CHAMPION, cameron guerin

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for glory and goddess and empire, for golden things that tarnish and a crown of laurel. unto death they will sing his praises and recount his deeds, for the valiant boy-hero standing there, of viridescent eyes and copper locks and gleaming blade, to whom you can only look up, blinded by brilliance, as if at the sun itself. but then the day will come when the sun is still shining and suddenly you can only look down, down a dark hole and martyr’s grave. in death, bodies decay. in death, things fall apart.

he knows his worth(lessness) very well. he is his mother’s affection and beauty, her svelte hips and low birth, his imperial garb and pristine gloves, his fair face and skin-deep allure—a picture frame. a sacrificial lamb for slaughter. but to be adored is better than to be lowly, dirty, weepy.

he is arrogant and grasping, a hollow sham of valor and chivalry, a cardboard facade to poke a finger through, smoke without fire, steel without conviction. but he is oh so nice to look at, and listen to, and believe in, this golden boy. 




if there is a heroic tale to tell of past lives and a monster to be vanquished, he doesn't remember it. it floats in limbo, a wavering question mark—in the space between who he really is and who the salt witch scried him to be.

maybe the paper-thin layers of his reincarnations will gradually build like sediment, one on top of the last, again and again. maybe one lifetime he will awaken anew and no longer be see-through, but something substantial. 

he wields a sharp sword and plays dirty tricks in combat, desperately cunning—but really, any combat capabilities he can claim of are mediocre at best, and magical talents none at all.

a silver tongue and subtle manipulation are his dearest gifts. he may not be the best warrior, but as a proclaimed "champion" he plays his role very well. 

[attr="class","appname"]CAMERON GUERIN

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AGE: 22
SEX: M
RACE: HUMAN
HOMELAND: SHARA
CONTRACT: Y