[center][h1]ℜ𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔅𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔱[/h1][/center]
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Waterdeep...the name sat on Renault's mind like a stone pressing down, threatening to cave his skull in. Drawing his hand away as the woman chose to cross hers rather than shake his, Renault ignored the small offense; the battle-adept had little need to stand on ceremony. But Waterdeep still weighed in his thoughts, and with it, memories of gold-strung hair and amber eyes.

Baldur's Gate set his thoughts West. Was this woman once part of the Watch? Or maybe one of the Flaming Fists, seeking fortune and glory where it could be found? Wherever she came from, her title 'The Wounded' had a story behind it. Some knights wore their monikers as a badge of honor, be they venerable or mocking. But others, himself included, maintained simple titles. For years he was Ser Renault of House Beaumont; after joining the Merciful Sword he became Ser Renault de Sanlow; now he was simply Renault, Oathbreaker.

When Alenia asked of his story, he found himself at a loss for words. For so long he had run from his past, longing to be forgotten but having nowhere to hide where the memories would not follow him. Even now, he found himself unable to fully let go. Oh, how he had wanted to tear the crest from his neck and hurtle it into the river. Or sell it and have enough coin for a decent breastplate. But his past was a part of him, and all the anger and vengeance in the world could not remove that.

Cupping his chin for a moment to stroke at his beard, Renault rolled his tongue around inside his mouth, pondering the question a few seconds longer. "I wasn't born here," he began, almost cautiously, "but I've lived here almost four decennium." He paused again, deciding how much he wanted to reveal and how much he would keep close to the chest. 

"I hail from Sanlow, a town a few hundred miles from here. My father--" Renault stopped. He hadn't spoken to his father in nearly twenty years. The Lord Beaumont was not pleased to hear that his only son had joined an order of chaste knights. Had his oaths not required him to relinquish all wealth and titles, there was no doubt in Renault's mind that his father would have disowned him on the spot. [i]'Here ends the line.'[/i] 

Renault smiled sadly, head slightly downcast. "Apologies. My father was the lord over there, presided over the town and a few villages on the outskirts. I chose a...different path."

Before he continue his story, a third voice chimed up beside them. Turning to look, Renault's expression immediately shifted to one of complete flabbergast. A Dragonborn. A night for strange occurrences indeed. 

Recovering his composure, Renault mumbled for a few moments, once more finding his voice. "Uh, y-yes, of course. Assuming my company has no issue." He answered, motioning to Alenia for emphasis. In truth, though taken aback by the newcomer's presence, a part of him was thankful for the distraction. He had made it a point to speak little of his shame since his exile, even to Barric's prying. How could one simply say it? It would be like confessing all over again, waiting for the expectant gasps and murmurs of a judgmental crowd. 

It stung, still: the feeling of his cape being torn from his shoulders, the plate pried off his body, sword tossed upon the cold marble floors of the temple. He was shamed then, naked in his sin. Would he be shamed again, with only a splintered shield to protect him? 

[@La Fleur] [@Rockin Strings]