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Illian's Crossing
- Thread starter Jovis
- Start date
Adelaide’s Story
Growing up without parents is hard, even if you’re from the nobility. My father is the good King Lothar, though I don’t understand why they call him the “Good King” when all he does is hunt every day and can’t be bothered to make decisions. And frankly, why do they even call him king? He rules over a small city and a bunch of small farming villages, with a population less than the duchies that make up the rest of the Kingdom of Bistritzia. I’m sure that the only reason the King of Bistritzia even allows my father to call himself a king is that he’s too far away and unimportant to even bother.
My father and I have never gotten along. My mother died hours after my birth. My father loved my mom and it had been twenty years since my brother and heir had been born. Women my mother’s age just don’t have children, so I was a surprise, a blessing for my mother and a curse for my father. Although he’s never said it, I think he blames me for her death.
Nanny’s and other hired help took care of me as I grew up. My brother, Prince Labraid, keeps an eye out for me and lets me sit by his side during official events. He is strong and smart and very well-liked by the people of Illian’s Crossing, and will someday make a great king if my damn father would just freaking die. He’s been king for over 80 years now, there is only one person in the entire town that was even alive during his coronation. People in my family live longer than most, but this is beyond ridiculousness. I guess doing nothing but hunting during the day and drinking beer at night is the key to good health.
I have a secret. I can cast magic! Well, not a secret really because I’m not hiding it, but a secret from my father because he doesn’t pay enough attention to me to know. He is going to flip out when he find out, but I don’t care. I learned a couple years ago that I can mimic what the court magician, Kristoph, does and repeat some of his spells. Not the complicated ones yet, but the simpler spells. I showed Kristoph what I can do and he has been teaching me weekly how to cast spells. He even helped me create my first spell book.
Despite learning magic, I’ve been terribly bored. I get in trouble a lot, and recently my brother has been pushing me to begin picking up civic duties to help off-load the work he is required to do. The thought of having to sit all day and listen to people talk and complain sounds like being locked in a cage. I brought up me joining the guard, but my brother strictly prohibited it. I want to be outside, riding horses, using my skills to protect people from harm. But Labraid won’t let me.
So I went around him. Illian’s crossing has a huge militia, and due to all the orc incursions lately, is actively recruiting. I packed some things, disguised myself and went to the main city gate to sign up. Women rarely join the militia, but it is allowed and there are a few. No one at the guard house recognized me of course, I’ve been practicing disguising myself since I was young so that I could go out into the town. At first, they were skeptical about my ability to pass the physical requirements of joining the militia, but after demonstrating my special skills, I was easily able to sign up. They are always looking for people with special skills; arcane magic, healing, swordsmanship. And if you can bring your own equipment, even better.
It was all set and I sat with the other recruits of the day, waiting to be sent to the barracks for processing, when my brother shows up. I was such a fool, of course he would be summoned if a recruit possessing magical skills signed up. He took one look at me and immediately recognized who I was. He dragged me out of there by my arm, it was so embarrassing.
By lucks chance, my father came back from one of his hunting excursions just as my brother was dragging me back. Labraid told him what I was doing and then the most amazing thing happened, he smiled. He told my brother that if that’s what I wanted to do, that I should be allowed to do it. And then he looked at me (he never makes eye contact with me) and told me he was proud of my choice. Maybe he isn't such a jerk after all.
So here I am, a “princess” of Illian’s Crossing, sitting in a room with my new militia unit. A motley crew we are, a bunch of individuals who don’t fit in easily with the rest of the recruits. I’m sure we’re considered the special unit (as in difficult), but something just seems RIGHT about all of us being here.
Experience:
Growing up without parents is hard, even if you’re from the nobility. My father is the good King Lothar, though I don’t understand why they call him the “Good King” when all he does is hunt every day and can’t be bothered to make decisions. And frankly, why do they even call him king? He rules over a small city and a bunch of small farming villages, with a population less than the duchies that make up the rest of the Kingdom of Bistritzia. I’m sure that the only reason the King of Bistritzia even allows my father to call himself a king is that he’s too far away and unimportant to even bother.
My father and I have never gotten along. My mother died hours after my birth. My father loved my mom and it had been twenty years since my brother and heir had been born. Women my mother’s age just don’t have children, so I was a surprise, a blessing for my mother and a curse for my father. Although he’s never said it, I think he blames me for her death.
Nanny’s and other hired help took care of me as I grew up. My brother, Prince Labraid, keeps an eye out for me and lets me sit by his side during official events. He is strong and smart and very well-liked by the people of Illian’s Crossing, and will someday make a great king if my damn father would just freaking die. He’s been king for over 80 years now, there is only one person in the entire town that was even alive during his coronation. People in my family live longer than most, but this is beyond ridiculousness. I guess doing nothing but hunting during the day and drinking beer at night is the key to good health.
I have a secret. I can cast magic! Well, not a secret really because I’m not hiding it, but a secret from my father because he doesn’t pay enough attention to me to know. He is going to flip out when he find out, but I don’t care. I learned a couple years ago that I can mimic what the court magician, Kristoph, does and repeat some of his spells. Not the complicated ones yet, but the simpler spells. I showed Kristoph what I can do and he has been teaching me weekly how to cast spells. He even helped me create my first spell book.
Despite learning magic, I’ve been terribly bored. I get in trouble a lot, and recently my brother has been pushing me to begin picking up civic duties to help off-load the work he is required to do. The thought of having to sit all day and listen to people talk and complain sounds like being locked in a cage. I brought up me joining the guard, but my brother strictly prohibited it. I want to be outside, riding horses, using my skills to protect people from harm. But Labraid won’t let me.
