Post
by The Broken Sword » June 12th, 2021, 5:40 pm
A warm orangish-red light illuminates the small room, revealing cramped quarters, overrun with bits of clothing and discarded armor. It was barely large enough to stretch without touching both sides. It reminded him of the penitent cell that he had inhabited in his youth. The bed, though uncomfortable, was an improvement from the straw mat that postulants must endure. Further, his new room had a large window from which natural light could spill across the apartment to chase away the cold shadows which clung all too well to his memory.
The sunlight wrapped around him like a warm cloak, teasing his bare flesh with its glowing embrace. It found him, sitting upon the foot of the bed, hunched forward so that his back could enjoy the thawing of the night's chill. A ring swayed gently from his neck, anchored by a chain necklace, a constant reminder. The movement was enough to draw Caius from his silent reverie, breaking whatever hold those memories had upon his psyche. At least, for the time.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, further breaking his trance by lifting a hand to his dark hair and messing it a bit as he stretched the muscles in his neck.
" Enough, brothers, I am awake.. cease your vociferous lamentations. "
He spoke to no one, for no one shared this room with him. Still, it was almost as if he was addressing some nearby companion as he climbed to his feet and stepped across the room to where his day's attire hung neatly from a peg upon the door. A short robe, cut in a way so as to not interfere with the layers of cloth, leather, and armor beneathe. It was simple, and efficient, just the way he liked it. Caius had no tolerace for gilding himself with adornments or decoration. Afterall, he had never known an enemy to be defeated with ostentation. The true enemy cared little for such trivialities. It did not yield to narcissim or bravado. It devoured callously and without hesitation.
"This land is teeming with chaos. Each passing day, we strike down the bearers of this scourge, and each night they rise ansew."
Depths of brilliant blue drifted across the surface of his shield, salvaged from a dead brother, its paint faded by time and disfigured by deep scars where the forsaken souls had sought purchase. Each of the unnatural burrows, carved by bone, blade, or fang, told of his crusade to rid this world of their true enemy -- monsters born of the Thirteenth's hatred for Man.
"Yet, we press on, brothers -- in your memory. To bring to the light what is done in the dark."
An undyed linen shirt was pulled over his head, covering the ring and pressing it safely to his chest. This was soon followed by the quiltted gambeson which still held some faint vestiges of his previous life. Threaded iconography of the Holy Decusian Church formed by silver filament. Yet, much of it was worn, or broken away entirely. Soon after, a hauberk of chain followed, leather points painstakingly threaded through leather attachments at the shoulders, elbows, and waist. Next, articulated pieces of heavy plate were anchored by these point, only to be hidden by the loose-fitting robes. The only thing missing were the purification seals, but having been without Church resources for so long, he no longer had any to spare in a place that one might argue required them most.
"Once more, to battle, my brothers. Do not call for me to join you too soon."