Theodoric Brionne
08-13-2007, 07:34 AM
Theodoric, had spent all the tears he could afford last night, standing vigil over his father's tomb. He was the last of the proud Brionne family, now landless, title-less and homeless. Even this crypt where he had buried his aging father was hidden from the eyes of the common people and, more importantly, from the sheriff's men.
No honor for the fallen hero as his name had been struck from the kingdom's records by the sheriff's order. A life devoted to serving the previous monarch made non-existent by the whim of a capricious and vengeful child, a life of sacrifice rendered worthless.
He stood up, his eyes reddened by a lack of sleep and the tears that refused to stop as he said his last farewells to the man who had raised him in the belief of honor, truth, and duty. The sheriff had desired his father's sword, and by all that was holy, he would make sure he received it, point first.
"I am glad you are finished." Theodoric did not detect Dast's presence until he had opened his mouth. "My buttocks were beginning to hurt sitting on this stone."
"Dast please. Show some respect," Theo chided. "Don't mistake me; I respected the old bugger. It took some steel to oppose the sheriff and more still to keep doing it after all that he did to your family." Dast then climbed down from the alcove where he had been hiding. "It's just that there's a time for mourning and a time for getting on with your life, and you have been mourning for a week now."
"It is the least I could do," he answered fastening the scabbard to his waist. "I was asking for guidance, asking his spirit for the advice I refused to listen to for so long."
"Hmmm" grunted the rogue, closing the distance that separated them, the sword of Brionne remained unsheathed. "So, what will you do now?"
"I... I will take on my father's mission." He said suddenly, looking at his reflection within the blade of his new sword. "I will travel to the Duchy of Wessex and take the oath. I have learned enough about weapons and armor from my father. Now I only need to... to understand. I want to know what it is that drove him to give his life for a cause that nobody remembers, to protect those who did not thank him, to... to..."
"To die for what he believed was right." Dast completed and patted him on the shoulder. "You want revenge, then?"
"Yes... and no. I want the sheriff to pay for what he did to me, but part of me wants to take this sword and raise it, to make others see that what father did was right, that he fought until his last breath for everyone's sake. I want his honor restored, but I also want the people to live as they did before Badric assumed control. I want to kill Badric so that he stops making everyone's life so miserable."
He felt more tears coming from his eyes, but those were not born from pain, but from pride and a new sense of purpose. He had a mission now, and he was not alone -- he would find strength in a new duke, a new land, and among new friends.
However, he would not arrive in Wessex until several decades later, Dast had died in battle one winter, and Theodoric Brionne now gray haired, with a sharp-wit that came with his old age and experience. He rode slowly up to the gate seeking audience with those inside.
"Greetings!" he roared with a grin, at last he had arrived.
No honor for the fallen hero as his name had been struck from the kingdom's records by the sheriff's order. A life devoted to serving the previous monarch made non-existent by the whim of a capricious and vengeful child, a life of sacrifice rendered worthless.
He stood up, his eyes reddened by a lack of sleep and the tears that refused to stop as he said his last farewells to the man who had raised him in the belief of honor, truth, and duty. The sheriff had desired his father's sword, and by all that was holy, he would make sure he received it, point first.
"I am glad you are finished." Theodoric did not detect Dast's presence until he had opened his mouth. "My buttocks were beginning to hurt sitting on this stone."
"Dast please. Show some respect," Theo chided. "Don't mistake me; I respected the old bugger. It took some steel to oppose the sheriff and more still to keep doing it after all that he did to your family." Dast then climbed down from the alcove where he had been hiding. "It's just that there's a time for mourning and a time for getting on with your life, and you have been mourning for a week now."
"It is the least I could do," he answered fastening the scabbard to his waist. "I was asking for guidance, asking his spirit for the advice I refused to listen to for so long."
"Hmmm" grunted the rogue, closing the distance that separated them, the sword of Brionne remained unsheathed. "So, what will you do now?"
"I... I will take on my father's mission." He said suddenly, looking at his reflection within the blade of his new sword. "I will travel to the Duchy of Wessex and take the oath. I have learned enough about weapons and armor from my father. Now I only need to... to understand. I want to know what it is that drove him to give his life for a cause that nobody remembers, to protect those who did not thank him, to... to..."
"To die for what he believed was right." Dast completed and patted him on the shoulder. "You want revenge, then?"
"Yes... and no. I want the sheriff to pay for what he did to me, but part of me wants to take this sword and raise it, to make others see that what father did was right, that he fought until his last breath for everyone's sake. I want his honor restored, but I also want the people to live as they did before Badric assumed control. I want to kill Badric so that he stops making everyone's life so miserable."
He felt more tears coming from his eyes, but those were not born from pain, but from pride and a new sense of purpose. He had a mission now, and he was not alone -- he would find strength in a new duke, a new land, and among new friends.
However, he would not arrive in Wessex until several decades later, Dast had died in battle one winter, and Theodoric Brionne now gray haired, with a sharp-wit that came with his old age and experience. He rode slowly up to the gate seeking audience with those inside.
"Greetings!" he roared with a grin, at last he had arrived.