He knew now that the idealism of Knighthood were but a ploy, a sort of show that rested easily upon the eyes of those he protected. Yet, for all his gallantry and honor, there were ten bloody messes which contested this principle. It was what the citizens of Syliras did not see which truly defined the Knight. More precisely, Sighard’s heart was measured by the idealism he could purport in public, and the courage and stomach he practiced in the world which demanded such characteristics to survive. As he joined the procession of Knights, which was then a symphonic rhythm of trots, clinking armor and idle chatter, he felt a sense of empowerment. Though their eyes often averted from him, he saw it only as a contest to overcome and resolved that nothing would stop him from achieving Knighthood.
Yet, even so, in the back of his mind their lingered the figment of a doubt, albeit a tiny one. It was nearly a pinch that caused him to rethink his ideals momentarily and suddenly Sighard was weary again, for he knew the truth of the situation was that he would not live an easy life given his genetic predisposition to lose him in alcohol and become lethargic. All the world was against him, and the rest of his life would be an uphill battle that demanded double efforts to place himself in a state of normality.
OOC :