So I went around him. Illian’s crossing has a huge militia, and due to all the orc incursions lately, is actively recruiting. I packed some things, disguised myself and went to the main city gate to sign up. Women rarely join the militia, but it is allowed and there are a few. No one at the guard house recognized me of course, I’ve been practicing disguising myself since I was young so that I could go out into the town. At first, they were skeptical about my ability to pass the physical requirements of joining the militia, but after demonstrating my special skills, I was easily able to sign up. They are always looking for people with special skills; arcane magic, healing, swordsmanship. And if you can bring your own equipment, even better.
It was all set and I sat with the other recruits of the day, waiting to be sent to the barracks for processing, when my brother shows up. I was such a fool, of course he would be summoned if a recruit possessing magical skills signed up. He took one look at me and immediately recognized who I was. He dragged me out of there by my arm, it was so embarrassing.
By lucks chance, my father came back from one of his hunting excursions just as my brother was dragging me back. Labraid told him what I was doing and then the most amazing thing happened, he smiled. He told my brother that if that’s what I wanted to do, that I should be allowed to do it. And then he looked at me (he never makes eye contact with me) and told me he was proud of my choice. Maybe he isn't such a jerk after all.
So here I am, a “princess” of Illian’s Crossing, sitting in a room with my new militia unit. A motley crew we are, a bunch of individuals who don’t fit in easily with the rest of the recruits. I’m sure we’re considered the special unit (as in difficult), but something just seems RIGHT about all of us being here.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935
Last edited by a moderator:
Langnus Story
I’m descended from a long line of zealots and fanatics. When you live in a bubble, it’s hard to see that what you really belong to is a cult, but that was how I lived growing up. It wasn’t a cult following a false god, but one following a false history.
I grew up believing that my forefathers thousands of years ago, before the current age of man, were kings of an underground great realm, Illifarn it was called. This great realm was unbelievably rich and prosperous, tens of thousands of dwarves lived within its confines. Then a great war happened, an army of men and elves besieged the great realm. Despite the huge odds against them, the valiant dwarves began to drive back their enemies, and were poised to destroy them on the slopes of their great home. The elves, in order to not be destroyed, surrendered to the dwarves and so as to not be a threat, were made to give up there powerful magical weapons of war.
But the elves tricked the dwarves. One of the items they gave them was death instead. When they brought the items into their mountain, a plague swept through the realm, killing all but the few who were not there. The remaining dwarves fled far away, but vowed to return one day when elves and men had forgotten the treasures of Illifarn.
Yeah, that is what my family believes. The truth is we moved to Illian’s Crossing almost 200 years ago because my crackpot grandfather had supposed vision from Torag, that told him he was descended from kings, and if he traveled to the Iron Hills, he would find his kingdom and once again bring back the glory of dwarves. So my family and four others packed up from Dwarves Deep (It’s not deep, it’s a strip mine and everyone lives above ground) and traveled west to Illian’s Crossing. There they settled, opened up a rather successful metalworking business, and began their search for Illifarn.
Every summer, the males of clan Illifarn (renamed after the imaginary realm of course) would head north into the Iron Hills, searching in vain for their ancestral home. For almost 200 years they have searched, every hill painstakingly mapped, every rock analyzed, thousands and thousands of holes dug. Even after my grandfather died 18 years ago, they still search. Every detail is recorded in a huge book my father keeps, which they read from at the evening meal as if it was a book of divine power.
This is the belief I was born into. This is what I believed too. Until last year.
That is when the visions started. It began with short, couple of seconds, flashes of my family, dead and dying in agony. As the visions became longer, I saw a godly human man over my family, dressed in white, trying to heal them. They would refuse and die. The longer the visions became the worse I saw, my family rising, mutilated and rotten, attacking each other in a never ending cycle of death. The man in white would come to me and say I can prevent this, all I have to do is accept. And then during one vision I did, and instead of the man healing my family, it was me, holy power streaming through my body.
That was the last time I had a vision. But when I awoke, I knew something was different. I could still feel the power from the dream within me. And I knew how to use it.
I knew who the man from the dream was. I’ve see the image of him before. It was no man, it was the human god At’ar. He choose me for some reason, choose me to save my family from death. Death in their mad pursuit of fake history.
And I could finally see clearly. See beyond the bubble that I and my family have been living in. The folly of our quest. the madness of my grandfather. I remember little things, like when dwarves would pass through Illian’s Crossing, how they would never stay with us more than a night, there glances at each other while my grandfather pontificated on their search for Illifarn.
So I told my family about my visions. I show them my new powers, I tell them everything I have seen. And the more I told, the angrier they became. The more I pleaded with them, the more they shut me out.
I needed guidance. I thought I may find some with the church of At’ar, but they did not believe my story. And despite my demonstrations of divine skills, they claimed that they were gifts from a dwarven god, and at best I am crazy, and at worst I’m trying to infiltrate them. I was turned away. Amongst them all there was one man there who seemed to understand, though he did not speak in my defense. Only when I was escorted out did he approach me. He handed me a small bag and told me to stay strong and true and all will work out if I let At’ar guide me.
With nowhere left to turn and nowhere to go, I came upon the recruitment poster for the militia. So on a whim, I went home, quietly packed my things, and left. One look at my armor and weapons and I was quickly processed. And here I am, the only dwarf in the guard, mixed in with this motley group of individuals, and it just feels RIGHT.
Experience:
I’m descended from a long line of zealots and fanatics. When you live in a bubble, it’s hard to see that what you really belong to is a cult, but that was how I lived growing up. It wasn’t a cult following a false god, but one following a false history.
