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<blockquote data-quote="Br. Deanious Martin" data-source="post: 353978" data-attributes="member: 7352"><p><strong>The Decent of Brother Martin (a history)</strong></p><p></p><p>Deanious Martin was born to a traveling mercantile family who moved up and down the Sword Coast buying and selling good with local shops. As soon as he was large enough his family put him to work moving boxes and repairing cartwheels (or whatever he could manage to do). In the space of his early years of life he was in most of the major cities on the continent, although he barely remembers that far back at this point in his life. By the age of ten his parents prepared to divide with him the family business and let him set out with his own enterprise (as was tradition). Deanious had grown tiered of the traveling life, and instead took only a horse and what he could carry and went off the make his own fortune. To this day he knows nothing of his families whereabouts or fate. </p><p></p><p></p><p> Perhaps it was the constant traveling, or the lack of a personal life, but the idea of monastic order appealed to him. When he arrived in Arabel he was quick to seek membership in the Order of the Red Knight. His traveling life over, he took to his studies fervently and was soon being noticed as one of the most talented pupils. This posed its own problems that he never could have expected. As his skills began to prove superior he found people treated him differently. His teachers gave him no room for failure, his fellow students would never let their guard down in a duel, and any failure on his part was heralded to every corner of the expansive monastery. While other students were rewarded for trying, he was expected to succeed at everything the first time. Soon the double standard began to make him increasingly sorrowful, and he longed for the anonymous life of the road he had once thought was not for him. </p><p></p><p></p><p> Salvation came in the most interesting of forms. One day, in an especially dark mood, he took to doing his daily chores making wine and spirits in the temple distillery. He suddenly remembered all the happiness and revelry he had seen in the bars where he made his weekly deliveries, and before he thought that much about it he was drinking whiskey like his life depended on it. Intoxication was less exciting then it seemed to be in the bars across town, but it has some interesting effects on how he was treated. That night while stumbling back to his quarters several of the masters came and assisted him to his bed. These men who has once demanded and expected that he do everything right now distrusted his own ability to walk. Still tipsy the next day he lost a sparring match to a fellow student, but was sober enough to note that his opponent has completely discounted him from the moment he entered the ring. He had found his answer at the bottom of a whiskey jar… and on some level he liked it. </p><p></p><p></p><p> The years the followed were a different life for Brother Martin then he ever could have expected. He made it a point to drink as often as he could, but tempered himself to avoid true intoxication. This did not change his actions however, and he became quite adept at pretending his was truly drunk. Without the alcohol truly dulling his abilities he easily bested his fellow brothers in the sparring ring, but they still started every match underestimating him, leaving him to smile to himself as they recounted the stores of how he “accidentally” beat them in one way or another. His new life had its drawbacks however. His behavior had made it nearly impossible to advance in the order, and he soon found it easier to converse with the local barflies then the men he called brothers. After some time he stopped returning to the monastery after his nights of revelry, and lived in the streets behind the tavern doing his best to continue being a good man, even if he was probably no longer a monk. </p><p></p><p></p><p> The masters of the brotherhood never actually removed him from the roles of the order, but everyone knew he was much less a monk then the days before he found the taste of spirits. When a particularly headstrong knight of the order asked his services in clearing the lands north of Arabel of goblin invaders he never bothered to tell the masters he had chosen to leave. In some ways he had left the order months before, if not physically but in his mind. Some of the oldest monks of the order still tell the stories of his rise and fall, and others of his exploits with the party of adventurers that took him north in search of fame. But perhaps the best stories are those told by the aging rummies behind the local inn, because it may be them who knew him best. </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>"...Lies! All bloody Lies!... Wait... no... its true ::hic::.... sorry...." </p><p></p><p> - Brother Martin</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Br. Deanious Martin, post: 353978, member: 7352"] [b]The Decent of Brother Martin (a history)[/b] Deanious Martin was born to a traveling mercantile family who moved up and down the Sword Coast buying and selling good with local shops. As soon as he was large enough his family put him to work moving boxes and repairing cartwheels (or whatever he could manage to do). In the space of his early years of life he was in most of the major cities on the continent, although he barely remembers that far back at this point in his life. By the age of ten his parents prepared to divide with him the family business and let him set out with his own enterprise (as was tradition). Deanious had grown tiered of the traveling life, and instead took only a horse and what he could carry and went off the make his own fortune. To this day he knows nothing of his families whereabouts or fate. Perhaps it was the constant traveling, or the lack of a personal life, but the idea of monastic order appealed to him. When he arrived in Arabel he was quick to seek membership in the Order of the Red Knight. His traveling life over, he took to his studies fervently and was soon being noticed as one of the most talented pupils. This posed its own problems that he never could have expected. As his skills began to prove superior he found people treated him differently. His teachers gave him no room for failure, his fellow students would never let their guard down in a duel, and any failure on his part was heralded to every corner of the expansive monastery. While other students were rewarded for trying, he was expected to succeed at everything the first time. Soon the double standard began to make him increasingly sorrowful, and he longed for the anonymous life of the road he had once thought was not for him. Salvation came in the most interesting of forms. One day, in an especially dark mood, he took to doing his daily chores making wine and spirits in the temple distillery. He suddenly remembered all the happiness and revelry he had seen in the bars where he made his weekly deliveries, and before he thought that much about it he was drinking whiskey like his life depended on it. Intoxication was less exciting then it seemed to be in the bars across town, but it has some interesting effects on how he was treated. That night while stumbling back to his quarters several of the masters came and assisted him to his bed. These men who has once demanded and expected that he do everything right now distrusted his own ability to walk. Still tipsy the next day he lost a sparring match to a fellow student, but was sober enough to note that his opponent has completely discounted him from the moment he entered the ring. He had found his answer at the bottom of a whiskey jar… and on some level he liked it. The years the followed were a different life for Brother Martin then he ever could have expected. He made it a point to drink as often as he could, but tempered himself to avoid true intoxication. This did not change his actions however, and he became quite adept at pretending his was truly drunk. Without the alcohol truly dulling his abilities he easily bested his fellow brothers in the sparring ring, but they still started every match underestimating him, leaving him to smile to himself as they recounted the stores of how he “accidentally” beat them in one way or another. His new life had its drawbacks however. His behavior had made it nearly impossible to advance in the order, and he soon found it easier to converse with the local barflies then the men he called brothers. After some time he stopped returning to the monastery after his nights of revelry, and lived in the streets behind the tavern doing his best to continue being a good man, even if he was probably no longer a monk. The masters of the brotherhood never actually removed him from the roles of the order, but everyone knew he was much less a monk then the days before he found the taste of spirits. When a particularly headstrong knight of the order asked his services in clearing the lands north of Arabel of goblin invaders he never bothered to tell the masters he had chosen to leave. In some ways he had left the order months before, if not physically but in his mind. Some of the oldest monks of the order still tell the stories of his rise and fall, and others of his exploits with the party of adventurers that took him north in search of fame. But perhaps the best stories are those told by the aging rummies behind the local inn, because it may be them who knew him best. "...Lies! All bloody Lies!... Wait... no... its true ::hic::.... sorry...." - Brother Martin [/QUOTE]
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