This is chapter 3 of a much larger story, to catch up you can find the prelude here! This chapter can be read in any random order for the first part of the story so not knowing all of the events shouldn’t matter much here.
Also this is the first part of the story where more adult scenes and moments are introduced and it only gets worse from here, so if you can’t handle a bit of blood and gore talk then I would stop reading here.
It was going to be another one of those days, Joe and everyone else were going to have one of their parties and I’d have to join them. I’m trained in using a sword! I shouldn’t be forced into these things I don’t want too, especially with my problem.
At a very young age I had started drinking with my mum, who encouraged me enthusiastically. At first I’d have very small amounts but it quickly got out of hand to the extent that we started getting drunk together, starting a long addiction that had plagued me for my whole life. It was bad enough being a drunken failure. But my time at the fighter’s guild had started to reflect badly on their reputation. Once everyone had seen one of their members crying for help from every individual nearby due to drunkenness they thought of the fighter’s guild as more of a joke than anything else. That was my worst night and it was recounted to me the following afternoon, making me quake in shame. Apparently I also attacked everyone after asking them for help too, it was a very poor way to behave.
It eventually reached a point that the fighters guild had banned me from drinking, giving me a serious warning. Giving up alcohol was difficult, cripplingly so, and I never fully got it to work since I would always sneak away to drink small amounts in secret. I found that every moment I wasn’t criticising myself for being a ridiculous and untrustworthy detriment to my guild or dreaming of wining the kings tournament I would have the desire in the back of my mind. It wasn’t a nice feeling and it was made even worse because once I started drinking it was difficult to stop. Initially it was to take my mind away from everything and escape my self-defeating thoughts but even though I’ve been needing it less and less I can’t help but want it.
Becoming less reliant on drinking was one of my goals, yet going to a party with Joe really didn’t sit well with me since I would be tempted to try the beer they had there. There wasn’t much you could do to have fun but drink, that was the main purpose most people had in mind when going out which was what annoyed me about having to attend. Joe knows that I have a problem yet he doesn’t care enough to stop me from going. I’m on uneven terms with him and the time when he said “I wish you could just be normal” still echoes in my head and makes me cry. Breaking up with him would hurt me a lot because I like being able to talk and have sex with a cute guy whenever I want, and I worry if anyone else would want me if I did split with him. All I had to do was get better, something easier said than done.
Right now I had to wait for him to arrive before leaving with him. The worst thing about him was that he’s often late and forgetful, but this time his insistence on going made me sure he’d turn up. A few minutes later he appeared.
“Maron” He said neutrally at a distance. Even though I didn’t like what he was making me do I was happy to see him and leaned in for a hug instead he grabbed my hand and walked me to the place. A rich friend of ours had organised the party and had lots of flagons out already as well as barrels to take from. Many people were already there and it was fun getting to talk to them.
Once I’d been there, surrounded by people drinking Joe came up to me with a flagon of drink.
“Here you go.” I looked at him sternly, why he tempt me like this? Doesn’t he know I have a problem?
“No I’m ok.” I replied.
“Just hold it Maron, I don’t want you to be the weird one who doesn’t drink.” He was just as stern as I was and put the flagon in my hand. Great, so I’m either the weird one who doesn’t drink anything or the weird one who gets insanely drunk. Just great. I could be the weird one who just held a drink and did nothing but I already had started to rationalise everything in my head and the drink did look good.
After a while I took a sip, it was beer, then I couldn’t help but continue drinking. It tasted so good and warmed my insides, a sensation of desire was fulfilled completely, but only for a second. The sensation was there and gone as soon as I swallowed. A few minutes later I finished and was just holding a cup with nothing in it, which looked strange, so I filled it up again, but of course I ended up finishing that one as well and by that time I didn’t care if it would mess me up. I just wanted it. I did this a third time, then a fourth until I lost count and didn’t even care anymore. The feeling I got from drinking was too good to resist, it was a feeling I had missed.
The inside of my brain was pounding my skull. I was awake and lying down on the floor completely nude in a place I had never seen before. A feeling of dread and horror rushed through my stomach and made me shiver as I wondered what could have possibly happened. I didn’t know anything about the events that had took place in the past ten hours. I just lied there horribly regretting everything until I became conscious of a cold liquid running along the front of my body. Blood.
I leapt up, the sight of blood made me able to somehow ignore the fatigue and pain in my head. What I saw made the feeling of terrible guilt multiply in my head to a level that was difficult to handle. I could tell now that I was in someone’s bedroom, and there was a naked dude who I didn’t know lying on the bed with a bloody oozing knife in his chest.
While drunk I had stabbed a huge cut through his stomach and sliced him causing blood and guts to pour onto me. How did I not notice the smell before? It was inescapable and rancid, completely filling my senses. I began to panic and physically felt my heart rate quicken. Yes he might have tried to rape me or something but being a murderer wasn’t much better. If there was one thing that would make me never drink again it was this, I wasn’t going to touch a drop in my life ever again if this was the harm I could cause. I hastily grabbed my clothes, put them on in a rushed inefficient way and then stormed out without thinking of being seen.
I had to leave this place; I would never be accepted here, not before, not now and not ever. What was I going to do? I’ve got nowhere to go! I hastily rushed into my house in a mad panic to get everything and leave. I took food, warmer clothes, and other things I might need.
Then I found a small letter everyone in the fighters guild received advertising the kings tourney. That was it, it was all I could do, my only option was to either go to another town to try and find a job there or to do this, I’m a good fighter, I’ve now killed, this is something I can do or die trying to do, perhaps that would be for the better. I looked for the dagger I always kept on me but realised I must have left it in the room I fled from, I instead grabbed another less well kept one and left with all my possessions in a bag. I realised I had forgotten something, if I was ever going to enter the tournament I would need proof that I was a citizen of Sevren. I grabbed my form and for the last time left home. I would never be allowed here again not after they knew what I had done, this would be the last time I would ever be in Hanasen village, they would be glad to get rid of me.
I’m sure the lives of everyone would be a lot simpler without Maron Alpick to ruin everything for them.
Thank you for reading the third installment of the broken tournament! Where does Maron fit into the rest of the story? What repercussions will happen because of this? Find out in the next part!
Thank you so much for the support for this story so far. If you noticed any errors or have any constructive criticism then I would love to hear it because you can actively make this story better by doing so! Thanks.