I grew up believing that my forefathers thousands of years ago, before the current age of man, were kings of an underground great realm, Illifarn it was called. This great realm was unbelievably rich and prosperous, tens of thousands of dwarves lived within its confines. Then a great war happened, an army of men and elves besieged the great realm. Despite the huge odds against them, the valiant dwarves began to drive back their enemies, and were poised to destroy them on the slopes of their great home. The elves, in order to not be destroyed, surrendered to the dwarves and so as to not be a threat, were made to give up there powerful magical weapons of war.
But the elves tricked the dwarves. One of the items they gave them was death instead. When they brought the items into their mountain, a plague swept through the realm, killing all but the few who were not there. The remaining dwarves fled far away, but vowed to return one day when elves and men had forgotten the treasures of Illifarn.
Yeah, that is what my family believes. The truth is we moved to Illian’s Crossing almost 200 years ago because my crackpot grandfather had supposed vision from Torag, that told him he was descended from kings, and if he traveled to the Iron Hills, he would find his kingdom and once again bring back the glory of dwarves. So my family and four others packed up from Dwarves Deep (It’s not deep, it’s a strip mine and everyone lives above ground) and traveled west to Illian’s Crossing. There they settled, opened up a rather successful metalworking business, and began their search for Illifarn.
Every summer, the males of clan Illifarn (renamed after the imaginary realm of course) would head north into the Iron Hills, searching in vain for their ancestral home. For almost 200 years they have searched, every hill painstakingly mapped, every rock analyzed, thousands and thousands of holes dug. Even after my grandfather died 18 years ago, they still search. Every detail is recorded in a huge book my father keeps, which they read from at the evening meal as if it was a book of divine power.
This is the belief I was born into. This is what I believed too. Until last year.
That is when the visions started. It began with short, couple of seconds, flashes of my family, dead and dying in agony. As the visions became longer, I saw a godly human man over my family, dressed in white, trying to heal them. They would refuse and die. The longer the visions became the worse I saw, my family rising, mutilated and rotten, attacking each other in a never ending cycle of death. The man in white would come to me and say I can prevent this, all I have to do is accept. And then during one vision I did, and instead of the man healing my family, it was me, holy power streaming through my body.
That was the last time I had a vision. But when I awoke, I knew something was different. I could still feel the power from the dream within me. And I knew how to use it.
I knew who the man from the dream was. I’ve see the image of him before. It was no man, it was the human god At’ar. He choose me for some reason, choose me to save my family from death. Death in their mad pursuit of fake history.
And I could finally see clearly. See beyond the bubble that I and my family have been living in. The folly of our quest. the madness of my grandfather. I remember little things, like when dwarves would pass through Illian’s Crossing, how they would never stay with us more than a night, there glances at each other while my grandfather pontificated on their search for Illifarn.
So I told my family about my visions. I show them my new powers, I tell them everything I have seen. And the more I told, the angrier they became. The more I pleaded with them, the more they shut me out.
I needed guidance. I thought I may find some with the church of At’ar, but they did not believe my story. And despite my demonstrations of divine skills, they claimed that they were gifts from a dwarven god, and at best I am crazy, and at worst I’m trying to infiltrate them. I was turned away. Amongst them all there was one man there who seemed to understand, though he did not speak in my defense. Only when I was escorted out did he approach me. He handed me a small bag and told me to stay strong and true and all will work out if I let At’ar guide me.
With nowhere left to turn and nowhere to go, I came upon the recruitment poster for the militia. So on a whim, I went home, quietly packed my things, and left. One look at my armor and weapons and I was quickly processed. And here I am, the only dwarf in the guard, mixed in with this motley group of individuals, and it just feels RIGHT.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935
Last edited by a moderator:
Vil’s Story
I don’t know if the gods hate me or favor me. I don’t remember much of my early childhood other than flashes of time with other orcs that were associated with torment and a lot of pain. One evening after a particularly savage beating, a male orc woke me from my slumber and guided me away from my dwelling and out into the wilderness. We traveled for a few days until mountains could be seen in the distance. He gave me some food, water, and a ridiculously large and heavy axe, and told me to walk towards those peaks and over them, and if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll live.
So I walked. I don’t know for how long, but my food and water were gone before I reached the mountains, and I wandered through them for many days after. That is when I was found, cold, hungry and alone by what I would refer to as my father, Yakob, an aging and kind fur trader. He brought me, near death, back to his cabin where he and his wife, Leah, nursed me back to health.
Yakob and Leah were good people. Although their lives had been tough, they didn’t resent their life or have any anger. Indeed they could see beauty in the world where others saw only ugliness. And so it was with me. I have three vicious scars running across my face, as if I was clawed by a giant bird, making me look even scarier than an orc (or half orc or whatever I am) would be otherwise. But to me, it appeared they saw right through my appearance to the individual I was underneath my skin. They raised me, an orphan orc, as a son. The child they never had.
I was not an easy child. I know this now. I had a bad temper and was prone to fits of rage. Maybe it due to being abandoned, maybe it was due to my heritage, but sometimes when I would get frustrated, or angry, or hurt, I would fly off the handle. My vision would turn red, and I would end up breaking and smashing things. It was hard on them, but they never gave up.
They taught me how to speak the common tongue. Leah taught me how to prepare food and a little bit of reading and writing. Yakob would take me out hunting with him. He taught me how to catch different types of game, to shoot a bow, to set snares. But what he really taught me was patience and self-control.
Yakob would take me every month to the local village to sell the furs we had collected and pick up supplies. I didn’t realize how different I was until we started going. People would stare at me, particularly the kids, when I wasn’t looking directly at them and then divert their gaze when I did. At first it made me angry, but Yakob taught me that they were just afraid of things that are different, and in this area, people still remember the orcish raids and hold resentment because of it. He taught me to look from others point of view and understand why they acted like they did.
