#brontel wardrock

[cuuno-moved]

True Beauty

Bongragh was not a pretty city.

Oh, sure, it was alright- it was a hub city of sorts, the kind that adventurers traveled through and sometimes settled in, but it wasn’t made to be pretty, unlike most dwarven cities, it was made to survive the ever present danger of the volcano it was built into erupting. It was a fortress of a city, and its people were severely lacking any sort of elegant wonder.

Brontel was not like most of the people of Bongragh. 

From a young age, he’d always admired the beautiful strangers who bustled through the city looking for magical artifacts to buy and sell, visiting inns and rest stops, sparing the locals not a glance, unless it was to start a fight. Brontel dreamed of becoming like that, beautiful and magical, walking through a city that was not his own, unafraid and unabashed.

He used to dress up in his mother’s rough weave dresses and heavy shawls and twirl around the house, demanding his parents and siblings trade with him, and, when he grew up, he became a tailor, working to mend these strangers’ beautiful clothes.

His aunt did nothing but encourage this. 

A drow who’d had her fair share of adventure, she would tell him tales of magic, of love, of excitement, and Brontel- oh, Brontel yearned.

One day, though, a tiefling came in, with a torn dress he wanted mended, and things changed.

The dress was not made for battle, and the tiefling wasn’t cold. He told Brontel about his adventures, described the places he’d seen, and, as Brontel painstakingly stitched the tears bit by bit, he realized that this torn fabric was true beauty.

It was silk, and white, with peach flowers on blue branches. It shone under his fingertips, and he could almost smell the flowers in the fabric. He ached as he handed it back.

“Do you want to come with me?” The tiefling, Oryon, asked. “You’d make a good fighter, I can see it in your eyes, and you won’t have to wait around for beauty to come to you.”

It was shockingly hard to leave.

Not because he had to say goodbye- there was really only three or four people who’d care if he left- but because those three or four were so insistent that he stay.

“I can’t protect you out there.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” He insisted, his back to the bed as he packed his bag. “I’m a big boy now, I can win my own fights.”

There was no response, just a sigh.

(Always sighing, he thought, but didn’t say. This is why you’re graying already- and it’s not very attractive on you.)

And so, Brontel Wardrock left Bongragh, and he didn’t look back.

He sent letters, of course, at first to everyone, then, just a few, then, just to one.

The typical letter was short, but to the point, loving and concise, saying exactly what he needed to say.

‘Hello, dear. I killed a wolf today. Love, Brontel.’

Of course, with him moving so often, there was no telling if he ever got any back. He assumed he did, he assumed there was a massive pile of letters waiting for him to collect somewhere, but he didn’t mind. He knew everyone must miss him so much, and he couldn’t wait to see them when he got back, once he located True Beauty, and gotten a bit to take home. Once he could prove he was in the right. Once he could show everyone that it was out there.

Rossleon was supposed to be it.

It was supposed to be the most beautiful city in the world, supposed to be so close to perfection that even infernals wept when they saw it.

Brontel wasn’t impressed.

Sure, he’d seen some beauty there- Sunny’s cloak came close, as did Maya’s hair- but there was no True Beauty to be found.

And so, as soon as he could, he decided, he was going to move on. 

After he explored this cursed canyon, of course.

#it's short but. i'm proud of it #brontel wardrock #i NEED to start tagging that #dnd