The Damned

There was once a man, though his name has been lost among the whispers that told of not whom he was, but whom he had become, his name cast aside like the humanity he once knew. His soul blackened and his heart charred, what was once a man, now had become something cursed.


Broken.


Lost.

Scarred.


Damned.


There wasn't always the damned one, there was once a man named Robert Henchford. He was a quiet man, and had no notable achievements in his life. No trophies of any kind, no stories to brag but of his rise to a comfortable living. He was content, and he was happy in his station in life. He was no hero, he had never shot any ne'er-do-well, he had never even had the thought of ending another person's life. He was no soldier, he was a rugged and hard-working man, but he did not fight meaninglessly, nor could he fight well. The sun was his only true friend, staying with him through his lonely days as a ranch hand, as the other workers had mingled for many years, and he was new to the area. He had come from up North, though he never said why. Infact...he didn't say much of anything. He was polite and said thank you, but the dark haired man didn't say much. He spoke with an accent from up north, but when inquired where he got it, he typically asked the person to go back to working or making an excuse to leave.

In reality, Robert was at one point, the son of a copper salesman who had made his fortune investing in a healthy mine, and supported the booming demand for electric products. Robert was born to a father who loved him and coddled him, but his grandfather thought him weak and cowardly for a man. Robert thought nothing of the bitter old man, and enjoyed his life of luxury. Robert showed little interest in studying, and found more solace in the gardens of the estate rather than the actual workings of the business. Robert's grandfather had little faith in him as an heir, though his father was more hopeful that Robert would be a 'late bloomer'. Robert was sent to Boston to live with his uncle in a more 'humble' fashion, meaning, Robert was being moved to the slums. Robert soon took the habit of not speaking soon after. Robert grew to be silently angry, his hate never having an outlet, a release. Robert simply left his Uncle's home after one night, and got a job at a local factory, making garden tools. He enjoyed the irony.


Robert's fate bothered the family for a number of years, before Robert's father had another son, and his grandfather was more than satisfied with Robert simply disappearing. He hadn't been murdered, and there was some speculation that perhaps, Robert's family knew where he was, and what he was doing, but simply chose not to accept the fact. Robert's rage grew in proportion and depth, and climaxed when he bought a pistol with a hefty sum of wages that he earned. He marched up to the house up on the hill, his home. His pistol clung tightly in his hand, Robert exacted brutal vengeance upon his family. The revolver's recoil was the only thing Robert felt. There was no remorse, as the six rounds, met their marks with brutal efficiency. Shots pierced his father, his grandfather, but Robert could not bring himself to finally end his brother, the quivering six year old child. Robert was a young man now, harsh of face and long of hair, and the boy had no idea of whom he was.


Robert spared the child, and set the bullet on the table before him. And then Robert left. And when he stepped outside, he was no longer Robert. A scowl replaced the curious and inquisitive look. A hand that was once weak, became strong. Legs that whined and groaned after only a few hours of walking, became like steel chord and could walk forever. And that's what Robert did. He walked. The workers and servants had been dismissed for a number of days, and Robert disappeared into the freezing Boston winter.




And then, Robert re-appeared on a train, headed for New Austin, ready for a new leaf. To leave the cold of the north, and take in the heat of the South. His eyes glanced upwards, towards the sun. It seemed nice enough. But would New Austin be kind to him?