They were peaceful years. A complete reversal of my earliest memories. I grew quickly, and after not too long, I towered over my parents. Yakob and Leah were good parents, they turned me into the individual I am today, a good and caring one.
Yakob didn’t wake up one day. He passed away quietly in his sleep. We were both devastated. For a couple months I took over Yakob’s duties, hunting for fur and food, chopping wood, and repairing the cabin. But the furs began piling up and the supplies, particularly salt, were running out. Leah was too old to leave the cabin, so I needed to go to town alone for both of us.
It’s one thing for an orc to walk into a human town escorted by a known and respected man. It’s another to walk in alone. It was immediately clear that the people, even though they knew who I was, were not comfortable with that. The stares became leers, no longer diverting their eyes. It felt threatened by those eyes looking at me, so I quickened my pace to the tanner we usually sold the hides to.
When I entered, he looked at me and asked where Yakob was. I told him he had passed away two months ago, and that I was now selling the furs for his wife. He paused for a moment, smiled a bit, and then asked what I had for him. I showed him and he offered me 3 gold pieces for the lot. I was shocked. We normally got more than 5 gp for all of these furs! It was immediately obvious that he was taking advantage of Yakob being gone! He was taking advantage of me and Leah! He saw that I wasn’t happy, and gave the excuse that fur trapping has been very plentiful lately, but I knew it was a lie. I wanted to punch him in the face, but restrained myself. We needed the money and I had no other place to get it.
I took the money and left the hides, storming out of the place and slamming the door behind me. I sometimes forget my strength, particularly when angry, the wood door behind me shattering when it hit the frame. The noise was loud and attracted all the wrong kinds of attention. Immediately groups of men stood and walked towards me.
It was not pretty, words were said and then punches were thrown. I broke at least a couple noses before they finally got me to the ground. There they kicked and punched me while I lay there, until finally someone yelled for them to stop. They dragged me, limp and bleeding to the center of town, where they put a manacle on my ankle that was fastened to a post by a chain, and secured both my hands to a length of wood behind my back.
There they left me. Every few hour a man came to give me water. I begged him to let me go, that I needed to get back to Leah, but he was either deaf or did not care. The night was cold, and without a blanket, I had to stand up and move around to stay warm. I shivered uncontrollably. If I had lay down and fallen asleep, I probably would not have survived.
The following day, as I sat against the post barely awake, two men came for me. The taller of the two drew a sword, and told me that if I attempted to run away, he would run me through. The shorter man unlocked the manacle around my ankle and then withdrew. With my arms still bound, I stood up and faced him. I did not like the look in his eyes. So I did what anyone would do, I ran.
I ran fast. I can run really fast normally when not this motivated, and today I was running for my life. I ran, with my hands still tied to a piece of wood behind my back, for hours. All the way back to the cabin I ran, not stopping to rest or catch my breath. And when I got there I fell through the door, my legs and body finally giving up. I lay on the floor for minutes without moving.
I would have laid there longer if not for the silence. Something was wrong. The cabin was quiet, and cold. It should never be quiet as Leah was always there. And then I saw her, unmoving, slumped against the table. I called her name and got up and rushed over. I nudged her with my arm but she didn’t move. She felt, stiff and unnatural. She was gone.
I don’t know if it was because I did not make it back that night, or if it was just her time to go, but I was angry I was not there for her. It wasn’t fair. Thankfully there was enough heat left in the fire that I was able to get it going again. I used the fire to burn through the piece of wood between both my wrists, and once it was separated, untie my bindings. I buried Leah next to Yakob. And then I cried.
When the tears dried up, I went back to the house where Yakob and Leah raised me and collected my few belongings and axe. Then I spread some oil through the place and lit it aflame.
I didn’t know where to go. North lay my past, so I went south. I traveled wide around the town that caused me so much pain, and then joined back up with the road. I traveled for several days, bypassing villages, occasionally passing travelers on the road. I could tell most were uncomfortable once they got near enough to realize what I was, though none threatened me. I gave those passing me a wide margin when they got close, I didn’t want to talk to anyone just as much as they did not want to interact with me.
On the fourth day I arrive at Illian’s Crossing. As I approached the gate, a guard called out asking what my business was in the town. I yelled back that I was looking for work and a place to stay. A group of armored men came out, hands on the hilts of their swords, and ordered me to give them my axe, which I did, and then pushed me forward rudely inside the gate house.
Once in, they asked me again what my business was. I noticed the flier on the wall, so I told them I wanted to join the militia. They laughed, and ask why I thought they would let an orc join a group trying to protect people from orcs. In retrospect, it was a pretty dumb thing for me to ask. They tied me up, and left me there, under guard, for a couple hours while they decided what to do with me.
It was then that I got to meet Prince Labaid. I did not know who he was at the time, but he interviewed me and asked my story. I told him about being abandoned, and how I was found by Yakob. I told him about Yakob and Leah raising me, teaching me how to hunt, and the common tongue. I told him that they had recently died of old age. I left out what happened at the village. He seemed to be satisfied by my story. He asked if I knew orcish, which I do, and what I would do if I encountered an orc raiding party. “Kill them” I said. He seemed to be satisfied with that answer too.
And now I find myself in a room with the strangest lot of beings I’ve ever met. Men and women, some with pointy ears and some no taller than my hip. It is a strange group, by something just feels RIGHT about it.
