So... I don't know if I like this one. But it was very helpful in getting to know my brand new character, Garrett the Unmarked, so I thought I would share.
I looked up the line. It stretched forth, all the way to the doors of the temple, where it disappeared. I was second to last in the line, with a kid from the outer farms being the only one behind me. There were about twenty of us total, although it seemed like more, as every youth had an entourage of family and friends surrounding them. Well, most every youth.
I was alone, but that didn't bother me too much. The people of Greenedge, the small farming community that I had grown up in, did their best to forget that I existed; just as my family had done when they left me here.
I could remember the night when it had happened, twelve years ago. My family had been returning home from a meeting of my father's that had taken place in Camarid. It was late in the evening, and I had fallen asleep to the gentle rocking of the coach in which we rode. At some point, I was woken by my father's large, scarred hand on my shoulder. Bleary eyed, I looked up and he quietly growled for me to get out of the coach. As I got out, I turned to look at my older brother and sister, still asleep in the carriage. My father, a hard man, roughly grabbed my shoulder and turned me away from my siblings, steering me towards a signpost. It was then that I noticed my surroundings. The full moon lit up a small village that stood in the foothills of a rocky mountain range. I stood at the far edge of this village, next to the one large road that led into it. As my father and I reached the sign, I could read that the name of the town was Greenedge. I had never heard of my soon-to-be home before. My father, taking advantage of my sleepy state, quickly and roughly grabbed my arms and wrapped them around the wooden post, using some rough twine to fasten them in place. At this harsh and unexpected movement, I began to cry. My father knelt down in front of me, grabbed my face and turned it so that I had to look directly at him.
"I do this for the good of our family," he spat. "With you, we were looked down on. They called us cursed and devil-callers. But I will not have my name blighted because of a son I never wished to have. If I had my way, you would have been dead before you uttered your first whimpering cry, but your mother wouldn't let you die, nor will she still. And as such, I leave you here to make a life of your own. But know this: if I ever so much as here your name mentioned again, I will not hesitate to find you and kill you."
With that, my father had left me, alone in the night, in a town I would never be welcomed into, a town I could never call home. I had sobbed as the coach disappeared onto a distant road, calling my siblings' names, but soon I had stopped, knowing my cried would not be answered. It had not taken long before I had distanced myself from those emotions, vowing to myself never to cry again.
"Hey, Curseborn! What do you think you're doing here?" It was the voice of Tumat, the stable master, that snapped me out of my memories. "Do you really need a mark from the Creator? If you ask me, I think he already gave you one."
I turn to look at Tumat, raising my hand to touch the place where an eye should be. Instead of an eye, my hand meets scar tissue: the scar tissue that covers most of the left side of my face.
The line to the temple had finally almost disappeared, but I wished that it would have moved faster. I wasn't sure I could handle the tormenting today. Today was the day of Feldmark. The day when each seventeen-year-old in the village would be taken before the Tagunatus shrine to receive a mark from Apollinoth, the Creator, revealing to them the nature of their lineage. Only the Heathen, those who deny the Creator, live their lives without a knowledge of their spiritual ancestry.
"Garrett, I am talking to you," Tumat hissed as he stepped closer to me, "and I expect you to answer my question. Why are you here?"
I straighten my back and look Tumat in the eye. "I am here to receive my Feldmark. To find out which line my spirit is descended from."
"You already have your mark, Curseborn, right there on your blighting face. And that mark tells you exactly where your spirit comes from - The Black Pit! Your spirit is not descended from some noble line, no. If you ask me, I say your spirit isn't a spirit at all."
I take a step closer, so my face is now inches away from Tumat's, and spit on his shoes. "What are you saying, Tumat?"
Tumat reaches out and grabs the front of my shirt. "I'm saying that you are a blighting shadow, boy. I'm saying that your face is proof of it. Proof that you shouldn't even exist!"
With that, Tumat shoves me away, so that I stumble back and land on the ground. He then chuckles and struts away. I stand back up quickly, preparing to go after him, when the farm boy behind me in line grabs my arm.
"He's not worth it," the boy, says, "anyway, it's your turn."
I rip my arm out of the kid's grasp, glaring at him. But despite my resentment at being stopped, I know he is right. Tumat isn't worth it, and I can prove him wrong faster by entering the temple rather than fighting.
I turn, looking at the symbol of the Creator, a large winged sword, that is etched over the entry and step into the building.
By the way... the picture is of Garrett a few years later, when he is bearded, but the scar is pretty much the same.
