Origin of the Fang
Injustice
"What! You charge me twenty gold for this piece of trash!" scoffed a noble, examining an ornamental plate. A peasant, owner of the store, bowed and answered him meekly.
"It took me four months to finish, milord." The peasant kept his gaze onto the ground, afraid of what would happen.
"It doesn't even look as how I requested it; the wyvern is placed far too left," the noble went on, completely ignoring his comment. "Look! This—what is this? A crack?" Shoving the plate into the peasant's face, the noble jabbed a finger arrogantly at the minute break. The peasant startled horribly then began to quiver in fear. "There is a definite flaw under the right claw of the wyvern. This is not art, it is garbage!" The head of the peasant bobbed even lower, ashamed and afraid.
At the sound of breaking china, the peasant's head snapped up, then tears began to well up in his eyes. "My work…the months, wasted…" With a stifled sob he bent down to pick up the pieces of the plate. The noble gazed down at the stooping figure with growing disgust. Elegantly lifting a heavily booted foot, he grinded the heel of it into the peasant's hand.
"Aahh! M-my lord!" the peasant gasped, writhing in pain as blood seeped beneath the foot and the hand. The noble twisted his ankle a few more times, drawing more agonized screams from the peasant, and then took his foot away.
"Be glad that it wasn't your head," the noble spat acidly, wiping the sole of his boot on a rug that was hanging for sale. "Good day." Only then the noble left, leaving the tearful peasant to cradle his smashed hand against his chest, whimpering and crying as the blood seeped and soaked his coarsely made shirt.
And Brendan Reed witnessed it all, witnessed first-hand the cruelty and the injustice of the so-called nobles. His trembling hand dropped the soup bowl that he had meant to purchase.
Inequality. Malice. Cruelty. Evil.
None of the words could describe the injustice of it, of the class system. Why should the numerous labor for the few? Why must his people…suffer?
His anger grew, simmered and boiled until black and crimson blocked his view. Black darker than a hopeless night, crimson deeper than the blood of the people. Dark, dark black, bright, bright crimson—black, starless, hopeless night, red, innocent blood of the people—pain—the pain—
Author's Note: Awright! The first installment of the Fang Trilogy has begun. The first installment will revolve around Brendan Reed. I think this fic is the first one to be centered around him...correct me if I'm wrong. :D