Experience:
I don’t know if the gods hate me or favor me. I don’t remember much of my early childhood other than flashes of time with other orcs that were associated with torment and a lot of pain. One evening after a particularly savage beating, a male orc woke me from my slumber and guided me away from my dwelling and out into the wilderness. We traveled for a few days until mountains could be seen in the distance. He gave me some food, water, and a ridiculously large and heavy axe, and told me to walk towards those peaks and over them, and if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll live.
So I walked. I don’t know for how long, but my food and water were gone before I reached the mountains, and I wandered through them for many days after. That is when I was found, cold, hungry and alone by what I would refer to as my father, Yakob, an aging and kind fur trader. He brought me, near death, back to his cabin where he and his wife, Leah, nursed me back to health.
Yakob and Leah were good people. Although their lives had been tough, they didn’t resent their life or have any anger. Indeed they could see beauty in the world where others saw only ugliness. And so it was with me. I have three vicious scars running across my face, as if I was clawed by a giant bird, making me look even scarier than an orc (or half orc or whatever I am) would be otherwise. But to me, it appeared they saw right through my appearance to the individual I was underneath my skin. They raised me, an orphan orc, as a son. The child they never had.
I was not an easy child. I know this now. I had a bad temper and was prone to fits of rage. Maybe it due to being abandoned, maybe it was due to my heritage, but sometimes when I would get frustrated, or angry, or hurt, I would fly off the handle. My vision would turn red, and I would end up breaking and smashing things. It was hard on them, but they never gave up.
They taught me how to speak the common tongue. Leah taught me how to prepare food and a little bit of reading and writing. Yakob would take me out hunting with him. He taught me how to catch different types of game, to shoot a bow, to set snares. But what he really taught me was patience and self-control.
Yakob would take me every month to the local village to sell the furs we had collected and pick up supplies. I didn’t realize how different I was until we started going. People would stare at me, particularly the kids, when I wasn’t looking directly at them and then divert their gaze when I did. At first it made me angry, but Yakob taught me that they were just afraid of things that are different, and in this area, people still remember the orcish raids and hold resentment because of it. He taught me to look from others point of view and understand why they acted like they did.
They were peaceful years. A complete reversal of my earliest memories. I grew quickly, and after not too long, I towered over my parents. Yakob and Leah were good parents, they turned me into the individual I am today, a good and caring one.
Yakob didn’t wake up one day. He passed away quietly in his sleep. We were both devastated. For a couple months I took over Yakob’s duties, hunting for fur and food, chopping wood, and repairing the cabin. But the furs began piling up and the supplies, particularly salt, were running out. Leah was too old to leave the cabin, so I needed to go to town alone for both of us.
It’s one thing for an orc to walk into a human town escorted by a known and respected man. It’s another to walk in alone. It was immediately clear that the people, even though they knew who I was, were not comfortable with that. The stares became leers, no longer diverting their eyes. It felt threatened by those eyes looking at me, so I quickened my pace to the tanner we usually sold the hides to.
When I entered, he looked at me and asked where Yakob was. I told him he had passed away two months ago, and that I was now selling the furs for his wife. He paused for a moment, smiled a bit, and then asked what I had for him. I showed him and he offered me 3 gold pieces for the lot. I was shocked. We normally got more than 5 gp for all of these furs! It was immediately obvious that he was taking advantage of Yakob being gone! He was taking advantage of me and Leah! He saw that I wasn’t happy, and gave the excuse that fur trapping has been very plentiful lately, but I knew it was a lie. I wanted to punch him in the face, but restrained myself. We needed the money and I had no other place to get it.
I took the money and left the hides, storming out of the place and slamming the door behind me. I sometimes forget my strength, particularly when angry, the wood door behind me shattering when it hit the frame. The noise was loud and attracted all the wrong kinds of attention. Immediately groups of men stood and walked towards me.
It was not pretty, words were said and then punches were thrown. I broke at least a couple noses before they finally got me to the ground. There they kicked and punched me while I lay there, until finally someone yelled for them to stop. They dragged me, limp and bleeding to the center of town, where they put a manacle on my ankle that was fastened to a post by a chain, and secured both my hands to a length of wood behind my back.
There they left me. Every few hour a man came to give me water. I begged him to let me go, that I needed to get back to Leah, but he was either deaf or did not care. The night was cold, and without a blanket, I had to stand up and move around to stay warm. I shivered uncontrollably. If I had lay down and fallen asleep, I probably would not have survived.
The following day, as I sat against the post barely awake, two men came for me. The taller of the two drew a sword, and told me that if I attempted to run away, he would run me through. The shorter man unlocked the manacle around my ankle and then withdrew. With my arms still bound, I stood up and faced him. I did not like the look in his eyes. So I did what anyone would do, I ran.
I ran fast. I can run really fast normally when not this motivated, and today I was running for my life. I ran, with my hands still tied to a piece of wood behind my back, for hours. All the way back to the cabin I ran, not stopping to rest or catch my breath. And when I got there I fell through the door, my legs and body finally giving up. I lay on the floor for minutes without moving.
I would have laid there longer if not for the silence. Something was wrong. The cabin was quiet, and cold. It should never be quiet as Leah was always there. And then I saw her, unmoving, slumped against the table. I called her name and got up and rushed over. I nudged her with my arm but she didn’t move. She felt, stiff and unnatural. She was gone.
I don’t know if it was because I did not make it back that night, or if it was just her time to go, but I was angry I was not there for her. It wasn’t fair. Thankfully there was enough heat left in the fire that I was able to get it going again. I used the fire to burn through the piece of wood between both my wrists, and once it was separated, untie my bindings. I buried Leah next to Yakob. And then I cried.
When the tears dried up, I went back to the house where Yakob and Leah raised me and collected my few belongings and axe. Then I spread some oil through the place and lit it aflame.
