Keyser Bane Summit | Wanderer | FIN

Keyser Summit

When the world attacks, you’ve to run or fight back…but when six fully grown men are after you, the only option you have…is to run.

Sending his feet to the scrub of the forest land, the only energy powering his mechanics, is that of a three hour “sleep” he had last night. Even though he has been out here for years, he has been incapable of adapting to the soundtrack of the night; oh how he misses total silence. Growls of the men followed him, their calls clasping themselves to his legs like a shadow; he just needs to shake them off.

Having disbursed from his camp quite quickly, he was unable to fully clothe himself so runs with only his bottom half covered and a satchel wrapped around his hand.

Bursting through a grub of needle leaves, he would be unable to foresee the natural landslide that laid before him as he slid down the embankment. Landing perfectly in the men’s target zone, all sight would be lost as a beige hood would blind him from the world. Dragging him from the landing zone, his retreat was a failure and he would have to surrender.

All his prays begged that his capturers were not the mutants in white armour.

Quickly being brought back to the world, his first sight is that of the ember flames ticking away in the pit, while what seems to be a boar is attacked by its heat. This can’t be a peacekeeper base, he thinks to himself.

“Well then?” Planting his face in front of his own, a middle aged man would begin to throw demands at him. Slowly tickling his own cheeks, the man’s grey whiskers would stroke the surface of his skin. Pulling his face back slightly from the army of grey locks, he would remain quiet. ”This is our part of the forest y’know, what are you doing here?”

Remaining silent, he wouldn’t feel obliged to answer the man’s questions, until a blade found home on his neck. ”I don’t see any signs around here saying that is your own.” Grumbling, the older man would begin to roll out a chuckle. ”Ha, this boy thinks he is funny!" Parading around the camp, the man would raise his hands in the air. ”Come on guys, laugh at his joke.” Beginning to erupt into laughter, the camp would follow the man’s call. ”No. You are not funny. This is our land and you’re trespassing. Who are you boy?” Quickly changing tone, he’d glance from face to face and then then to the man with the blade to his neck.

”My name is Keyser.” Grabbing the blade from his neck, Keyser would push away the man’s grip, being a surprisingly weak one. Rising to his feet, the camp of men would follow suit, weapons drawn towards him as Keyser would stand in the middle with the blade in hand. ”Woah boy.” The older man would speak to him like an animal. ”Well, haven’t we caught a spirited one. Now tell us Keyser, where do you come from?”

All these questions, yet he hasn’t been told why he was dragged here in the early hours of the morning; disrupted from his “fruitful sleep.” He just wants to get out and clothe himself in something warm. Attacking the hairs of his arms, it seems the winter air is quickly replacing that of autumn. ”Seven.” A few grumbles would break through camp, while the man settles them down. ”We’ve two boys from seven, one more recently than the other.” Scratching his forehead, Keyser would be wary of the change of atmosphere, everything seems too calm from earlier on. ”Have you just broke from the land of lumber?”

Just. Not just, not recently, a long time ago. Ten years to be exact, well he thinks ten. Breaking away from the chains that his family had wrapped around him, he had minutes…seconds to escape from the nightmare that they had moulded around him. Everything wrong with him was their fault. They locked him up and forgot about him, they abandoned him and focused on the wildly over growing mutated children that they seemed to be sprouting out ever so quickly. All so quickly, he was surrounded by little people, running down hallways, causing havoc between his feet. He couldn’t cope with it. He needed to leave.

”Not recently.” Sitting back down, he’d remember the item he had traveled with, quickly feeling lost without it. ”Where is my bag?” Being tossed through the air, one of the men would present it to him as it landed on his lap. Unbuttoning it, he’d make sure everything was still there. Relief would strike as all his commodities remained, sliding the knife he had obtained into the bag, he be pleased with the new addition.

Quickly, the camp seemed to forget about Keyser’s arrival, he was quite bewildered by the whole scenario. Emerging from the group of men, a young boy, at least sixteen would present himself to Keyser. ”I just came from Seven.” Glancing around the camp, all seemed so civil: shelter, fires, weapons and food but something was missing. There were no women. ”What is this place?” He’d ask the boy from seven. ”We’re just a camp of misfits, who left the damned world we were forced to live in…Seven is all the same you know, well probably to what it was for you. I left weeks before the new games; I do hope we get a winner you know…we lost four in the last games.”

