Discord
Changelog
03-31-2023, 11:07 PM
1st of Tarsakh, 1372
Clank, clank, clank. The sound of full plate climbing stairs filled the candle-lit halls of the Tam estate. The Thayan Knight sighs, weary and ready for respite as he walked with purpose towards his chambers. He'd approach the entry to his wing, the door flanked at either side by a heavily armed skeleton. The pair of undead, mindless minions would bow their heads, but the Knight paid the frivolous and un-lifeful beings no mind as he simply wandered past them. As he pushed open the door to his chambers, he'd remove his helmet and let out a light sigh of comfort as he looked towards his bed. A rare smile crossed his face as he gazed upon his beloved deep in her slumber, yet not daring to disturb her rest.
The Knight rested his helm atop his desk, pulling back his chair slowly and gently as to not disturb his wife, settling into it with a weary grunt. He'd sit there for a long moment, his chin in his gauntleted hand as he stared towards the miniscule collection of candles keeping his writing area somewhat viewable and the bed chamber itself from being plunged into the pitch black darkness. A puzzled look would cross his face as he sat deep in thought. Rarely does he have solitude, solace, time to reflect upon himself. What does he do now?
After a few long moments of deciding what he'll do with his fleeting spare-time, he'd procure a writing quill and a book full of blank pages. Opening the book up to the first page, the Knight dips his quill in a nearby ready ink well, wiping the side of the well jar with the quill gently to get rid of any excessive ink. He'd lean in, ready to write, yet pause once again and stare at the blank and empty page. A canvas there before him, with space a plenty to recount his many years of service, horrors, and adventures. A million different things to write about, yet the Knight still hesitates. Finally, he'd press the quill to the paper and begin his account....
"When I was but a boy, I wished to take my own life. I did not know how to live at all. Days were spent at the training grounds at my father's side, while nights were spent restlessly with thoughts running amuck within my mind. 'Why did my mother give her life to bring me into this world?' 'Why does my father treat me like a squire and not a son?' The questions rang endlessly throughout my ears, yet I knew only I could hear them. And I knew I could never find the answer to these questions. So, I tried it.. When I was the age of six, I walked out of Thralgard's main gate and stared over the cliffs of the second escarpment.. I've never felt more blank in all my life. Thus, I jumped. I tumbled down the cliffs of Thralgard Keep, my breathe leaving my lungs with every rock and ledge that I bounced off of. I closed my eyes, waiting for death to take me."
The Knight took a deep breathe, steeling himself. He'd dip his quill once more, wiping off the excess ink and continuing...
"Yet, I survived. I laid there at the base of the cliffs, broken and bloodied, wondering if this was the true definition of agony. Hours passed until my father returned from a High Thay patrol on the High Road, coming across my weak and frail frame as I stared at the sky and awaited my demise. I remember being lifted up onto his back before I slipped into darkness. A sleep that I've never felt before and have not felt since took me.. I awoke in Bezantur, within the temple to the Watcher there, surrounded by dignified men with purpose and loyalty like none I had ever seen. They cheered as they watched my eyes slowly open, confusing me to no end. Why did they cheer? What was I to them? I was but a broken boy filled with melancholy, strife, and a lack of purpose. Yet, they cheered. And for the first time in my entire life, I felt the oddest sensation creeping across my mouth."
'What is happening? My mouth feels very odd.' "I asked them, confused as to what this odd sensation was overwhelming me.
'It's called a smile, young one.' "A smile. Such a word was foreign to me. Yet, I had not seen or endured near a quarter of what these men had gone through. Shame and regret built inside of me, and I wondered why I was so foolish to attempt such a thing like that. I found my purpose that day. The purpose that I have followed since and the purpose I shall follow until my last breath is taken.
The Knight took another deep inhale through his nose, his pace of writing increasing. It was odd to open up to a piece of paper, yet, comforting.
"I had seen nothing yet.. Nothing could prepare me for the horrors I had yet to witness."
A loud knock would interrupt his solace, his head swinging towards his bed chamber door. A cold, calm voice would emerge from the other side of it.
"Your presence is required, Aethon."
The Knight stood immediately, leaving his newly broken-in memoir unfinished on the desk, his quill laying upon it. He'd don his helm, pinching the wick of the candles with his gauntleted hand to extinguish them. He'd swing the bed chamber door open and follow the voice swiftly, leaving his quill to bleed un-used ink upon his freshly written memoir. Duty calls, yet again.
