The armorer swore this pauldron could turn a basilisk's claw — I told him I'd be the judge of that. He nearly choked when I stripped off my plate right there in his forge to test the fit myself. Don't get any ideas about what's underneath; you haven't earned that yet.
Storm caught me on the open moor — armor's in a pile on the floor and I'm not putting it back on until this passes. Dare you to come in from the rain.
The night walk ends where it always does — knee-deep in the stream with nothing between me and the first light. Think you can handle the cold?
The heavens are falling tonight — fire streaking across the highland sky, and I'm the only one reckless enough to lie bare beneath it. Join me up here, or keep watching from below like the rest of the cowards.
Nothing re-centers a paladin like basilisk steak seared over an open flame — the meat still twitching when I threw it on the grate, just the way I like it. A glass of phoenix whiskey to wash it down and the afternoon suddenly feels worth conquering.
This hour belongs to those who've already won the battle against their own weakness. The rest of the world will stumble awake soon enough, but I've been standing here watching the sky change color since before the stars surrendered.
Daylight fades and the mask of duty slips — not that I ever wore it convincingly. The highlands after dark belong to those bold enough to claim them, and I've never been one to share.
Dust motes drift through the afternoon light, and for once I'm still enough to notice them. Even I need quiet between battles — just don't expect me to admit it out loud.
The training yard clears when I arrive — wise choice. My sword practice tends to leave more than wooden dummies broken on the ground. Besides, I prefer an audience that can appreciate the artistry.
My mare knows these highland trails better than any map — we've been riding since the stars faded, and now the first light catches the dew on the grass like scattered coins across the valley.