My spirits had been soaring since meeting the lovely people of The Busty Bousom Chateau, so I decided to enjoy some sport, and lost to my first opponent, I came close to scoring a hit in the young warrior but never landed one before I was forced to yield by a flurry of skillful blows I was too slow to intercept.
Now with two fewer silver in my pouch, my spirits waning a bit, I paused by a market stall to decide what I should do next.
Just then a Blade of Sol approached, his demeanor full of tension and barely restrained hostility. I believe I recognized him as Marshal Seymour, who’s proclamation had deeply effected my changing perspective and ongoing plan for my life.
He questioned why I wore the face paint, and why I used Grimward colors.
I confessed that I was born to that clan, though I have disowned them. I told him I wore their colors as a way of wearing my shame. And the the black bar across the eyes being split by a rune glyph meaning “destroy” was a kind of personal hex calling justice, and down my red tears were the glyphs for “honorless, stonetooth, grimward” and “mordok, penitent, undead”.
I explained that I believe all should become active in the fight to quickly end the conquering war, as we have been in a kind of stalemate with the Mordok for as long as our history, and the colonists had lost a whole continent to the undead, this war only serves to weaken against foes that have thus far been insurmountable.
I continued saying that I lack the power to enact my will for this destruction, so I wore it on my face, so that soldiers fighting Grimward and Stonetooth may have the symbols in their eyes as they fight, carrying my wrath to the enemy for me.
While I was talking, he seemed event still to be extremely suspicious of me, and full of wrath, but I could slowly feel it being lessened, as if his ire were being slowly turned from me back to those we both hated. I then asked if he was indeed Marshal Seymour as I thought, which he confirmed.
I quickly expressed my deepest sincere gratitude for his proclamation and many deeds, of which I simply knew there were many beyond those he had not been recognized for.
He softened to me ever so slightly, and seemed to take on concern for my safety, telling me I should not wear my devotion in such colors, as he could see any of his troops having a similar reaction to his own.
I thanked him and bowed my head in deference to this kind wisdom, and explained that I’d not considered such an effect, as I’m not battle tested, so my grasp of the way my face paint would be seen on the battle field was lacking.
He seemed still tense but satisfied to let my actions back up my words rather than simply assuming them false. As he walked away I could almost feel as if a blade were being held to my throat and was being slowly removed from it’s threatening proximity.