Clank, clank, clank. The sound of full plate climbing stairs filled the candle-lit halls of the Tam estate. The Thayan Knight sighs, weary and ready for respite as he walked with purpose towards his chambers. He'd approach the entry to his wing, the door flanked at either side by a heavily armed skeleton. The pair of undead, mindless minions would bow their heads, but the Knight paid the frivolous and un-lifeful beings no mind as he simply wandered past them. As he pushed open the door to his chambers, he'd remove his helmet and let out a light sigh of comfort as he looked towards his bed. A rare smile crossed his face as he gazed upon his beloved deep in her slumber, yet not daring to disturb her rest.
The Knight rested his helm atop his desk, pulling back his chair slowly and gently as to not disturb his wife, settling into it with a weary grunt. He'd sit there for a long moment, his chin in his gauntleted hand as he stared towards the miniscule collection of candles keeping his writing area somewhat viewable and the bed chamber itself from being plunged into the pitch black darkness. A puzzled look would cross his face as he sat deep in thought. Rarely does he have solitude, solace, time to reflect upon himself. What does he do now?
After a few long moments of deciding what he'll do with his fleeting spare-time, he'd procure a writing quill and a book full of blank pages. Opening the book up to the first page, the Knight dips his quill in a nearby ready ink well, wiping the side of the well jar with the quill gently to get rid of any excessive ink. He'd lean in, ready to write, yet pause once again and stare at the blank and empty page. A canvas there before him, with space a plenty to recount his many years of service, horrors, and adventures. A million different things to write about, yet the Knight still hesitates. Finally, he'd press the quill to the paper and begin his account....
"When I was but a boy, I wished to take my own life. I did not know how to live at all. Days were spent at the training grounds at my father's side, while nights were spent restlessly with thoughts running amuck within my mind. 'Why did my mother give her life to bring me into this world?' 'Why does my father treat me like a squire and not a son?' The questions rang endlessly throughout my ears, yet I knew only I could hear them. And I knew I could never find the answer to these questions. So, I tried it.. When I was the age of six, I walked out of Thralgard's main gate and stared over the cliffs of the second escarpment.. I've never felt more blank in all my life. Thus, I jumped. I tumbled down the cliffs of Thralgard Keep, my breathe leaving my lungs with every rock and ledge that I bounced off of. I closed my eyes, waiting for death to take me."
The Knight took a deep breathe, steeling himself. He'd dip his quill once more, wiping off the excess ink and continuing...
"Yet, I survived. I laid there at the base of the cliffs, broken and bloodied, wondering if this was the true definition of agony. Hours passed until my father returned from a High Thay patrol on the High Road, coming across my weak and frail frame as I stared at the sky and awaited my demise. I remember being lifted up onto his back before I slipped into darkness. A sleep that I've never felt before and have not felt since took me.. I awoke in Bezantur, within the temple to the Watcher there, surrounded by dignified men with purpose and loyalty like none I had ever seen. They cheered as they watched my eyes slowly open, confusing me to no end. Why did they cheer? What was I to them? I was but a broken boy filled with melancholy, strife, and a lack of purpose. Yet, they cheered. And for the first time in my entire life, I felt the oddest sensation creeping across my mouth."
'What is happening? My mouth feels very odd.' "I asked them, confused as to what this odd sensation was overwhelming me.
'It's called a smile, young one.' "A smile. Such a word was foreign to me. Yet, I had not seen or endured near a quarter of what these men had gone through. Shame and regret built inside of me, and I wondered why I was so foolish to attempt such a thing like that. I found my purpose that day. The purpose that I have followed since and the purpose I shall follow until my last breath is taken.
The Knight took another deep inhale through his nose, his pace of writing increasing. It was odd to open up to a piece of paper, yet, comforting.
"I had seen nothing yet.. Nothing could prepare me for the horrors I had yet to witness."
A loud knock would interrupt his solace, his head swinging towards his bed chamber door. A cold, calm voice would emerge from the other side of it.
"Your presence is required, Aethon."
The Knight stood immediately, leaving his newly broken-in memoir unfinished on the desk, his quill laying upon it. He'd don his helm, pinching the wick of the candles with his gauntleted hand to extinguish them. He'd swing the bed chamber door open and follow the voice swiftly, leaving his quill to bleed un-used ink upon his freshly written memoir. Duty calls, yet again.