I, known as Cydonius, were left on the steps of a monastery. Taken in by monks who embedded not only the ways of tranquility but asceticism of life, keeping a level head and letting karma take its course. To me, good things come to those who do good. Many days in the life of Ignus Cydonius are filled with disciplined anger and an ungodly determination of will, which guided his willingness to persevere through acts of revolutions in the shadows of his pierce who bullied him for his abnormalities to adapt in the monks' ways. Throughout many, many fortnights Cydonius slowly shifted to their ways, though in more ways than one, still found himself questioning every answer provided from monks higher in his hierarchy. Thinking back on his days, he can hear clear as day the voices of his mentors. "If in our daily life we can smile, if we can be peaceful and happy, not only we, but everyone will profit from it." As the years blinked through in segues of events, it wasn't long after Cydonius' will would be put to the test. Bandits, that of which tableau a thirst for profit that can't be sanctioned through normal means and soon they found themselves permeating through the valley, pillaging and stealing goods like sugar and gold from nearby villages they stumbled upon. Cydonius coincidentally encountered them by chance. On a dirt road, a horse and carriage amidst being garnished. At the time, Cydonius was running on nothing but a few grains of rice to fuel his energy for the next couple hours. He contemplated on helping the poor merchant whose yells in agony for one, can be heard for miles before being knocked unconscious. Before Cydonius knew it, he was upon them, telling them to leave him be. Of course they didn't listen. They begin beating him within an inch of his life. Left to bleed out, they eventually went on their way. He woke up an hour later within the care of the merchant who figured he saved him. A miracle one might say. A couple days passed and Cydonius found himself running into them again on the same dirt path they left him to die in. "Ahhhh look who it is. Well if it isn't the dirt hero. You know, you provided a great wooden plank to practice on" the leader said but snicker at his expression of serenity. They thought he was some sort of lunatic. They proceeded to let him off easy if he went on his way, he refused. The same outcome again persevered. It wasn't long until he figured out their algorithm, from the time and day and the direction they traversed, leading to his monastery. This only reinvigorates Cydonius. It became every day he encountered them and his aptitude for enduring damage provided by his tough upbringing. "STAY DOWN DAMMIT" they say, yet he gets back up. Soon they've grown lassitude to this peasant with tattered habiliment who espouse a keen annoyance to their advances. "Kill em"! The leader shouted. "I'm sick of this slump slab". Many lacerations conveyed many bruises that covered his body and soon brought him to his knees. To him, death came as a strobing light pulsating beyond the reach of his hand. Unbeknownst to him it was the conjuring of a spell.

Before they could finish him off. The merchant from many moons ago came back with a band of mercenaries from the guild in the big city nearby and in the eyes of Cydonius, a beacon of justice that pulled through in his time of need complimentary to his good deed. Moments later Cydonius found himself being healed by an apothecary while giving solitary thanks to one by one. They invited him back to the capital for better treatment and or a better life. He accepted their ordeal without much thought. Soon his world opened up to a vaster yet unencumbered state of mind. Things portrayed by his monk breatherns soon came into play in acts of lush, lucive and lashing, blunting and dashing, festive and maddening beyond what he could have imagined from the wildest attractions to the bewildering contractions and blinding passion mirrored his obtrusive reaction to a slight compassion of this sumptuous fashion. Cydonius implemented himself through various regiments of guilds parties until he found himself occupying within the confines of the guard. The Royal guard to be in fact. His faint understanding of jokes unallowed him to see the bigger picture which built a demeanor of undeterred stillness paralleled to laminar flow and the King sought him out not only for his high altitude for defense and minor spell casting but his ability to do a job without question or hesitation. For what is a guard who questions orders? An individual who cannot be controlled.

Cydonius Thoughts:

Throughout his travels he noticed he found great pleasure in the daily activities in accordance with the routines of its lively kingdom in the form of a cavalcade of beggars and wine. They relay; "Welcome all, welcome more as we endorse under a canopy and explore many adventures we've endured. Take a seat, grab a smore, take a drink, I implore. See the minstrels sing and dance or take a chance upon the floor. We're all welcome here under our great dear ol Lord and lend a hand to the man in this land we had formed." Little did Cydonius know, his heart beat to the chords. "Behind the scorching heat of sweat and pores from the dwarfs, forging hammers, staffs, and swords unites all our foreign congregation so that we can support our affably decor in accord consecrated in decree declared by our flawless wards." He takes a hand, clanks his drink and frolic in trance from empathy he simply can't ignore.


#storytelling #knights
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