Rothin - Part 1

Rothin struggled to endure the pain, walking in the direction that made it even more difficult to withstand. His legs ached, making it unbearable to walk. He fell forward and began to crawl, mostly dragging his legs, but occasionally using them in half-hearted attempts to quicken his pace.

He was well away from the road at this point, moving through grassy hills. He thought there must be a farm up ahead.

Suddenly, a man came over the hill ahead, running toward him. The man seemed torn. Obviously, wherever the man was going, it was urgent, but the man proved to be good-natured.

Stopping, the man spoke, “Are you okay?”

A stupid question.

“Obviously not,” Rothin spoke with hate.

“Can I help you?”

“I need to get over that hill. Leave me be.”

The man took a step away, then hesitated. With a barely audible sigh, he crouched down and offered his shoulder to help Rothin walk.

Rothin glared at the back of the man’s head, but accepted his help, putting an arm over the man’s back and stood as the man straightened to support his weight.

As soon as they were both standing, Rothin moved as quickly as possible, the pain increasing with not just each step, but with each movement. He put most of his weight on the good-natured man, and struggled ever more to go faster.

He pushed his helper away, and fell to his knees at the heavily injured child, who was groaning on the ground. The pain reached its peak. Rothin’s chest and legs felt the most pain, and so he knew to focus his efforts on those areas of the boy.

The man began to speak, “He was—“

Rothin interrupted forcefully, “Quiet.”

Placing his hands, palm down, on the boy’s chest, he surged energy into the injuries.

“Must’ve been kicked by a horse,” he muttered aloud to himself, “Then…his legs were trampled.”

“Yes! How did you know?” the man exclaimed.

Rothin ignored the question.

The injuries slowly healed, and as they did, Rothin’s pain faded. He sighed as his body no longer shuddered with each movement. He stood painlessly, and began to walk away.

“Thank you!” the man shouted, hugging his boy as the child stood, no longer injured, “Thank you!!!”

Rothin increased his pace. He didn’t want to hear it.

Making his way back to the trade road, he turned north. The road ahead was empty for what seemed like miles. He started walking a bit faster, and pulled out his map.

He tried to avoid cities whenever possible. The more people in an area, the more likely one of them would be injured, and he would always feel their pain. It had been that way for the last two years.

Rothin had acquired a magical bracer which allowed him to heal his wounds, as well as the wounds of others. Ever since he pulled it onto his arm, he had been unable to remove it, and thus unable to rid himself of the curse that came with it: At all times, if anyone nearby was in pain, he would feel that pain. The pain would not go away, even if he put distance between himself and the one in pain, and it was nearly impossible to ignore. It would not go away, that is, until he found the person and used the bracer’s powers to heal them.

He had never been a particularly nice person, and the bracer did nothing to change that, really. Just as many people exuded anger and fear at him as those who showed him thanks, and even those who thanked him only served to remind him that the pain would never really ever go away. Their pain would, but his would remain.

He picked out a path that would bring him to his destination with as few as possible visits to highly populated areas. Villages were usually fine, as long as he only stopped long enough to resupply himself, and maybe eat, but cities always seemed to present problems. A child would get scraped up while playing, or someone would fall from a ladder, or worse; someone might be attacked, or murdered. Murders were extremely inconvenient. The pain of death was no small thing. And it lingered.

But no man would dare raise the dead.

-End of Part 1-