The tree had seen it all. Harsh winters of starvation, to hot, arid summers, to exuviating autumns. No matter what it faced, every spring it was given life anew. It was the origin point, the center from which all others of the forest came. It was Quince T. Hawthorne's favorite spot. He had sat under the tree since before the war, and as he sat now years after. The light shined through the branches as perfect as it always did, no matter the angle. He could feel the wood press into the cloth at his back, and realized it had been years since he found the sensation uncomfortable. Humans really could grow used to anything. Though slim-framed, Hawthorne was not overly muscled. He could maybe hold his own in a fight, but he didn't have the training or the muscle to back up the thought. He felt more like the description of someone plain; even down to his clothes. The cloth tunic wasn't overly ornate, but it fit rather comfortably. It was a dark brown slim cut shirt with a small green clover growing from just above his navel up to his sternum. Not elegant, but it fit. His trousers matched the dark brown, but had none of the green, an ended in light brown, worn-in boots.
Dark aurburn hair stood in short jagged spikes about his head, but was obscured under the dark green cloak he wore about him. It gave him a sense of safety to be able to hide his face at any moment, but the main reason he wore it was to conceal the sword that hung awkwardly at his left hip. It had never seen battle, and if Quince had his way, it never would. He was a thinker, not a brawler. Ideas and thoughts were more his battlefield. And he was already deep in conflict.
The dark brown irises that filtered the world for him were now angled and focused. Staring past as much as staring at. The thing they fixed their sight on was the future. Or he hoped. Right now it was just a single tiny seed. No larger than the nail on his pinky. It was dark brown, slightly jagged, but every bit what he needed. And he'd figure it out. He had to, even to the point of feeling like he was the only one that could. What a joke.
Sometimes, when he'd stare at that seed, he'd feel like he was on the edge of breaking through to a world-changing idea. Other times he felt like it was barely worth the effort to carry it around. But no matter how many morning's he woke and held it in his hands with that very question on his mind; Will today be the day? Or should I give up now? He always pocketed it and found himself in the same situation he was now. In the forbidden forest, surrounded by nature, staring at this tiny hope for life.
War had found Nippon in the worst way a measly ten years past, and everyone still felt the effects. Fathers never returned, brothers came home scarred and traumatized. The Rangers came out of nowhere. A police force that worked in tandem with these 'mindless' beasts. Every day it was becoming more and more the norm, and the common populace had long since began to see these monsters as nothing but mindless, nothing but blank slates to be used. Slaves. Slaves with special powers.
But here in the forest, a different truth sang, and despite it being off limits, Hawthorne found himself coming here more times a day than ever before. Though they were wary at first, and it had taken many years to build their trust, he had learned that these...beasts weren't monsters at all. They were just scared, and backed into a corner. And even the smallest creature was dangerous with those conditions. To be in a position like that, with our armies advancing on them, can we really blame them for retaliating?
A small four legged creature sat in his lap, and stirred as he shifted his weight, only glancing up at him long enough to see that he wasn't actually trying to stand before returning to its nap, a small grumble escaped from its jaws before they extended into a full yawn. He ran a hand through it's light shaggy fur, being mindful to avoid the small sensitive scar on its back leg. "I should be getting back soon." He scratched behind one of it's darker brown ears, before resting a hand on its head. "They'll be waiting for me. I could be gone a long time." His voice was a light whisper, but grew in volume as he stood. The creature seemed to dance down his leg with grace that could only come from practice.
The village of Krumple wasn't anything special, it wasn't large, and had no real attraction. It was peaceful though, and did well commercially since it was so near the road to the capital. There was a ranger base in the capital, but more importantly there was a research center, and supposedly it was there that the secret behind the Ranger's mindless beasts was kept. He would need to go no matter what. Luckily he wouldn't be going alone.
