(ooc: I decided to do a medieval-esque AU, I hope that's alright!)
[The cursed are not meant to have friends. By their very nature they repel others, whether it be due to physical deformity or mental affectation. There's an aura that surrounds someone who's been the subject of such witchcraft - for that's what it is, not science but magic - and it can be felt by everyone around.
So it was for Bruce, for made the mistake of delving too deep, asking too much. An outcast already for his belief in science over god, he'd been dealt the killing blow when a travelling caravan traded him curse-laced milkweed. The concoction was meant to cure; instead, it destroyed. He had no memory of the event save for the anger and hatred that had rushed so freely through his veins. Now his laboratory lay in ruins, and he had no choice but to seek solace in the woods.
He kept his distance, tried to make sure the only pain he caused was to trees and rocks and flowers, but he was never far enough. They always found him, chased him, tried to kill him - which ended only in their own deaths.
Until one day, when someone sought him out for aid. A soldier, injured somehow, bleeding profusely - how he'd made it all the way to Bruce's lonely little hut was a mystery. He saw the man inside and set about patching him up, remaining silent until he was sure the danger had passed. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy from disuse.]
no subject
[The cursed are not meant to have friends. By their very nature they repel others, whether it be due to physical deformity or mental affectation. There's an aura that surrounds someone who's been the subject of such witchcraft - for that's what it is, not science but magic - and it can be felt by everyone around.
So it was for Bruce, for made the mistake of delving too deep, asking too much. An outcast already for his belief in science over god, he'd been dealt the killing blow when a travelling caravan traded him curse-laced milkweed. The concoction was meant to cure; instead, it destroyed. He had no memory of the event save for the anger and hatred that had rushed so freely through his veins. Now his laboratory lay in ruins, and he had no choice but to seek solace in the woods.
He kept his distance, tried to make sure the only pain he caused was to trees and rocks and flowers, but he was never far enough. They always found him, chased him, tried to kill him - which ended only in their own deaths.
Until one day, when someone sought him out for aid. A soldier, injured somehow, bleeding profusely - how he'd made it all the way to Bruce's lonely little hut was a mystery. He saw the man inside and set about patching him up, remaining silent until he was sure the danger had passed. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy from disuse.]
How did this happen?