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Severin Brom
"The Beast"


An optimistic, albeit skilled farmer boy devoted to keeping the peace and helping those in need, utilizing the curses that had previously chained him down.


Late Highfrost, 25 AC.
29th of Highfrost, 25 AC.

Beautiful Lies

by Severin Brom

Pa always valued honesty above all else.
 
I had first learned of this when I was a small child, around 7 or 8, playing with his tools when I wasn't supposed to. I was jabbing the sharp end of a pitchfork I had found against one of the support beams in our barn, but I guess I didn't know my own strength. I ended up destroying the prongs of one of his most expensive tools, the one that would scoop up mounds of hay with little effort, especially for a man as worn down as my Pa. It was strong, his best tool, and I knew this. So, instead of owning up to it, I tried to bury it deep under a heap of loose straw, and I thought that was that.
 
Of course, he wondered where it went, and after an hour of searching, he had found it.
 
I remember him knocking at my door, warped pitchfork in hand. At that moment, I was entrenched in fear. I had opened it, and there he stood, shrouded in shadow, filling up my entire doorway. I burst into tears, expecting the worst.
 
Then, he spoke.
 
He went on to describe how he wasn't angry that his pitchfork was broken, rather, he was disappointed that I tried to hide it rather than confessing, and letting him look for it even as I knew where it was. Through thick tears, I babbled on about how it was his best tool, how it was strong, and helped him so much while working, and how I was afraid of how angry he'd be if I were to show him I broke it.
 
He sighed and said to me:
 
"The farmer's best tool is his sharp mind and his own hands. A tool is just an extension of yourself, your raw power. It makes you better based on what's already inside of you, it doesn't make up for what you lack. I know you got an honest soul, son, and I understand you were scared. But you lied, and I know you are better than that."
 
He stooped down to my level, one hand propping himself up with a shovel, and another rested on his knee as he looked me in the eye, his tired blue eyes barely visible beneath his thick, furrowed brow before uttering that phrase he'd repeat in his slowed, slurred drawl:
 
"Son, sometimes the ugly truth is always better than a beautiful lie."
 
He then patted me on my shoulder, stood back up, and told me what I would have to do to atone for my misdeeds.
 
Throughout my childhood I had never seen Pa scream with rage at me or any of my siblings, nor did he ever raise a hand at me or my siblings to strike us as a form of brutal punishment. All he needed to do was talk to us, in his same gruff tone, telling us that he knew we could do better. That was more effective than anything else he could've done. More effective than he could have ever known.
 
It was at that point when I started working on the farm with him. I was a good farm hand, feeding the animals and tending to the plants, collecting them for my mother to sell, helping lift bales of hay that were far too heavy for my father to carry alone, even when he was younger. It was during this time where I had really gotten to know my father. Sure, it was quiet sometimes, but there were moments when we would be standing amongst our land, looking at our rows upon rows of crops, where he would utter lessons he learned throughout his long life. Lessons that stuck with me, even now. Kindness, valor, and of course, honesty.
 
I lived by the truth, and sometimes I like to believe I still do.
 
But there are nights where I question the validity of the notion that I live with honesty. Sometimes I feel as if I'm lying to myself, and maybe Pa was lying to me when he said there was good in me.
 
Sometimes I lie awake at night wondering what things would be like if he remembered everything that happened back home. I was just a kid, and I was foolish to underestimate the effect of my choices. Will the powers above ever forgive me? The things I did to save the town. The things I did to Mateus. The things I did to him the night I became a monster. Would he still believe in me?
 
I tell myself, through persistent tears, to get myself to sleep easier, “Of course he would.”
 
Or is that another beautiful lie?
 

The major events and journals in Severin's history, from the beginning to today.

Beautiful Lies

Pa always valued honesty above all else. I had first learned of this when I was a small child, around 7 or 8, playing with his tools when I wasn't supposed to. I was jabbing the sharp end of a pitchfork I had found against one of the support beams in ...

04:05 am - 20.08.2022

The list of amazing people following the adventures of Severin.

Played by
Ocilontr

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