For all the wishes of abundance and prosperity, The Fell Knight in his youth and into adulthood was never a wealthy man. He and his family struggled early on in life. Things got better with time but never to a point that they expected to live well like the rest. How many times did The Fell Knight’s ears hear disappointment when listening to the tales of others who had traveled the world, to see its magnificent kingdoms, its exotic people, its prolific culture. To taste its rare foods and wines. He was often ridiculed for the garments he could afford, trying to look presentable. He adored every simple thing he had owned. He never saw one thing as “poor” to him. He cherished them. His mother had cared for him all alone after her husband had passed. What The Fell Knight hated the most was not that he never had higher quality materials. He hated that he had seen and felt so much selfishness, greed and lack of appreciation that it corrupted him to barely be able to enjoy anything anymore. He was left with a pit of sorrow and a void he did not know how to fill. For even when his pockets were filled with riches and gems, it brought him nothing but the price he had to pay to exact his revenge. It never brought him the one thing that had eluded him his entire life- Happiness. One night he was counting his schillings, ensuring his amount for the coming season. The amount was a bit shorter than anticipated. He was in need to contest and pillage for more earnings. “Nothing had changed”, he thought. “Still, I work and worry, only to worry some more. To feed a never ending appetite. A sick joke.” He began having a compulsive episode. He kept repeating the number he had reached in gold along with the number he had wanted to be at. “2000 will be 5000, then will be 10,000. 2000 will be 5000 then will be 10,000. 2000 will be 5000, then will be 10,000.” Over and over again. Dozens of times. As if their amounts were going to grow with each declaration of them. No number could have satisfied his disorder. It was ingrained in him that only an extreme amount of material value would make him worthy in his mind. To whom? For what reason? He had no idea anymore. He gave up on believing in his own value. Others never saw the value in him, so why should he pretend? Words can hold overwhelming power compared to a sword which simply cuts you. Words slice deep but linger and seep poison in you. Doubt is the sharpest weapon one can be penetrated with. He banged his head on the table and on the walls repeatedly for the thoughts to stop. He wept heavily when he saw his first pair of boots from young squirehood that his mother had saved up for. He had kept them and hung them on his wall. “Why can’t my wants be small and humble again, like these little boots?” Your gold made nothing but a fool of me, in this life. To have it all but feel entirely meaningless. Mother, please forgive me for what I could not become and for what I did turn into.” The Fell Knight slept somberly that night.
