Role

Chapter 7

Fighting Failure
Added Mon May 16 06:46:11 2022 at level 39:

Tomias leaned heavily against the painted wall of the random Galadon shop
and desperately tried to calm his breathing. As he bent over huffing, he
noticed the messy thatch of blood and feathers pressed into the bottom of
his robe. Voices bounced in his head, tracking the slippery orc he'd yet
again let escape. This would only be a short respite.

The squire stood straight and took a long drink from his water skin, then
wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Initiate of the Jaguar," he sighed to
himself. "Do all faithful reward their goddess this little?" How proud he'd
been of himself for having the courage to venture into Veran, to find Her,
to stand before her, and share and listen. But the unceasing warfare he'd
found himself in made that moment feel like a dream. Her words lingered,
but his wounds bled heavily, steadily trying to drain his faith in himself.

It was good that his father never seemed to find him in the cities, he
had not the energy to fight his advice and interest this day. As Tomias
grew less naive, he more and more feared the true nature of the powerful
drow sorceror who apparently fathered him. Tomias wished more and more
distance from him.

But what would his father think of him now? Ready to find Ilzaza and her
army? Hardly. He was a far cry from helpless boy on the farm... But
Tomias knew that his father and everyone else close to him were aware of
how oft he failed. He failed to finish any enemies, he failed to find his
captain when she needed aid, failed to protect his friends, and in some
cases, had gotten himself or his friends killed.

A plain wren flew nearby and pecked at some cracks in the cobblestones. "I
am always a page behind, aren't I?" said Tomias to the bird. The bird
pecked at the stonework. "I have to show them I belong, that their belief
in me isn't wasted." The wren seemed to ignore Tomias.

"He moves, come Tomias!" It was the bold squire Zuhren.

Tomias allowed himself a small smile as he looked at himself, bloodied
and filthy, before hastily taking the form of his hawk. He wasn't afraid of
fighting after all, not when others needed him.

It was just everything else.