The Cost of Victory.
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The Cost of Victory.
by Drixar Sat Oct 12, 2024 11:28 am
Seven. Then Six. Now Four.
In the time it took for Drixar to take a vacation, get up to speed and spend his first weekend back at home, three heralds have been killed at the hands of holdfasters. This should thrill the faun, as it means it’s less of Nero's right hand men and women to face in the coming month. All he feels is grief and shame.
Is this what it means to fight in a war? To kill those who we deem to be misguided? People who could have been one of our own if we ourselves found Nero before we found each other? That doesn’t feel fair. They deserve to be remembered.
With that simple thought; “they deserve to be remembered.”, an idea was formed and executed.
It started with gathering materials. It was easily noticed how the cauldrons at Drixar’s apothecary have been moved to the floor, papers and writing utensils scattered across the surface where they once were. An axe mysteriously missing, easily found in the hands of the blue faun as he rhythmically swung at a tree, his gaze focused on the task and barely acknowledging anyone who addressed him. Once he had a small pile he headed back in.
Axe returned he places the lumber in front of his parent and makes a simple yet odd request, three frames to surround three individual pieces of art. “Not as a side task” he’s heard instructing the smith, “but as the main task. They should be made with intent, with heart.” After ushering orders he takes his place behind his books, head down as he scratches at the papers previously planted in his place.
Any inquires about the task is met with the same answer, short but enough. “Memorials. You’re welcome to contribute if you find something purple.”. A large part of the fauns day is spent with his head into these pen strokes, barely raising it to fight or eat his meals. Eventually he finishes, three pages neatly stacked face down. Tucking them each gently into the new frames, Drixar carries them with care under his arm as he sets off outside the inn once more.
Finally, he returns silently, remains of tears staining his cheeks. Curious minds begin to leave and scour the field for what Drix may have done to cause him to cry. It’s finally discovered that tucked amongst the trees, the three frames have been gently propped up with purple flowers placed in front of each of them. The contents of the frames hold drawings, sketched then inked in black.
The first holds a drawing of a familiar tiara, with writing both above and below it.
Verbena
Beloved Holdfaster
May her soul be at peace.
The next a drawing of a book, text within the exposed pages detailing an array of different potential topics
Wan Shi
Beloved Disciple
May their soul be at peace.
Finally, the third frame holds the most detail. It’s a drawing of an anvil, a hammer resting atop its bruised surface, a rattle at its base.
Rhogar
Beloved Father and Husband
May his soul be at peace
In the time it took for Drixar to take a vacation, get up to speed and spend his first weekend back at home, three heralds have been killed at the hands of holdfasters. This should thrill the faun, as it means it’s less of Nero's right hand men and women to face in the coming month. All he feels is grief and shame.
Is this what it means to fight in a war? To kill those who we deem to be misguided? People who could have been one of our own if we ourselves found Nero before we found each other? That doesn’t feel fair. They deserve to be remembered.
With that simple thought; “they deserve to be remembered.”, an idea was formed and executed.
It started with gathering materials. It was easily noticed how the cauldrons at Drixar’s apothecary have been moved to the floor, papers and writing utensils scattered across the surface where they once were. An axe mysteriously missing, easily found in the hands of the blue faun as he rhythmically swung at a tree, his gaze focused on the task and barely acknowledging anyone who addressed him. Once he had a small pile he headed back in.
Axe returned he places the lumber in front of his parent and makes a simple yet odd request, three frames to surround three individual pieces of art. “Not as a side task” he’s heard instructing the smith, “but as the main task. They should be made with intent, with heart.” After ushering orders he takes his place behind his books, head down as he scratches at the papers previously planted in his place.
Any inquires about the task is met with the same answer, short but enough. “Memorials. You’re welcome to contribute if you find something purple.”. A large part of the fauns day is spent with his head into these pen strokes, barely raising it to fight or eat his meals. Eventually he finishes, three pages neatly stacked face down. Tucking them each gently into the new frames, Drixar carries them with care under his arm as he sets off outside the inn once more.
Finally, he returns silently, remains of tears staining his cheeks. Curious minds begin to leave and scour the field for what Drix may have done to cause him to cry. It’s finally discovered that tucked amongst the trees, the three frames have been gently propped up with purple flowers placed in front of each of them. The contents of the frames hold drawings, sketched then inked in black.
The first holds a drawing of a familiar tiara, with writing both above and below it.
Verbena
Beloved Holdfaster
May her soul be at peace.
The next a drawing of a book, text within the exposed pages detailing an array of different potential topics
Wan Shi
Beloved Disciple
May their soul be at peace.
Finally, the third frame holds the most detail. It’s a drawing of an anvil, a hammer resting atop its bruised surface, a rattle at its base.
Rhogar
Beloved Father and Husband
May his soul be at peace
Drixar- Posts : 102
Join date : 2022-12-08
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