The conversation with the monetarist and her companion stuck with him through the night and into the morning. Titles and honorifics, the sorts of things tacked onto a name to give it sanction and station and importance. The monetarist had argued that those things were what defined a person, but Warren had never subscribed to that convention. Titles and honorifics were the sorts of things, to him, that other people affixed. That was all. He'd introduced himself as Warren Castille and allowed the others present to play up his rank and station; Rank and station that didn't exist in the upper or lower echelons of Ul'dahn society proper, yet ones that enough people seemed to treat as if they were real. As far as Warren stated, he was just a man. The monetarist posited that nobody is just their name.
That position echoed in the Duskbreak. Warren had made it a priority to keep his sword and armor in pristine condition, but that priority had slipped somewhat. The rack of armor that held the armor he'd associated with as a free paladin remained polished, but the lack of use had permitted a small coating of dust to settle on it. Beside it, the black and red scale and chain remained in immaculate condition, polished and oiled and mended as necessary. He reasoned away that it was merely due to time, and other things requiring his attention, but the blow had been struck nonetheless.
His wardrobe added voice to the choir as well. Warren considered himself a simple man of relatively simple taste; No need for vibrant color or precise, fanciful design when sturdy, comfortable clothing would suffice. Yet the collection of things to wear about his home varied; There were the simple brown and greys of the tunics and kurtas he'd once worn outside of his armor, and the well-worn boots remained aside in the event he'd need them. Added to the mix were the fashioned and trim coats and and tabards, with shined boots and immaculate gloves that spoke of someone beyond a simple man. He'd been sold on the idea that as someone of some tiny bit of regional renown, he should look the part. The clothes came as a gift, but he'd worn them initially as a costume. Now, he found himself using the look more and more.
The thought troubled him more than it should have. When had he stopped seeing those tokens as merely tokens? When had those bits of rank and station slipped inside of his barriers? Rejecting them as nonsense felt invalid in the face of accepting them elsewhere. All the same, he pulled the tabard free and began to dress in the blue and black pattern. He had places to be that evening.
That position echoed in the Duskbreak. Warren had made it a priority to keep his sword and armor in pristine condition, but that priority had slipped somewhat. The rack of armor that held the armor he'd associated with as a free paladin remained polished, but the lack of use had permitted a small coating of dust to settle on it. Beside it, the black and red scale and chain remained in immaculate condition, polished and oiled and mended as necessary. He reasoned away that it was merely due to time, and other things requiring his attention, but the blow had been struck nonetheless.
His wardrobe added voice to the choir as well. Warren considered himself a simple man of relatively simple taste; No need for vibrant color or precise, fanciful design when sturdy, comfortable clothing would suffice. Yet the collection of things to wear about his home varied; There were the simple brown and greys of the tunics and kurtas he'd once worn outside of his armor, and the well-worn boots remained aside in the event he'd need them. Added to the mix were the fashioned and trim coats and and tabards, with shined boots and immaculate gloves that spoke of someone beyond a simple man. He'd been sold on the idea that as someone of some tiny bit of regional renown, he should look the part. The clothes came as a gift, but he'd worn them initially as a costume. Now, he found himself using the look more and more.
The thought troubled him more than it should have. When had he stopped seeing those tokens as merely tokens? When had those bits of rank and station slipped inside of his barriers? Rejecting them as nonsense felt invalid in the face of accepting them elsewhere. All the same, he pulled the tabard free and began to dress in the blue and black pattern. He had places to be that evening.
![[Image: yEROfKO.png]](http://i.imgur.com/yEROfKO.png)
