Keeping My mind off things (Blood line of the Royal Family only)

Trin launched a lethal tornado kick at the punch bag. He roared in anger as dust flew out of the object. It almost tore. He threw a couple more bare hand punches, tape wrapped around his palms. He was wearing nothing but boxer shorts and sweat glistened on his tanned body in the sunlight. He bounced on his toes, head butting the bag and then punch it, actually tearing it this time. He slumped, dejectedly on the wooden bench. H smacked his fist onto the splintered length of wood. He leaned back, the back of his head touching the cool, smooth wall. He ran a hand through his hair. He could fill the sea with the amount of sweat that dripped off. He had not stopped training for 7 hours straight. He needed to stay in shape and he wanted something to take his mind off of Ali.

[Sorry I haven't been online, my network bill won't be payed until monday]

"Killing yourself isn't going to make anything better, dad. You need a break." Ava stood behind the extreamely sweaty Trin. His thoughts were booming in her head. 'Ali, Ali, Ali." He was trying to keep it away, but they wouldnt stop. She just kept popping back up, no matter what he did. "It's hot, and you need water. Or something. Food."

Trin shook his head, panting, loudly. He rose from the bench, charging back at the bag. He shouldered his, smashing it backwards but he just collapsed. As it rebounded it knocked him backwards, into the dirt of the arena floor. He made no effort to avoid it and he just lay there limply, staring at the sky. The scars on his chest were clearly visible. He had one scar on his stomach, curving right and then dissapearing into the thigh of his boxers. He ran his hand up this scar and then up to some more. He felt at an arrow wound in his abdomen, lightly tracing the hand up, rolling over his toned muscly body. He came to a burn scar around his ribs on the right. Up to his neck there were scars. Not many, but those that were there were horrifically large. So many scars. So many battles. Yet he could not win a battle against himself...

Trin dragged his legs out from under his back, still laying prone. He rolled over, allowing his arms to guide him instead of his eyes. He looked up, using the wooden beam that was holding the punchbag up to pull himself to his feet. He walked, slowly, dust whipping up, surrounding him and then subsiding. He was walking towards Ava and Lia. He stumbled, his ankles buckling and giving way. He hit the ground, his eyes lolling in his head. He was alive, just partially unconsious. His mind wandered, not in a dream. No it was too realistic. He was a child of about 3 or 4. Playing in a garden. He was in some long grass. He giggled. Suddenly he turned as he heard some hissing. A snake had bitten him. He had cried. His father, ignoring his mother's protests, beat him for crying, showing pain. His eyelids fluttered, eyes moving fast beneath them, as his life flashed before him, too realistic to be remembered.

After the rotating images had stopped Trin gasped. He could clearly remember where he was. The chains stretched his arms and he groaned in agony. He looked down to see the rotting wounds on and around his torso. He had a deep cut running past his crotch from a curved spear-like weapon that had only just missed impaling him. He had been dragged down however and was being tortured. He could hear screams and looked at the filth ridden floor. There was mud, blood and piss covering the stone and he turned up his nose. He wasn't unused to foul stenches after being captured and tortured once before, but being a prince gave him standards and principles.
He looked down at his scarred, naked, 18 year old body. He groaned again, seeing no way to get out of this. As the dying screams of another man subsided he realized why he wasn't dead yet. They were holding him for ransom, making his stay as painful as possible. Obviously his father was being a tight bastard and not paying up. He looked up as iron shod footsteps thundered along a corridor. A hideous looking creature, known as a trolloc, marched in. He leered at Trinovantes, spitting beneath his feet. The monster brandished a whip. It un-chained him. He fell to the floor, face smothered in pestilence and excrement. The whip came down hard on his back. He hit the dirt again. He rose once more to his hands and knees. The lash cracked once more, but once more he rose. The whip raised; for the last time. Trin grabbed it, carving a cut into his palm. He yanked hard, pulling the bemused trolloc over Trin's head, making it land on it's back. Trin kicked it, savagely in the face. It growled.
"You have kept me up here, killing my comrades while I listen and watch. You have made me feel pain beyond belief. Now, you will know death." With that he continued to kick, his heel digging in, eventually caving in the creature's skull. Trin took from it, a knife, a short sword and it's mail. He searched the rest of the chamber, finding some trousers. He slipped into them, slipping the chain over his body. Suddenly there was white light burning in his peripherals and the vision was taken from him...

Trin gasped as if he had just spent minutes underwater and had just surfaced. He clutched onto Lia's arm, now in the 'real world'. He looked around, a stunned look on his face.
"Wow." He said simply. "You guys saw all of that? Can you tell if it was a dream or something?" He asked, genuinely not knowing the answer. It hadn't felt like a dream. It felt like he was actually there. He could feel the pain. This was strange. He had had powers before but he had never encountered anything like this. This was like he could recreate events and stop them from happening, as long as he was originally there, or could get there at the sacrifice of something else. This was like mastery over time. He chuckled and then went straight faced. It would probably over-power him with the strength. Like his daemon, he wasn't going to abuse this power, but he still wasn't sure if he controlled it or it controlled him...