I didn’t know where to go. North lay my past, so I went south. I traveled wide around the town that caused me so much pain, and then joined back up with the road. I traveled for several days, bypassing villages, occasionally passing travelers on the road. I could tell most were uncomfortable once they got near enough to realize what I was, though none threatened me. I gave those passing me a wide margin when they got close, I didn’t want to talk to anyone just as much as they did not want to interact with me.
On the fourth day I arrive at Illian’s Crossing. As I approached the gate, a guard called out asking what my business was in the town. I yelled back that I was looking for work and a place to stay. A group of armored men came out, hands on the hilts of their swords, and ordered me to give them my axe, which I did, and then pushed me forward rudely inside the gate house.
Once in, they asked me again what my business was. I noticed the flier on the wall, so I told them I wanted to join the militia. They laughed, and ask why I thought they would let an orc join a group trying to protect people from orcs. In retrospect, it was a pretty dumb thing for me to ask. They tied me up, and left me there, under guard, for a couple hours while they decided what to do with me.
It was then that I got to meet Prince Labaid. I did not know who he was at the time, but he interviewed me and asked my story. I told him about being abandoned, and how I was found by Yakob. I told him about Yakob and Leah raising me, teaching me how to hunt, and the common tongue. I told him that they had recently died of old age. I left out what happened at the village. He seemed to be satisfied by my story. He asked if I knew orcish, which I do, and what I would do if I encountered an orc raiding party. “Kill them” I said. He seemed to be satisfied with that answer too.
And now I find myself in a room with the strangest lot of beings I’ve ever met. Men and women, some with pointy ears and some no taller than my hip. It is a strange group, by something just feels RIGHT about it.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935
Last edited by a moderator:
Luliana’s Story
I’m a product of two worlds. The first is the land of my father, the elven kingdom of Ed’hil Skogen in the Great Wood and its city in the trees, Tre-H’yemma. My father, Crayban, was a warrior, one of the Forshvaren, dedicated to the defense of the Ed’hil Skogen from those who wish it harm.
In the last orc war (the 4th Orc War, or the Krig Auf’raedren in Elvish) my father was leading a patrol on the edge of the Ed’hil Skogen along the Great Road when they came to the end of an orcish raid on a human merchant caravan. Back in those days’ humans and elves got along better with men regularly coming to Tre-H’yemma to sell goods. The orcs were looting the caravan and finishing off the survivors. The Forshvaren patrol attacked the scavenging orcs, quickly driving them off. Fortunately for me, there was one survivor, my mother, Liliana.
Lily was taken back to Tre-H’yemma to be nursed to health. She had lost everything to the orc attack, the last of her family; mother, aunt, and uncle. So she stayed with the elves, and learned their customs, language, and learned to be happy again. My mother was a strong woman and very beautiful, even by elvish standards, and as Crayban watched her, he fell in love. Love between humans and elves are rare and tragic. My father had many human lifetimes left in his life, he would live to watch his love grow old and die while he stayed young. But the heart doesn’t always choose what is best for the mind.
Their affair was fast and passionate and soon they were married. But the war with the orcs was escalating and my father was chosen to lead the Forshvaren into battle against their hated foe. He left his new wife, unbeknown at the time with his child in her womb, to lead the elves to war. He did not return.
Krig Auf’raedren means War of the Betrayer in Elvish. At the battle of Ost-en-Dallen, at the culminating point of victory, as the orcs ran from the field, a gate appeared in the middle of the elven leadership. From the gate poured Tanar'ri, evil demons from the outer planes, led by a terrible creature called a Marilith. The elves fought bravely, finally pushing the creatures back through the gate before closing it, but not before many elves were killed, including my father. The survivors claim that the gate was opened by one of the Calaquendi, the fabled high elves, and hence the name of the war. Although the orcs were routed, the loss of life was high by elvish standards, and the Forshvaren returned with heads low and too much sorrow.
So I was born without a father. I grew up with my mother in the trees, safe and well taken care of by the elves of Tre-H’yemma. They are a kind and gentle folk, doing their best to make us happy, but there was always a sorrowness and pity in their eyes. My mother grew old before them as they remained unchanged. I grew much faster than my peers, preventing me from developing any lasting bonds.
My mother grew sad and lonely. She missed being among humans. And I was growing restless. Elven life is unhurried. They are very contemplative and thoughtful, often spending hours staring at a flower to fully embrace its beauty, or taking months to plan a new footbridge between two trees. Despite my strong elvish features, I had a lot of my mother’s spirit in me, and life among the elves was just too slow. So on my thirtieth year, we left.
We traveled east along the great road, departing the Ed’hil Skogen, and eventually leaving the Great Wood. Soon we arrived at a human settlement, a young town farming town called Harlow. There we settled with Liliana opened up a Ravelry business, taking her skills in spinning, weaving, and knitting that she learned in her years with the elves and creating amazing finery. I picked up my father’s bow and learned to hunt, heading daily into the Great Wood to provide us with food. My mother was happy and made many friends, and things were good.
I find humans to be extremely interesting. So busy and lively, almost frantic in their daily pursuits. Such a contract to the elves of my youth. When not out hunting, I would spend my time watching them, how they interacted with each other, laughed and got angry, so full of life. The humans of Harlow worked hard and played hard, I made some friendships at Briarcliff, the small town inn that people collected at in the evenings for food and beer. I learned how to enjoy life those years, they were good times.
My mother got older and then one day passed away. I was sad for a bit, but they were the happiest years of her life. I spent a few more years in Harlow, living off the land and the remaining assets Lily had amassed. But my friends were also getting older and moving on with their lives, and with growing tension between the humans and elves, the town was starting to become less of the comfortable home it had been. It was time to move on.
