quentyn blackburn; d1 cb ; fin

You were built from silver and not gold.

Father built you from the sharp blades of swords that gleam silver in the sun, but it's all you ever would know. The silver color of a sword that father taught you to swing since you could hold it up. You never enjoyed anything else, but the damned silver weapons that clang together with a twang. Candies and sweets were throw away. Women and men that dared to try and lay you were left with bruised bodies from the countless spars you made them do, until they gave up on you. Too interested in the way a sword swings in someone else's hand than the events surrounding you. There's only one person for the drive that was created in you and handed down to you and that's your father. A man who you looked up to since you could remember.

You weren't born of gold like many of your friends. Your family worked to survive in the world around you. You were raised as a warrior, but had the money of the poor. Your skin feels on edge at the thought of the lack of wealth and name you carry. It's not even you to blame for it, but you climb where your parents can't. Fame seemed to come easily to you with every sword match that you participate in at the training center. Lessons that even trainers were impressed by ingrained into your skin as a measurement of your love for swords. You weren't a child anymore as you let your silver blades clash with another. Impressed men that quickly became your friends.

Damon Darkfire and Aegor Rivers were their names when they found you in a match. They took you in as a brother in arms as you became close to them and their group. You trained with them and taught them the skills you've learned. You were the silver to their gold, until you became apart of it. You turned to gold.

You were born from silver, but became gold.

A Golden Pack together.