The Messenger Part 1

With a groggy heaviness Rodrick opens his eyes to the sight of a brown stained ceiling. For a moment he felt the clear calm of the ignorance to a life he's lived. And so he takes his first breath as though a child taking their first steps towards their parents. Parents- the thought engorged in his 16 year old mind, as his breathing became harder and faster, as though running towards his parents. He leaps up, not to his feet, but lifts his torso high enough to have a perfect view of whatever is in front of him.

Strange men scattered all over the floor, each with a varying build, most stripped down to their stained undergarments; others were fully clothed. All reeked with poverty and anger. Rodrick surveyed his surroundings while his mind seemed to finally catch up with his panicking body. The thought of his parents quickly became overshadowed by a sudden sense of desire to get his letters and royal hat. He was sitting on the floor between two unconscious men, and with the thought of getting up to find his belongings, came a sudden sting of pain in his right knee.

"No matter the cost," he whispered to himself, without knowing what exactly he had to do, no matter the cost. Despite him not knowing, he lifted himself up from the ground, using the men beside him to elevate himself easier. Once he finally rose to his feet, he carefully (while limping), tiptoed past all the bodies that he could now see better. All of them were riddled with bruises, cuts, and some had holes in their body. The scene was far too grotesque for Rodrick, he tried his best to look away from them.

He was barefoot and he stepped on blood, water, some type of alcoholic drink, possibly urine, and finally somebody's feces. However it was after he stepped on the feces that he managed to find his hat being worn by a naked sleeping man. His worn-down brown leather bag full of letters was beside him as well. His heart still raced while the naked man snored so loudly it could shake the very foundation of the terrible building they were placed in.

So he took a sharp inhale, exhaled, then held his nose as he reached with his right hand to grab his hat from the man's head. The way he was positioned from the start, he had to lean onto his injured leg just to make sure he didn't wake anyone from the creaking of the poor floorboards that could have rose from the shifting of his body. His hand trembled, and his leg shook as he reached for his hat. The farther he reached the more he groaned and grimaced at the pain.

So much so that at the moment he could finally grab his hat, he closed his eyes, and shouted, "Ah!" He missed his hat while he closed his eyes, and as he opened them, he could see the man shuffling in place. Swiping away at Rodrick's hand that seemingly tickled the man.

"Stoooop," the man said in a playful manner.

Rodrick pulled his hand back quickly, he froze while still leaning on his leg, he could feel the sharp pangs of pain striking his body like Brutus did Julius. If his body had betrayed him at that moment, he would surely be the mouse in the trap, and to cut off his own tail, he simply could not imagine. The pain numbed as the thought crossed his mind. He waited for the man to shift his body and seemingly fall back asleep.

Once he saw him settle back down, he reached for his hat and placed it upon his head. With it on his head he felt a sudden surge of energy, as he remembered his own name, he shifted his body once more and grabbed his bag, he slung it over his shoulder, then looked around. Nobody woke up from his pained scream. So, while still limping, he rushed towards the exit of the building. A door, only a few meters away from where he began running, was his only exit. Each creak of the floorboards seemed to send waves of sound that rippled through the air and shook the sleeping men awake. The closer Rodrick got to the exit the more prominent cries and groans from men became.

"Hey, someone stop that kid!" A man with a rough voice exclaimed before becoming meek as he yelled, "Ah shit he woke up the mage!"

Almost instantly, all the men got up, then clumsily clambered their way towards the exit. Rodrick was in the lead from them all, as he managed to get out before any man inside could actually get their balance together, he heard the screeching similar to that of a child with the undertones of a grown man. The screech flowed as though a man was lifting a child upward, then right when the child was beginning to pierce everyone's ear drums to the point of bleeding, the man finally throws them up, and at the peak of the child's flight through the air a whistle was heard.

Boom!

Rodrick's eyes sharpened as he left the bar, and looked at the desolated road before him. The building was a bar on a hill, and down the hill was a dock. He turned his head toward it and marched down. As he marched he slowly picked up the pace of his limping while his spirits were lifted as the wretched scent of the bar was consumed by the smell of the fresh ocean.

Almost like magic, however, one of the men slipped through the doors, and narrowly escaped the explosion that left the bar and men inside in ruins.

"You bastard," the man yelled, pointing at Rodrick, slurring his words and spitting. "You caused this! All because of that stupid letter!"

Rodrick continued to move, only moving his head and torso toward the man. "Apologies sir," he screamed back, "Any unhappiness with the delivery service is to be directed to my family's inbox. Complaints, frustrations, and accidental deaths will be swiftly responded to within 7 business days. Thank you for your time!" Rodrick turned back and continued moving to the docks.

Once he reached there he was greeted by an older man, at least fifty years of age, who wore shorts, a tunic and a sailor's hat. " 'Ello there friend! What were his response to my letter?"

"Ah, friend! Hello, he didn't take it that well I'm afraid."

"Pity," he said leaning in, "He was never gonna get her anyway."

They both laughed before getting interrupted by a thunder strike in the distance. They both looked out to the ocean and saw a dark storm cloud hover over the horizon. " 'Tis a mad thing I say," the sailor said.

"What is," responded Rodrick.

"You couldn't get on any other boat to Alfheim? Not tomorrow? I welcome you into my house, friend. You may sleep a night and rest, have you taken a look at yourself. What exactly is in those letters you must deliver! Who is it to?"

"It is against company policy to disclose the content of letters. I'm delivering to Prince Richmond Bela and I must deliver this letter by the end of the day, else I face the Neziahthan wrath of my father." Rodrick held a stare against the sailor, his lip whimpering, his head trembling, his neck as stiff as a board, his body a horror that unfortunately many in this world see.

The sailor shed a tear as he looked upon Rodrick. He was completely covered in bruises, his feet were bleeding and naked, his neck had an imprint of a hand so deep that it appeared that he was cursed, his body dripped blood every couple seconds like a water tap running out of a well's graceful offerings, his eyes blinked asynchronously, his posture was slouched and he was barely keeping himself up, not to mention his right leg's knee seemed to be dislocated to some degree. "Why, what made you do this? At most answer that," the sailor said as he started preparing the boat.

How did it become like this? Rodrick thought as he looked through his whole life.