I took as many provisions that I could comfortably carry, boarded up the house, and traveled east once again. I took my time, stopping for a week or longer at the villages along the way. I traveled through the winter, arriving at Illian’s Crossing during the spring thaw, when the river is at its highest. There wasn’t much for me to do in town, and with the forest several miles from town, hunting was not a feasible option. I quickly started to deplete through my reserves of coins.
That is when I heard about the militia. A chance to get out of town, save some gold, do some good, and maybe get to fellowship with some humans. With my prowess with the bow, it was easy to convince them to allow me to join.
And so I find myself here, in a room with a couple of humans, a halfling, a dwarf, and what appears to be a half-orc. A very unusual group, but something about all of us being here, together, just seems RIGHT.
Experience:
I’m a product of two worlds. The first is the land of my father, the elven kingdom of Ed’hil Skogen in the Great Wood and its city in the trees, Tre-H’yemma. My father, Crayban, was a warrior, one of the Forshvaren, dedicated to the defense of the Ed’hil Skogen from those who wish it harm.
In the last orc war (the 4th Orc War, or the Krig Auf’raedren in Elvish) my father was leading a patrol on the edge of the Ed’hil Skogen along the Great Road when they came to the end of an orcish raid on a human merchant caravan. Back in those days’ humans and elves got along better with men regularly coming to Tre-H’yemma to sell goods. The orcs were looting the caravan and finishing off the survivors. The Forshvaren patrol attacked the scavenging orcs, quickly driving them off. Fortunately for me, there was one survivor, my mother, Liliana.
Lily was taken back to Tre-H’yemma to be nursed to health. She had lost everything to the orc attack, the last of her family; mother, aunt, and uncle. So she stayed with the elves, and learned their customs, language, and learned to be happy again. My mother was a strong woman and very beautiful, even by elvish standards, and as Crayban watched her, he fell in love. Love between humans and elves are rare and tragic. My father had many human lifetimes left in his life, he would live to watch his love grow old and die while he stayed young. But the heart doesn’t always choose what is best for the mind.
Their affair was fast and passionate and soon they were married. But the war with the orcs was escalating and my father was chosen to lead the Forshvaren into battle against their hated foe. He left his new wife, unbeknown at the time with his child in her womb, to lead the elves to war. He did not return.
Krig Auf’raedren means War of the Betrayer in Elvish. At the battle of Ost-en-Dallen, at the culminating point of victory, as the orcs ran from the field, a gate appeared in the middle of the elven leadership. From the gate poured Tanar'ri, evil demons from the outer planes, led by a terrible creature called a Marilith. The elves fought bravely, finally pushing the creatures back through the gate before closing it, but not before many elves were killed, including my father. The survivors claim that the gate was opened by one of the Calaquendi, the fabled high elves, and hence the name of the war. Although the orcs were routed, the loss of life was high by elvish standards, and the Forshvaren returned with heads low and too much sorrow.
So I was born without a father. I grew up with my mother in the trees, safe and well taken care of by the elves of Tre-H’yemma. They are a kind and gentle folk, doing their best to make us happy, but there was always a sorrowness and pity in their eyes. My mother grew old before them as they remained unchanged. I grew much faster than my peers, preventing me from developing any lasting bonds.
My mother grew sad and lonely. She missed being among humans. And I was growing restless. Elven life is unhurried. They are very contemplative and thoughtful, often spending hours staring at a flower to fully embrace its beauty, or taking months to plan a new footbridge between two trees. Despite my strong elvish features, I had a lot of my mother’s spirit in me, and life among the elves was just too slow. So on my thirtieth year, we left.
We traveled east along the great road, departing the Ed’hil Skogen, and eventually leaving the Great Wood. Soon we arrived at a human settlement, a young town farming town called Harlow. There we settled with Liliana opened up a Ravelry business, taking her skills in spinning, weaving, and knitting that she learned in her years with the elves and creating amazing finery. I picked up my father’s bow and learned to hunt, heading daily into the Great Wood to provide us with food. My mother was happy and made many friends, and things were good.
I find humans to be extremely interesting. So busy and lively, almost frantic in their daily pursuits. Such a contract to the elves of my youth. When not out hunting, I would spend my time watching them, how they interacted with each other, laughed and got angry, so full of life. The humans of Harlow worked hard and played hard, I made some friendships at Briarcliff, the small town inn that people collected at in the evenings for food and beer. I learned how to enjoy life those years, they were good times.
My mother got older and then one day passed away. I was sad for a bit, but they were the happiest years of her life. I spent a few more years in Harlow, living off the land and the remaining assets Lily had amassed. But my friends were also getting older and moving on with their lives, and with growing tension between the humans and elves, the town was starting to become less of the comfortable home it had been. It was time to move on.
I took as many provisions that I could comfortably carry, boarded up the house, and traveled east once again. I took my time, stopping for a week or longer at the villages along the way. I traveled through the winter, arriving at Illian’s Crossing during the spring thaw, when the river is at its highest. There wasn’t much for me to do in town, and with the forest several miles from town, hunting was not a feasible option. I quickly started to deplete through my reserves of coins.
That is when I heard about the militia. A chance to get out of town, save some gold, do some good, and maybe get to fellowship with some humans. With my prowess with the bow, it was easy to convince them to allow me to join.
And so I find myself here, in a room with a couple of humans, a halfling, a dwarf, and what appears to be a half-orc. A very unusual group, but something about all of us being here, together, just seems RIGHT.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935[/b]
Last edited by a moderator:
Pippernell’s Story
I didn’t know who my father was. The story was that my mother and father met when he traveled into town to perform. Even then, he was a famous entertainer and minstrel. People still talk about the fabulous Sigmundo and his amazing voice, how he could mesmerize an audience to the tempo of his songs, making them swoon back and forth like a snake charmer to an asp. He could make the strongest men cry with his tragedies and with a snap of his finger make them laugh, laugh so hard they could barely breathe. And the women adored him, as did my mother, and for one night, they loved.
