KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He didn't pray often. It had never become a habit, and despite his supposed blessing of attunement, Korbin had no personal connection to the gods. Nevertheless, things had happened recently that made him think more deeply. And so he took his lute and went to the shrine, one night when the bitter cold had driven everyone else inside and he could be alone with his thoughts.
Sitting down on the cold ground, he removed his gloves and began to tune the instrument, slow and careful, until it was tempered to the climate and the notes rang true. As he began to play, he wove a melody in homage to the stars, to life and all the soft, gentle things there was no room for in this life of his.
"I killed a man," he confessed, speaking softly into the night. "No one blames me for it. I saved lives, they say. It couldn't be helped. If I wove a story of what happened and sung it in the tavern, I'd be hailed a hero, a fighter, a good man. But I don't feel like one."
The music turned pensive, melancholy. The lute sang his deep felt regret and shame for finding no other way out of the situation he had ended up in.
"I would repent, if I could find a way. I'd rather save lives than take them. Rather help people than hurt them. Sometimes I wish I had that healing touch, like the Abandoned do. But... all I'm really good at is music." And what role did that have to play in this beautiful, harsh wasteland where every breath was a battle?
"Safrin... fair Lady. You're the herold of life, right? What would I have to do, to step off this path I never wanted to walk?"
------
Prayer to Safrin. Wishes to enchant the lute so that it heals those who listen when it's played.
Sitting down on the cold ground, he removed his gloves and began to tune the instrument, slow and careful, until it was tempered to the climate and the notes rang true. As he began to play, he wove a melody in homage to the stars, to life and all the soft, gentle things there was no room for in this life of his.
"I killed a man," he confessed, speaking softly into the night. "No one blames me for it. I saved lives, they say. It couldn't be helped. If I wove a story of what happened and sung it in the tavern, I'd be hailed a hero, a fighter, a good man. But I don't feel like one."
The music turned pensive, melancholy. The lute sang his deep felt regret and shame for finding no other way out of the situation he had ended up in.
"I would repent, if I could find a way. I'd rather save lives than take them. Rather help people than hurt them. Sometimes I wish I had that healing touch, like the Abandoned do. But... all I'm really good at is music." And what role did that have to play in this beautiful, harsh wasteland where every breath was a battle?
"Safrin... fair Lady. You're the herold of life, right? What would I have to do, to step off this path I never wanted to walk?"
------
Prayer to Safrin. Wishes to enchant the lute so that it heals those who listen when it's played.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
