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JustFairEnough
Not even fair...
- Joined
- Jun 14, 2023
- Location
- Midwest USA
This is a little piece I wrote about a character I played in a D&D campaign - kind of a post script for him. Capitalized letters that don't belong reference gods within the story, I promise my shift key isn't broken.
Swirling crimson sand poured over crumbling cinder blocks as if a waterfall was no longer beholden to gravity. The relentless sun and wind create a violent torrent of shining crystals, only to be caked against the ancient brick. This is what time will do to a world barred from Progress and the influence of the pantheon of Change. At one time this was a place of dedication, grand ideals, and a guarantee that there will be a path forward. Now simply rubble.
A gauntlet brushes the grit off of a stone door, revealing cracks and breaks now sealed with dust and overturned earth. With a forceful push, the door grinds against the broken floor to reveal a chamber as ruined as the brick that holds it. Pedestals reduced to quarters encircle the chamber and hold a desperate ceiling, casting shadow to only an eighth the space. Pitiful, this place of reverence reduced to something even the disparate would shy away from as shelter.
The man carefully walks into the room ahead of him, resting his shield against the base of the nearest support. The crimson red sword symbol reflects some of the light that pours through the openings to shimmer a brightness that this space hadn’t seen in many years. Stepping into the center of the temple, his platemail does the same. The armor, clearly battle tested and tarnished, defies expectations. The wears and rusted places where gray and brown should be are a vibrant silver. The red embellishments match his shield’s crimson insignia to cascade a brilliant kaleidoscope against the dulled rock.
An empty throne sits at the front of the room, mirroring the shattered egress. Slow, purposeful steps bring the man closer to it, and the echoes of his greaves bounce off the desperate walls. He does not move or speak for a moment, simply staring at the vacant resting place of power. With a break in the silence, a voice appears from next to him. Resolved, and steadfast.
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen this. Order has not been kind to history.” The voice coalesces into an overbearing figure. A massive man in simple travelers clothing, a necklace of silver and red dangling outside of his tunic.
“Order has no need to embalm the past.” The knight responds carefully. His gaze met the man standing at his side. “But in the pursuit of Knowledge, Order. Will. Remember.”
The Traveler's voice soft and fading fills the old temple. “And the children of this world will have a reason to grow. For Understanding, for Glory. for Charity, for Knowledge.”
The Knight, now alone, takes a few steps forward, turning around and lowering himself onto the cathedra. A brilliant sanguine broadsword held in both hands, his gaze fixated, and his lips curling into a purposeful smile.
“With Conviction.”
In the pursuit of noble virtues, mortals often blame countless impedances.
Greed, Corruption, Luck Herself.
Those things do not stand in the way of Knowledge, Understanding, Glory, or Charity.
Simply a lack of Conviction.”
- Sir Curcio Farrun, First Paragon of Conviction
Greed, Corruption, Luck Herself.
Those things do not stand in the way of Knowledge, Understanding, Glory, or Charity.
Simply a lack of Conviction.”
- Sir Curcio Farrun, First Paragon of Conviction
Swirling crimson sand poured over crumbling cinder blocks as if a waterfall was no longer beholden to gravity. The relentless sun and wind create a violent torrent of shining crystals, only to be caked against the ancient brick. This is what time will do to a world barred from Progress and the influence of the pantheon of Change. At one time this was a place of dedication, grand ideals, and a guarantee that there will be a path forward. Now simply rubble.
A gauntlet brushes the grit off of a stone door, revealing cracks and breaks now sealed with dust and overturned earth. With a forceful push, the door grinds against the broken floor to reveal a chamber as ruined as the brick that holds it. Pedestals reduced to quarters encircle the chamber and hold a desperate ceiling, casting shadow to only an eighth the space. Pitiful, this place of reverence reduced to something even the disparate would shy away from as shelter.
The man carefully walks into the room ahead of him, resting his shield against the base of the nearest support. The crimson red sword symbol reflects some of the light that pours through the openings to shimmer a brightness that this space hadn’t seen in many years. Stepping into the center of the temple, his platemail does the same. The armor, clearly battle tested and tarnished, defies expectations. The wears and rusted places where gray and brown should be are a vibrant silver. The red embellishments match his shield’s crimson insignia to cascade a brilliant kaleidoscope against the dulled rock.
An empty throne sits at the front of the room, mirroring the shattered egress. Slow, purposeful steps bring the man closer to it, and the echoes of his greaves bounce off the desperate walls. He does not move or speak for a moment, simply staring at the vacant resting place of power. With a break in the silence, a voice appears from next to him. Resolved, and steadfast.
“It has been a long time since I’ve seen this. Order has not been kind to history.” The voice coalesces into an overbearing figure. A massive man in simple travelers clothing, a necklace of silver and red dangling outside of his tunic.
“Order has no need to embalm the past.” The knight responds carefully. His gaze met the man standing at his side. “But in the pursuit of Knowledge, Order. Will. Remember.”
The Traveler's voice soft and fading fills the old temple. “And the children of this world will have a reason to grow. For Understanding, for Glory. for Charity, for Knowledge.”
The Knight, now alone, takes a few steps forward, turning around and lowering himself onto the cathedra. A brilliant sanguine broadsword held in both hands, his gaze fixated, and his lips curling into a purposeful smile.
“With Conviction.”