In the dark of his room, the answer came to Berrod as clear as an Ul'Dahn day.Â
Destruction.
That's what it had all been about -- how could he have forgotten that simple, basic concept? His quiet devotion to Rhalgr, the excruciating readings he had put himself through and the countless interviews with older Ala Mhigans -- many of which ended in traded blows -- had they not all provided him with a clear insight into the very purpose of his art?
Destruction.
He had been brooding and fussing over the losses and draws that his fights had resulted in, wondering if he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough -- or still not patient enough. Doubt had constricted him with despondence not far behind. Now, the urge to strike himself was strong. He'd been missing the point the entire time!
Destruction!
Whether he won the fights or not didn't matter. The destruction of his opponent was paramount. Had he not walked away while his opponent sat injured after his draw at Sil'Dih? Had he not rendered the bartender bedridden while he limped around? Had he not disabled the hunter long after he had lost their bout? Win, lose -- those were technical terms dictated by silly rules. A Pugilist's wont...no, a monk's wont...was to destroy! He had inflicted damage upon his foes and walked away each time with far less lasting harm done to himself. The epiphany brought with it a severe sense of satisfaction.
Suddenly, his losing streak didn't seem so bad at all. Future losses would not matter -- people could jeer at him all they wanted. He intended to visit one manner of destruction or other upon his opponents before the fight was done, win or lose.Â
With a quiet laugh, Berrod murmured to himself in the dark. "Ah, Rhalgr. Yer makin' a lot more sense t'me."
Destruction.
That's what it had all been about -- how could he have forgotten that simple, basic concept? His quiet devotion to Rhalgr, the excruciating readings he had put himself through and the countless interviews with older Ala Mhigans -- many of which ended in traded blows -- had they not all provided him with a clear insight into the very purpose of his art?
Destruction.
He had been brooding and fussing over the losses and draws that his fights had resulted in, wondering if he wasn't strong enough or skilled enough -- or still not patient enough. Doubt had constricted him with despondence not far behind. Now, the urge to strike himself was strong. He'd been missing the point the entire time!
Destruction!
Whether he won the fights or not didn't matter. The destruction of his opponent was paramount. Had he not walked away while his opponent sat injured after his draw at Sil'Dih? Had he not rendered the bartender bedridden while he limped around? Had he not disabled the hunter long after he had lost their bout? Win, lose -- those were technical terms dictated by silly rules. A Pugilist's wont...no, a monk's wont...was to destroy! He had inflicted damage upon his foes and walked away each time with far less lasting harm done to himself. The epiphany brought with it a severe sense of satisfaction.
Suddenly, his losing streak didn't seem so bad at all. Future losses would not matter -- people could jeer at him all they wanted. He intended to visit one manner of destruction or other upon his opponents before the fight was done, win or lose.Â
With a quiet laugh, Berrod murmured to himself in the dark. "Ah, Rhalgr. Yer makin' a lot more sense t'me."
![[Image: tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/80be4033cdf57fb6268473ef9ce37db6/tumblr_ojgu7zoaag1robwlio1_540.png)
