[PK] Half a Paragon

[Metamancy 1770]

Spoiler

OOC Note: I’ve had a lot of fun with Paragon, and despite my playtime on him being near half of that of Amara, I was quite sad to part ways with this one. Ngl, I’m pretty upset with how this turned out - Paragon didn’t even last four weeks and his death were far from a logical conclusion to his character arc. However, I abide strictly by my PK rule, and I hope you all will respect this! Better luck on my next character, I guess…

It's 3:30 AM and I am very tired while writing this up. Forgive the lack of dedication or quality in the text!

 

Wordlessly, did Arokas continue with his work. Trampling Paragon, over, over, over, and over. Till there was no crack or pop of his bones anymore. All trampled and shattered.

 

From the beginning, he was different.

“Paragon.” What a name of folly, what a name of shame. Can you imagine - a child, having none nothing in his life, running around Norland calling himself Paragon.

The boy quickly learned to carry it with shame, and he secretly resented his parents for it. Oh, how unjust - and he swore to himself that when he came of age, he would pick a name for himself.

Except he didn’t.

It were no darkspawn that took his parents; it were sympathizers, those that thought his parents knew too much. He had seen their heads bashed in on the bed beside him, he had seen their blood run dry.

What a short story. All this is to say, the name Paragon - it remained.

 

Ten years did he travel as a vagabond. He learned to hunt for his food, to forge weapons from metal and heat that he would use to avenge his parents, oh, how they would pay the price. For there were a price for everything - and he would not rest until their blood debt had been paid.

But it seemed that after that fateful day, trouble seemed to avoid him. He told all those who would listen that he were a hunter - a hunter that fought darkspawn and all evil. But he knew, deep inside, he were only a liar - a liar that had never truly slain an enemy as he said he had.

And so the years passed in this persona he built - a strong man, that would defend others with his life, a caring man, who would rush to the assistance of others. But through it all, all on his mind was the destruction of evil, a desire so hot it may as well have been evil itself.

How ironic it be, then, that it was love, as it is for many, that shook him. Or was it simply the woman with red hair - or had he realized, on his own, the path to peace was not one forged in blood?

And so, he feigned the raising of the blade as he did; until he did not. Soon, he began to see himself an older man; settled down, his wandering spirit put to rest.

Yet, put to rest he was; at no young age.

It was love, as it is for many, that shook him. 

 

On a whim, it was, perhaps. When he saw the riders, the highwaymen, outside the gates of Numendil, that he decided to entertain them a while.

Surely he knew then that something was off. Their eerie dedication to their leader, the way their horses surrounded his. But he followed. On a whim, it was, perhaps.

Then they took him high up on a mountain he had yet to map, and asked for a gamble. Nothing large, nothing fancy; a simple gamble of coin, it was, that he requested.

But he remembered that he had a duty as a man. It was love, of course, as it is for many, that stopped his hand from reaching for the dice.

But it was love, too, that led to his downfall so ultimately. He would never understand, not even in death, the fault of his endearment for an elf.

The highwaymen, however, thought their shared nights a sin worthy of death. 

There were too many of them, of course; and the persona Paragon had made, the warrior, came crashing down before the experienced hunters, with their boomsteel blades and stringed bows. He should have lied, said it were jest, and perhaps they would have believed him.

But, oh, how he had to stand his ground!

Such arrogance. Such folly. He had danced with death before, of course; but the men were determined to kill, for his defiling of the laws of Heaven by his touch upon the mali'ame.

He should have lied, he should have -

 

From the beginning, he was different.

“Paragon.” What a name of folly, what a name of shame. Can you imagine - a child, having none nothing in his life, running around Norland calling himself Paragon.

The boy quickly learned to carry it with shame, and he secretly resented his parents for it. Oh, how unjust - and he swore to himself that when he came of age, he would pick a name for himself.

Except he didn’t.

What a short story. All this is to say, the name Paragon - it remained.

 

Spoiler

I feel I've done a decent job at summarizing this character, who I wasn't even given a month to fully flesh out, and dramatizing his death that were so sudden and random. It's been a pleasure playing this lost Norlander; shoutout to @marigold_theclumsy and @Marrin for all the fun RP with Paragon!i

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

The little devil that looked on from the fight and departed early came to hear the news late. His brows furrowed. "He didn't have armour..." He murmured, an echo of the past. Still, the man had fought regardless and, one day, Reinhard swore he would be just as brave.