rememeber that I took refuge under a bridge and there, soaking to the bone and hugging myself, like a scared pest, I cried and mourned with the storm until my strenght left me, because I had become that I had ever hated.

I had become my father.



Texto en español



Junre me había asegurado que el mercader vivía solo en la casa, pero la mujer que acababa de asomarse por la puerta abierta del dormitorio contradecía esa afirmación. Me maldije a mí mismo por mi estupidez y mi exceso de confianza. Dejé caer el cuerpo muerto de su amante y me lancé en pos de ella, volviendo a cubrir mi rostro. No podía correr el riesgo de que avisara a toda la guarnición, desde luego, pero tampoco estaba seguro de que no me hubiese visto la cara en uno de los frecuentes relámpagos, por lo que debía morir. Por fortuna para mí, el estruendo de la tormenta había amortiguado sus chillidos desesperados. Llegué a tiempo de interponer un pie para impedir que se encerrara en la habitación, y me arrojé contra la puerta, arrollando a la mujer, que cayó al suelo. Todo sucedió muy deprisa. Recuerdo que el viento había abierto las contraventanas, inundando la habitación, haciendo que golpeasen una y otra vez, uniendo sus voces a la cacofonía de la tempestad. Las cortinas y el dosel de la cama ondeaban como estandartes desquiciados, fantasmas ávidos de sangre que anunciaban la muerte. Ella se incorporó e intentó avanzar hasta la cama, pero la agarré por el pelo haciendo que se girase hacia mí, y con un rápido movimiento le corté la garganta de un tajo, haciendo que un chorro de sangre saliese proyectado en un amplio arco. La mujer se desplomó, emitiendo unos gorgoteos inhumanos entre espasmos crispados.

Entonces, cuando me disponía a limpiar la daga en su túnica, fue cuando la vi. La niña, que no tendría más de seis años, estaba de pie, a unos tres metros del cadáver, manchados su rostro y su blanco camisón con la sangre de su madre. Junre se había equivocado… o me había mentido. El mercader se alojaba en la mansión con su familia. La pobre niña seguramente había buscado cobijo en el dormitorio de sus padres debido a la tormenta… y había encontrado muerte. La chiquilla tenía los ojos muy abiertos y respiraba muy deprisa. Estaba petrificada, agarrando con fuerza un muñeco de trapo. No emitió ni un solo sonido. La euforia y la embriaguez que me proporcionaba la Marca se desvanecieron al instante, dejando en su lugar un inmenso y gélido vacío de horror que amenazaba con devorarme desde dentro como un vértigo infinito. Di un paso atrás. Hubiese jurado por mi vida que en ese momento vi a mi hermana mirándome con sus ojos tristes, acusándome, juzgándome. Entonces lo entendí todo. El precio del poder era mi alma.

Era más de lo que podía soportar. Aún no sé muy bien cómo escapé de allí. Por la ventana, probablemente. Sólo recuerdo que me refugié bajo un puente, y allí, empapado y hecho un ovillo, como una alimaña asustada, grité y lloré con la tormenta hasta quedarme sin fuerzas, porque me había convertido en aquello que más odiaba.

Me había convertido en mi padre.




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Sketch in pencil. Colour in Open Canvas, WACOM graphire 3 You know, the usual I have been doing more contrast shading on this later drawings Based on a text that my boyfriend wrote for his RPG campaing, translation into English by me (not very accurate but...) Dreiden (the ex-assassin, who is talking) and Calotte (the scared girl). I'm not very satisfied with her face though... She doesn't talk since this scene... she didn't see his face, so she is not scared of him while he was taking care of her, because she doesn't know... Quite a long story this one... Shaliara, my cleric has something to say about all this (the story is being told to her by Dreiden, that's why the text is in first person view).
Hope you like!