Four? Is the Capitol really lacking in its death toll from Seven? When Keyser left, Seven was being struck by a hot pot of bad luck but four tributes? ”What were their names?” Curiosity ran through him, he had never really cared for the games but was eager to know who these four falling tributes were. ”Well if my memory is correct…there was a Sue Tate…umm Rowan Combe…Asher Rainer and aye umm Stella Summit."

Summit, Stella, He remembers that girl. Well, all the girls looked the same so he thinks he does. It’s about time they start having a cull on the children in his family. He is not surprised they’ve doubled in the amount while he has been away. They were all just crumbs when he left, chaotic nuisance crumbs.

Even when they had me locked up in the basement for “punishment”; literally they punished a twenty year old man. No wonder they thought I had some mental problem, they were harvesting my chaotic mind, making it worse than it was. Bullying me since I was a child, calling me “chaotic, weirdo, the deranged one.” No wonder I followed their nicknames, they should feel lucky that I left. I could’ve done much worse.

"Nutter,Maniac, Odd-ball" as well as countless others were all names that were regularly thrown at Keyser. Just because he never followed the 'respected guidelines' of being a Summit, he became an outcast of the family. As a teenager, he was unable to control his temper, regularly lashing out at those who wronged him, either through verbal retaliation or physical. Worried he would tarnish the family name, the Summits decided to lock him up in their lowest room and he was unable to ever show his face in the District. This just wound up his so called 'madness' and he began to live by the names they called him.

Time flew past during the day in the rather bizarre camp, Keyser spent his day drawing triangles on the trees and the dirt with his newly acquired blade. Being presented with a shirt to cover his freezing torso, he was told to make himself feel at home. He couldn’t feel at home here, he needed to leave. Just because they had given him hospitality, didn’t mean he had to suck it all up. Keyser is a traveler, he can’t stay in one place at once, after all peacekeepers scavenge these forests in numbers. Twenty or so men will be easily ambushed here and he is surprised they haven’t already.

Admiring himself in the reflection of the blade, he was happy that his rough life had taken a toll on his appearance. Scars dotted across his face, while the unshaven stubble marched across his chin. Worn out eyes began to sag down his cheeks, while his blood shot eyes shone through well through his face.

Even with his lack of food, it seemed constant traveling had a positive side to his appearance. No longer having the small fat that ran across his body after being force fed by his family, he now looked strong. Muscles ran up and down his limbs while the fat stomach was no more. He was happy about how his new life shone through and never wants to have a makeover.

Freed from his trapped life, he can’t be held down here and he can’t be with people. People tied him up, people teased him, people poked him with needles. He just wants to escape from the family name that has sunk a burden into him. He was the bane of the family and he is sure they’re all pleased that he is gone.

Even when he called bluff on injuries, his family continued to treat him like a lunatic that he was not. Limping around the house, they were blind to his fake injuries and he knew too well if he was really hurt, they would not care. He wanted to hurt them, he wanted them all dead but he knew it wouldn't fix anything. As long as he was far away from them, then all would be well. He just needed to vanish and one day he did, hopping over the fence with just a bag in hand, he began his knew life. And right now, he is pleased he did. 

When the sun said farewell to the forest, all the nocturnal beasts began to flood from their nests. Many of the men bedded down for the night, while some marched around the perimeter, being the lookout. This is his opportunity to leave.

Despite being celebrated all night as the 'new member' of the wanderer gang, Keyser had absolutely no interest in getting involved in such thing. The whole idea was overwhelming and he hadn't exactly agreed on joining the gang due to the fact that earlier on, they were threatening him with death. Keyser has never enjoyed such social events, which really clashed with his large family at home. Being suffocated in crowds is his nightmare, which is another reason why he travels alone and does not plan to have an acquaintance on his travels.

Throwing the satchel over his shoulder, he’d wrap the jacket he was given around him, being quite large; it would have to do. Stepping into the centre of the camp, he’d carve some chunks of meat from the still warm boar that had been the main guest to the night's celebrations. Slipping the meat into the bag, he wouldn’t miss the opportunity to swipe the spear that laid near the fire pit.

Hopping out of the camp, he’d move slowly, stepping into the shadows. As stealth as a mouse, he’d vanish into the fortress of trees.

And like that.He’s gone.