The Chateau Franz was once a marvelous house set near the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean, it had been a place where the Franz family had carved out its' life for itself, and had created a place of warmth for a single foster child.
Steiner Franz had been that one foster child, that one lucky child who had found peace with a loving family after years of abuse, and had loved every second of it. He had gone down to the coast and fished, he had read books in the large library that his foster father had, and had sat under the large tree placed near the cliff while watching the ships sail by at night underneath a blanket of stars. They were warm memories for him, memories of home usually were, and in this situation all of the pain of his former living arrangement with his blood relative evaporated replaced by a sense of nostalgia.
Cyrus would find none of these things here.
A broken down home, almost completely abandoned, save for a few wild animals that would peek their heads out from the burnt down lumber would be the first thing that would grace his eyes upon arrival. The house looked to be have been immolated not too long ago, as the smell of burnt wood saturated the air even over the breeze which blew over what had once been the front yard of this home, and out to the ocean in the distance. Whatever life that had been carved into this home was now all, but extinguished, but it had not come without a price.
A pile of demon bodies, close to five corpses, had been simply discarded, and piled with little thought to who they were as people or what rank they were. Their bodies were desecrated, sliced open, and skewered with malice by the look of things. The murder weapon, a sword with a great deal of wear and tear, was plunged into the skull of one of those corpses. Every once in a while the wind would shake the sword, causing the head of the demon who had been impaled with it to shake its head, as if it were still alive, and saying no to an unknown question.
Further away from the pile of desecrated demon corpses stood a tall tree, splattered with dry blood, and with several long gashes through it. Trails of blood through dead grass, upon further inspection, would lead back to the pile of corpses as if the bodies had been dragged from the tree and brought to the pile. The tree, large, and gnarled with old age was quite clearly dying and beside it were three mounds of dirt with makeshift crosses planted above them. The crosses were made with tenderness and care, carved by a knife, and perfectly formed as if done by an artisan who cared deeply for the process of making those crosses.
A page turned in a book as the lone man in this particular area, turned a page in a book full of photographs, and in silent appreciation seemed to stare longingly at the pages. Perhaps hoping for a time that had long since passed? Or for the pain to just go away? The man, whose white clothes were stained pink, said nothing as Cyrus posed his question, and instead would begin to speak to Cyrus as if the question had never been posed in the first place.
"My mother and I used to sit under this tree late at night underneath a sky full of bright stars. She would read me stories from a big book in the library in the house...I always had problems going to sleep, the pain of what my blood relatives had did to me always caused me to have horrible nightmares, you see? But whenever my mother would take me out here...underneath the stars and looking out over the ocean, with her loving and tender voice telling me a story of some knight fighting to save a princes from a dragon...that pain would just fade away. The nightmares would just disappear...and I could sleep soundly.
Another page turned, more memories, and more pain filled the man's mind as he grunted with effort. The weight of the horror weighing on his mind.
"I always wanted to come back here...but I always put it off. Too busy trying to save everyone else, too busy looking for ways to get stronger, but they never complained. My grandfather was a war hero and out of all of them...he understood and covered for me when I didn't make it home for the holidays to eat Mom's famous pumpkin pie or to hear dad's stories from when he was a kid. He would always say...'You are fighting the good fight, Steiner. Don't worry, I'm sure they will understand.' And you know what...they did. Not once did they complain or feel like I neglected them, they were kind like that, and always backed me up one hundred percent.
Steiner closed the book, covered in demon blood, and glancing over at the graves next to him as a solemn wind shook the dead branches of the tree.
"I met a guy not too long ago that told me that the people with power...those who are way stronger than us common folk have a choice to do nothing it they want to. That it is their right and that they didn't owe a thing to anyone, but the way I see it is if you have the power to do something and you don't? That makes you just as bad as the people putting bodies into graves!
Steiner, who had been sitting under the tree, and walked over to Cyrus, the book would remain under the tree as he closed the distance between the two. He was hobble a bit, clearly injured from his confrontations with his family's murderers, but none the less was still capable of moving. Still capable of fighting if the need be.
"Yeah, I'm Steiner Franz...and if you have something to say to me, make it quick. The longer I stay here...the more pain I feel.
He said as he extended his hand covered in demon blood to Cyrus to shake.
Coding Altered From: [THEFROST]'s