Ymiden, 20, 716
Oscar stared down at the stone markers. Not even named. He’d had to carve their names into the markers a long time ago himself. Murderers and their confederates didn’t get good graves after all. That was reserved to good law abiding folk. The really classy graves were for the ones who happened to have been born from the right woman. The young man’s eyes narrowed as he stared down at the pair of graves before him on this relatively bright and sunny day. What a lovely day to spend at the graveyard. He wondered, once he left Andaris, would anyone care enough to visit them?
His Uncle had elected not to come. He never did. As Oscar understood, he and Oscar’s father never got along. His father had spurned magic and thus his brother. How ironic that his son ended up here, a Seeker. Life was funny like that he guessed. The young man made a habit of coming by here once a week. It wasn’t that he liked it; just that he felt he had to. After all, who else visited the graves of criminals? The thought made him wish his gravitation could tear asunder the whole of the Court and the whole lot of the nobility with it.
He didn’t have any flowers. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he’d have put down there anyway. Maybe just him being here was enough if there was indeed an afterlife. Oscar didn’t know if there was but if there was he hoped it was nice. He also hoped that his parents were at some measure of peace. In his heart he knew they weren’t murderers or criminals. He didn’t have a poor memory about them. Quite the opposite he had many happy memories. The young man crouched down and brushed some of the moss that had started to grow on his father’s grave.
“Probably never would have figured I’d take my life in this direction eh? Guess it runs in the family, father. To be fair, back in the day I wouldn’t have pegged myself for it either.” The Seeker mused.
He moved to his mother’s grave and frowned. It was his mother that had been accused of the murder. His father had simply been held as co-conspirator. He hadn’t been to their execution, his uncle had forbidden it. The Acolyte hoped it had been peaceful at the very least, or as painless as possible. His mother deserved that much. Perhaps one day he could afford better grave stones. He hoped so, these ones looked horribly garish.
“You, on the other hand mother, probably expected it. You knew I was always into the strangest things. I wonder if you’d be happy for me.” Oscar wondered aloud.
As with all his visits he talked mostly about nothing. The sorcerer wondered whether that brought his sanity into question. Honestly though he found that he didn’t really care to know the answer to that. Maybe he was crazy. Magic would do that to a person after all. It would always do that eventually according to Varus. What a perfectly fatalistic thing to say. Oscar smirked as he stood up to prepare to leave the graveyard.