He walked confidently to the pond in the middle of the town, their would-be meeting spot. He'd be early, but not overly. There was a good chance he could be the last to arrive entirely. He would be prepared for the journey at least. He had some small ingredients packed in his bag so he could cook along the way, and not much else he wasn't sure what he'd even need for the trip anyway. Everything else he had held memories, sure, but they'd be a hassle. So he strode through the town with his bag slung over his shoulders, and his bedroll strung up to the top of it, and seed in his pocket. The blade hung awkwardly at his hip, every step it would bounce out and slap his calf, which promised to be irritated through the entire trip. He wasn't even overly certain he'd be able to even use it. With any luck there'd at least be a Ranger assigned to the groups travel. Even with their mindless slaves, the roads being safe meant more than a bit of discomfort at something he couldn't fix. It was just the way things had been since the war.
Dark aurburn hair stood in short jagged spikes about his head, but was obscured under the dark green cloak he wore about him. It gave him a sense of safety to be able to hide his face at any moment, but the main reason he wore it was to conceal the sword that hung awkwardly at his left hip. It had never seen battle, and if Quince had his way, it never would. He was a thinker, not a brawler. Ideas and thoughts were more his battlefield. And he was already deep in conflict.
The dark brown irises that filtered the world for him were now angled and focused. Staring past as much as staring at. The thing they fixed their sight on was the future. Or he hoped. Right now it was just a single tiny seed. No larger than the nail on his pinky. It was dark brown, slightly jagged, but every bit what he needed. And he'd figure it out. He had to, even to the point of feeling like he was the only one that could. What a joke.
Sometimes, when he'd stare at that seed, he'd feel like he was on the edge of breaking through to a world-changing idea. Other times he felt like it was barely worth the effort to carry it around. But no matter how many morning's he woke and held it in his hands with that very question on his mind; Will today be the day? Or should I give up now? He always pocketed it and found himself in the same situation he was now. In the forbidden forest, surrounded by nature, staring at this tiny hope for life.
War had found Nippon in the worst way a measly ten years past, and everyone still felt the effects. Fathers never returned, brothers came home scarred and traumatized. The Rangers came out of nowhere. A police force that worked in tandem with these 'mindless' beasts. Every day it was becoming more and more the norm, and the common populace had long since began to see these monsters as nothing but mindless, nothing but blank slates to be used. Slaves. Slaves with special powers.
But here in the forest, a different truth sang, and despite it being off limits, Hawthorne found himself coming here more times a day than ever before. Though they were wary at first, and it had taken many years to build their trust, he had learned that these...beasts weren't monsters at all. They were just scared, and backed into a corner. And even the smallest creature was dangerous with those conditions. To be in a position like that, with our armies advancing on them, can we really blame them for retaliating?
A small four legged creature sat in his lap, and stirred as he shifted his weight, only glancing up at him long enough to see that he wasn't actually trying to stand before returning to its nap, a small grumble escaped from its jaws before they extended into a full yawn. He ran a hand through it's light shaggy fur, being mindful to avoid the small sensitive scar on its back leg. "I should be getting back soon." He scratched behind one of it's darker brown ears, before resting a hand on its head. "They'll be waiting for me. I could be gone a long time." His voice was a light whisper, but grew in volume as he stood. The creature seemed to dance down his leg with grace that could only come from practice.
The village of Krumple wasn't anything special, it wasn't large, and had no real attraction. It was peaceful though, and did well commercially since it was so near the road to the capital. There was a ranger base in the capital, but more importantly there was a research center, and supposedly it was there that the secret behind the Ranger's mindless beasts was kept. He would need to go no matter what. Luckily he wouldn't be going alone.
He walked confidently to the pond in the middle of the town, their would-be meeting spot. He'd be early, but not overly. There was a good chance he could be the last to arrive entirely. He would be prepared for the journey at least. He had some small ingredients packed in his bag so he could cook along the way, and not much else he wasn't sure what he'd even need for the trip anyway. Everything else he had held memories, sure, but they'd be a hassle. So he strode through the town with his bag slung over his shoulders, and his bedroll strung up to the top of it, and seed in his pocket. The blade hung awkwardly at his hip, every step it would bounce out and slap his calf, which promised to be irritated through the entire trip. He wasn't even overly certain he'd be able to even use it. With any luck there'd at least be a Ranger assigned to the groups travel. Even with their mindless slaves, the roads being safe meant more than a bit of discomfort at something he couldn't fix. It was just the way things had been since the war.
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