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NOTE: This is still being written. I wouldn't suggest reading it right now.
A handsome, young man of good stature that possesses the capacity to project competence and maturity. Instinctive charm that convinced his admirers that he was irresistible--a flesh and blood manifestation of charisma--straight from a place where the grass is definitely greener. The golden boy, highly cherished by family and friends as they take to their knees and remain poised to kiss ass with a smile.
That was my brother. You know the guy who's painted at the very front of the family portrait, seated between both parents and perfectly detailed in the center? Come on, we all have one of these people in our lives. The perennial angel. He who could do no wrong. That was him. Similarly, you know the child that stands diagonally behind him with half his figure obstructed from view? The mediocre child of no real significance? That was me.
My life consisted of a meaningless existence in my brother's shadow. I was like the moss that grew on the underside of a rock and consequentially just as important. That undeserving bastard cast a colossal shadow that would crush and pulverize any distinguishing action I could hold in my name. Over time I got used to this. Over time, I realized that within the confines of this enveloping shroud of indifference cast over me, I had a lot of room to play.
The golden boy lived a near perfect life. By the age of twelve, he was honored as a town hero for accidentally stumbling across the first darksteel ingot ever fashioned in the town before it was stolen and considered lost for decades. Shortly after reaching the age of eighteen, he was crowned king of the Flamerule festival. As a small, communal town, we took our festivals very seriously. It was during the very same acceptance speech that he announced to the town the beginning of his journey to join the ranks of the paladins sworn to Tyr.
I took a job working as a caretaker at one of the oldest, largest and most importantly, furthest manors away from town. It was located on the side of a cliff,
A handsome, young man of good stature that possesses the capacity to project competence and maturity. Instinctive charm that convinced his admirers that he was irresistible--a flesh and blood manifestation of charisma--straight from a place where the grass is definitely greener. The golden boy, highly cherished by family and friends as they take to their knees and remain poised to kiss ass with a smile.
That was my brother. You know the guy who's painted at the very front of the family portrait, seated between both parents and perfectly detailed in the center? Come on, we all have one of these people in our lives. The perennial angel. He who could do no wrong. That was him. Similarly, you know the child that stands diagonally behind him with half his figure obstructed from view? The mediocre child of no real significance? That was me.
My life consisted of a meaningless existence in my brother's shadow. I was like the moss that grew on the underside of a rock and consequentially just as important. That undeserving bastard cast a colossal shadow that would crush and pulverize any distinguishing action I could hold in my name. Over time I got used to this. Over time, I realized that within the confines of this enveloping shroud of indifference cast over me, I had a lot of room to play.
The golden boy lived a near perfect life. By the age of twelve, he was honored as a town hero for accidentally stumbling across the first darksteel ingot ever fashioned in the town before it was stolen and considered lost for decades. Shortly after reaching the age of eighteen, he was crowned king of the Flamerule festival. As a small, communal town, we took our festivals very seriously. It was during the very same acceptance speech that he announced to the town the beginning of his journey to join the ranks of the paladins sworn to Tyr.
I took a job working as a caretaker at one of the oldest, largest and most importantly, furthest manors away from town. It was located on the side of a cliff,