THE IMAGE IS A PROMISE
I must have stared at that picture a thousand times.
Emirikol the Chaotic—tearing through a medieval street on horseback, magic blazing, bodies in his wake. I’d sneak my Dungeon Master’s Guide into class, crack it open under my desk, and there he’d be. Every time.
That image was pure promise.
Adventure. Danger. Mattering.
I didn’t analyze it.
I just knew: I want that.
Fast forward a few decades.
I’m scrolling through Facebook and stumble onto these D&D AI art pages—people taking those old black-and-white illustrations and colorizing them with Sora. And there he is again. Emirikol, now glowing in amber and gold, fire and shadow.
Nostalgic hit.
Fun little dopamine bump.
Cool, right?
But then I look closer.
And I see it differently.
Oh.
This isn’t just a D&D scene.
This is my whole fucking life.
Look at what’s actually happening in that street:
Someone burning alive.
Another hit mid-spell.
A mother fleeing with her baby.
Chaos. Pain. Life already on fire.
And there—stepping out of the Green Griffon tavern—is the hero.
No name.
No backstory.
No guarantee he wins.
Just this question:
Will you step into the street or not?
That’s the promise.
Not that adventure is coming.
That it’s already here.
The chaos isn’t waiting for you to be ready. Emirikol doesn’t ask permission. Life doesn’t care if you feel prepared.
Something’s burning.
Someone needs you.
The moment is now.
And you decide:
Do I step out of the tavern?
This is marriage when it’s hard.
This is fatherhood when you don’t know what to say.
This is business when the money’s running out.
This is faith when the answers don’t come.
This is masculinity.
Not the Instagram version—
the sweaty, uncertain, I’ll do it anyway version.
You don’t get guarantees.
You get a moment where something terrible is already happening, and you decide whether you engage.
And here’s what that old D&D image understood:
The picture doesn’t tell you how it ends.
Maybe the hero wins.
Maybe he doesn’t.
Maybe he’s corpse number four in thirty seconds.
But the story happens because someone chose to step into the street.
That’s the promise.
Not victory.
Participation.
