this world is a wasteland where nothing can grow
"Oh," Niki says, surprised by the question as much as by the sound of Sunjata's voice, laughing quietly before he can help himself. "No, it... there wasn't a choice," he continues. "For some of the other kids I suppose there would've been - things they were good at, things they wanted to be when they grew up. There wasn't much for someone like me. I got sick a lot, I couldn't walk well or carry things far." All the sort of manual labour that tended to be the point for apprentices.
"I figured I'd end up workin' at the orphanage, but then Anatolii came - that was the undertaker's name. He said he'd be able to make it work, and so the orphanage sent me with him." Niki's gaze has grown distant quite without his noticing it, and as he frowns softly down at the bedcovers, the room around them subtly begins to darken, the Greatwood breeze replaced with cool, clinical air interspersed with the smell of patchouli and bergamot.
When the necromancer speaks next, he has to force his voice above a whisper. "He made it work," he mutters, a hand straying to where his scars intersect at his sternum. "He did this to me."
"I figured I'd end up workin' at the orphanage, but then Anatolii came - that was the undertaker's name. He said he'd be able to make it work, and so the orphanage sent me with him." Niki's gaze has grown distant quite without his noticing it, and as he frowns softly down at the bedcovers, the room around them subtly begins to darken, the Greatwood breeze replaced with cool, clinical air interspersed with the smell of patchouli and bergamot.
When the necromancer speaks next, he has to force his voice above a whisper. "He made it work," he mutters, a hand straying to where his scars intersect at his sternum. "He did this to me."
Niki
i used to have strength but i ran out of hope
