Eoin has has his more than fair share of trauma in his life, though that's not to say that there weren't good times as well. Sure he was born a city elf, struggling with the other elves in the alienage of Denerim. Sure he'd fled home when he was like ten once his magic showed to try and avoid going to the Circle, sure the Dalish had refused to take him in, but ultimately he found a good Ferelden family that was willing to take him in and care for him and help him hide his magic.
Moira.
The daughter of the people that took him in and who had basically been the light of his childhood. Why they'd never gotten together back then, was hard to say, but his luck ran out at twenty-three when he was caught by Templars. He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, but at least they'd let him write. After that things went down hill, life at Kinloch wasn't easy and he'd grown to be very suspicious of the harrowings. He started smuggling the young children out of the Circle, with the hopes to avoid the harrowing for them. Eventually he got caught and to the prisons he went.
Unspeakable.
He didn't like talking about his time in the prisons, the scars he bore, the abuse he suffered. After the Circles fell and he'd been released, he'd opted to leave Ferelden and stayed away for quite a few years. Something called him home though, maybe it was just time, a longing that slowly surfaced, whatever it was there was only one place he wanted to go first, Moira's farm. It looked almost like he'd remembered it, though somehow it seemed smaller. He wasn't even sure if Moira was alive, let alone if she'd still be at this farm.
Hope.
He walked along the crops and headed towards the house, pausing. He suddenly felt like his feet were giant weights that he couldn't physically move. He was scared, scared she'd be there, scared she'd be disappointed in the man he'd become, then again he was also scared she wouldn't be there.
Moira.
The daughter of the people that took him in and who had basically been the light of his childhood. Why they'd never gotten together back then, was hard to say, but his luck ran out at twenty-three when he was caught by Templars. He hadn't had a chance to say goodbye, but at least they'd let him write. After that things went down hill, life at Kinloch wasn't easy and he'd grown to be very suspicious of the harrowings. He started smuggling the young children out of the Circle, with the hopes to avoid the harrowing for them. Eventually he got caught and to the prisons he went.
Unspeakable.
He didn't like talking about his time in the prisons, the scars he bore, the abuse he suffered. After the Circles fell and he'd been released, he'd opted to leave Ferelden and stayed away for quite a few years. Something called him home though, maybe it was just time, a longing that slowly surfaced, whatever it was there was only one place he wanted to go first, Moira's farm. It looked almost like he'd remembered it, though somehow it seemed smaller. He wasn't even sure if Moira was alive, let alone if she'd still be at this farm.
Hope.
He walked along the crops and headed towards the house, pausing. He suddenly felt like his feet were giant weights that he couldn't physically move. He was scared, scared she'd be there, scared she'd be disappointed in the man he'd become, then again he was also scared she wouldn't be there.
09-20-2022, 06:43 AM
