clifford-stiengraph
A hero’s story and a villain’s are written in the same ink.
Description
Clifford is from Erithiel of the Sundered Lands. As a guild scrivener, he was knowledgeable of the nobles’ business as he wrote their logs, penned their letters, and notarized their documents. A strong-willed and respectable man, he caught the attention of a noble daughter. However, years of watching the corruption within higher society had worn his patience. When he uncovered a plot involving the woman’s father, the injustice finally rallied him to act.
While well acquainted with the aristocracy of Erithiel, he was naive to the game. After a brash attempt to expose the corrupt noble, he was exiled from the realm. Infuriated, Clifford decided the only way to make an impact is with a war hammer. To learn this new skill set of violence, he traveled with adventurers; uncovering another plot, but this time of a hag using bandits to infect boars, turning them rabid.
Following a letter found on the hag, Clifford set off for Willowbrook. Along the way, meeting up with Sir Davion Browyn and Madison Nickleson. He began studying under Sir Davion to further his education on combat. An intense illness came over Clifford, forcing him to rest for several days. When the fever broke, Clifford’s strength returned along with newly developed powers. He considers this a result of his devotion to his cause and the fortitude of his character.
Later Musings
Corruption. Fools may call it a blight, infecting society with greed, pride, and deceit. The wise see it for it’s true nature; weakness. Weak minds giving into their baser nature. Weak wills too scared to stand up for what is just. They have instilled themselves into seats of power, ruled over us, and subjected us to their narcissistic whims. That is the true disease and I will be the cure.
All that a true “noble man” needs is strength. A strong mind to understand the truth. A strong will to enact it. I am not scared. I am not weak. Where the shrieking pleas of the wretched for mercy would strip the resolve of a lesser man, my fists clench tighter. I will throttle them until the last dark drop is wrung.
In the end, I will be left standing in fields of the lifeless corpses of weaker men. In the light of a new day, you will thank me.