Ignis Part 4:
By: James Dubeau
Don’t waste your breath apologizing about my mother. We live on a harsh desert covered world boy. Softness only begets death. Both of my parents as well as everything I had known died on that sand that morning. Mourning their passing is something that I must put behind myself if I am to continue my survival.
Unfortunately I know not of who attacked my father’s caravan or for what reason. It is not uncommon for caravans to be attacked by desert nomads or bandits. Even though my memories of that morning are nothing but a murky mess I do not believe the attack was random by either nomads or bandits. Our wagons were burned to the sand and no survivors were left. Nomads and bandits only fight for supplies, trade goods, and slaves. Complete destruction of a caravan would not be what they are after.
Our caravan could have been hunted by those that despise my kind. My red skin, horns, and tail are the marks of an infernal being. It is a demonic appearance which has been a curse upon my kind for as long as history remembers. There are those that fear us for the hell spawn that we represent. That we are to be killed before our knives drink enough blood to pay the blood debt our ancestors have put upon us. My hatred of those that look down upon my kind drives me to want to believe that my family was killed by those that abhor and fear my kind. However the attack was too well organized, too well orchestrated for a band of fear mongers.
Those desert raiders could have been mercenaries hired by a rival merchant house. Thinning out the competition can always be a strong motivation. Unfortunately I had not heard of any other merchants being wiped out in the same period of time. One would think that if a merchant house had nefarious schemes to wipe out their competition they would have take care of more than just a single competitor.
My ear has been to the sand ever since that day, listening for clues as to who killed my mother and father. Some day I will find out who was behind the attack and only their spilled blood will pay the debt that is owed. Only the fear that any trace as to who assaulted the caravan has been lost to the shifting sands of time keeps me awake when the sun sets. Vengeance shall be vicious and it shall be mine.