"Fate," Corvus spat, a sickening scowl beginning to spread across his face. "Fate is never fair." He let out a slow breath, unknowingly having his fingers trace the line of his scar upon his neck as his eyes looked out at the sea. The tip of his boots touched the edge of the cliff, the wind tousling his hair.
"You are caught in a current much stronger than you are," he continued, his voice hoarse. His eyes continued to flick across the water, a longing gaze coating that of agony and despair. "If you struggle against it, you'll drown not just yourself, but those who try to save you."
Loose rock and soil shifted beneath his feet, giving way to gravity. They fell to the calm ocean below, forever to be lost in the depths of the sea. Corvus watched the scene play out before him, lost in wonder. If he were able to take that one last step towards sea, he too, could be lost. What awaited him on the other side was unknown, which thrilled him all the more.
Images of Vanessa flashed through his head, causing his temples to throb with a dull pain. The aching sensation from his burns arose once more, the memory of unbearable warmth coating chest and ribs. He rolled his tongue in annoyance, allowing a steamed breath to be exhaled out his nose. He looked up towards the sky, and back down to the ocean once more. "Swim with it," he softly breathed, "and you'll survive."
"Corvus?"
You, he thought to himself, not bothering to turn his attention to the voice of the approaching farmer.
"What are you doing all the way out here, son? You should be back inside the ranch house. Your wounds have yet to completely heal," the farmer began, the sound of the deadened grass crunching beneath the soles of his worn leather boots rising into the air. Corvus blinked, allowing the crisp air to fill his lungs painfully.
"I sought to be outdoors," he rasped, clear signs that the injury upon his neck was getting to him. The farmer came up behind the rogue, placing a hand upon his shoulder. It took all of Corvus's control to remain idle under his palm, and not snap the man's arm off right where he stood. His skin prickled as he ground his teeth in annoyance—being touched was the last thing he wanted.
"I know, lad. But you won't heal if you don't rest," replied the farmer.
Corvus shifted his footing, taking the opportunity to slip out from underneath the farmer's resting hand. "I'll take my chances," he gruffly said. There was an unsettling pause from the farmer before he chose to speak again.
"You took your chances once already, and look where it got you," he murmured quietly. With that, he turned on his heel and left Corvus alone upon the Cliffside, leaving him a victim to his own thoughts. Corvus gnashed his teeth together a couple of times as verses and voices broiled painfully within his rising headache. It was true what the old man had said; though he did not know exactly how the older man ended up in the Deadmines, it was the farmer who had found him in his half-dead state. And from what he gathered from the farmer's words, both he and Corvus knew that the rogue was the cause of his own wounds.
Another soft sigh escaped his lips as the wind grew into a bitter cold. Did I really have a choice in the matter, though? He thought to himself. After all, it was his own decision to go into the Deadmines to seek a final end to the game he and Vanessa had been playing ever since his withdrawal from the Brotherhood. Many times within the night he would be paid a quiet visit from a shadowy form wielding a pneumatic crossbow, often which he was left to deal with in the end.
It didn't have to end the way it did. A sharp pain seared through his left temple. Yes, he unwillingly thought. It did have to end this way. There were no other options; I didn't want to live out my life waiting for the blade that will cut my thread.
He raised his right arm then, his eyes tracing the crevices within his opened palm. The lines abruptly halted, his complexion taking on a darker tone from the ink forced into the dermis layer of skin. There— residing upon the meat beneath his thumb—was The Brotherhood's cogwheel. Its blackened state filled him with sickening pride. The machine will not run smoothly if the parts go renegade, he quietly thought to himself. He recited such a phrase numerous times to each waylaid traveler he crossed paths with. It was a symbolic icon within the Brotherhood; it represented how the engineer Edwin VanCleef—the very man who took Corvus under his own wing to train—rallied together the exiled workers of Stormwind to serve for a greater cause.
Corvus felt his lips curve upward in a dark smile. Oh, and what a glorious cause it was, he hungrily thought. He was not ashamed to admit he took pride in his kills, or the fact that he found joy form within his heart as he splattered himself with the savory red ichor of life. To him, his deeds were a form of revenge on the leaders of the great city, Stormwind. It was their hierarchy that forced his family, upon many others, to live in the pitiful town of Darkshire, forever to live off of the scraps they would reluctantly toss off of their gold-coated plates.
He dropped his arm and looked out to the sea, resentment causing his nose to wrinkle in the slightest. Then again, Corvus held no love for his family, for he received none in return. After all, the origin of his name came from the vermin, Crow—an idea that was formed by his mother when he was born. She held no love towards him, and thought of him as nothing but a nuisance with beady eyes that wailed nonstop for nourishment.
It was his bitch of a mother and bastard of a father that led him to leave the small town of Darkshire and venture north in hopes for a new life. He grimaced. My, a new life he found indeed. It was there within the wood of Elwynn Forest that the Defias Brotherhood found his pitiful self, and almost ended his life there upon the grass. If it weren't for Corvus's angered state and act of defiance, he would have died that fateful night. But because he showed the willingness to serve under the great Cog of the Brotherhood, and because his mind was still young and malleable, he was accepted and placed under the rank of trainee. From that very moment, Corvus was placed under a grueling training regimen until he finally qualified to be Cog-worthy.
He blinked once, running his fingers through his dark blonde beard. He shook his head, realizing how much he lost himself in his thoughts. The sun was already dipping down into the cooling waters below, and the wind's chill began to grow ravenous teeth. Such cold felt surprisingly good upon his bandaged torso, and he relished in such a sensation. "What now?" He hopelessly laughed. The new life that he was supposed to have was ripped away from him and burned down in chaotic flame. Corvus knew he would be unable to start anew; the Cogwheel was already imbedded within his skin, and his hands could not be cleansed of the blood he had shed. He shut his eyes tightly, breathing in the cool air that burned his nostrils and stung his lungs. He allowed himself to stand idle for a moment more before he opened his eyes, turned on his heel, and slowly ventured back to the farmhouse. "My machine is running renegade," he breathed. "And it seems I'm lacking the tools to fix it."