And because of that night, I am here today. Halflings don’t have “relations” outside of marriage. And in the few occasions they do, they get married shortly thereafter. Halflings mate for life. That’s the way it is, the way it has always been. But that is not my father. He left the following day and has never returned since. My mother sent letters to where she’s heard he was at, but none were ever returned. Finally after years of waiting for him to come back, she gave up. Got into a relationship with a respectable and responsible Halfling and got married. From their union I have two younger half-brothers, nice and boring like my mother and stepfather. A proper Halfling family.
I didn’t blame my father for leaving because I completely understand. Some people think that Halflings are adventurous. They have only seen Halflings in big cities. These are the few that stray beyond their lands into those of the taller folks. Have you ever met a Halfling family? Domesticated Halfling life is excruciating monotonous. Wake up at the same time every day, eat the same breakfast meal, go to work, go to school, talk politely to everyone we meet, come home to the same half a dozen meals, clean the house, say our prayers, and go to bed. Every day. There is soooo little different or new that I used to make a habit of saying what someone was about to say before they could, “Hello Pip, why your as spry as a cricket this fine morning.” Blah!
I dreamed of traveling. Seeing the variety of the world, different cultures, sounds, smells. As dangerous as it may be for someone of my stature, the desire is overwhelmingly compelling. Some Halflings are just born feeling like that, it’s called Wanderlust. And I have it bad.
At school, I used to get in trouble a lot. Like more than every other student put together. I was just so bored. I would snoop around in places I shouldn’t go, sometimes I would take stuff, not for any specific reason, but because I could. And working was even worse. My step-father was a Tanner and Shoemaker, I tried working with him but after a couple weeks my lack of focus made it clear I was not going to be able to help in the family business. I got several other small jobs, but none lasted more than a few days.
So it was no surprise to anyone when I announced I’m going to depart our small town and make my way in the world. I think my mother always knew I would end up leaving. She always said I had more of my father in me than her. They even had some money put aside for me. I guess I expected my departing to be more dramatic, with tears and crying, but it was rather anticlimactic.
My first goal of course was to find the father I never knew. It wasn’t hard to learn that he was living in Bistrietz (biz-tree-ets), and that he had quite the reputation there as a performer. Traveling was new and exhilarating. I got to see so many interesting and wonderful things. I couldn’t understand most of what people were saying (I didn’t know the Common tongue at the time) but I could get along well enough. For the most part, people ignored me, almost like I wasn’t there. That suited me just fine as it helped me maintain my small amount of coinage during the trip.
It took a couple of months for me to make my way to the capital city, but boy was it worth it. The spires of the palace can be seen from far away, but you don’t realize just how large they are till you get closer. The city itself is surrounded by immensely tall walls, higher than five human men standing on each other’s shoulders could reach. And the city’s houses are three human stories tall and packed so close you can touch your neighbors from reaching out of a window.
There are some Halflings in Bistrietz, and I was able to learn from one of them that Sigmundo was appointed as the official court entertainer. He sometimes made public appearances, but mostly his performances are for the king’s events and get seen only by local and visiting nobility. If I want to see his performance, either I would have to be patient (hah!) or sneak in.
It was very easy to get in. No one ever pays attention to small people. Around legs, under arms, keeping a body between myself and whoever is on guard. I found myself a nice spot on the mezzanine of the great hall, in the shadow of a corner, not two feet away from a guard. I’m all but invisible to him as he scans the crowd below, supposedly looking for trouble but clearly more interested in looking down corsets.
I had to wait for what seemed forever. I guess there is no urgency to get things done when you’re a noble. Eventually the king entered to standing ovation. Human kings, who cares. Finally after another eternity, the audience hushed. A small individual walked to the center of the hall, the bright colors of his garb drawing all eyes to him. Then he began to sing, softly but powerful, as if he is whispering personally in everyone’s ear. I did not understand the words he was using but I could feel the story in my heart. It was a sad song of an old kingdom, of love found and lost, and an empire ruined. It was beautiful.
And he did more than sing, he played musical instruments of all different kinds and sounds. Everything he touched sounded as wonderful as his voice. The audience was his instrument too, as he expertly played them to highs of euphoria and lows of heartache and despair. He was the maestro and everyone knew it.
When he was done, the audience leaped to their feet and gave a rousing applause. Not in my wildest childhood dreams did I imagine such a performance. He was amazing! I couldn't wait to go meet him. My mind whirled with thoughts of what he could teach me, the adventures we could do together, how proud he would be of me, his son.
It took a while but I eventually made my way to him. I think he knew the moment he saw me who I was, looking into his eyes was like looking into a mirror. It all came gushing out, I told him I was Pip, that I was his son, that I had been searching for him, and I thought he was amazing. I went on talking about how I could learn so much from him and how amazing it was to have him as a father. It’s at that point that he turned and walked away. He never said a word. I was devastated.
I wandered the streets of Bistrietz for a few months aimlessly, hurt and numb and without direction. I didn’t know what to do. I quickly went through the money I had left and had to fall back on taking what I needed to live when no one was looking. Then one day as I went through the market a man’s hand came out of nowhere and gripped my wrist firmly. He yanked me to the side ad quickly bound my hands. The man was dressed in black leather armor that had the seal of the city emblazed to the chest piece. In perfect Halfling, he told me that he’s been watching me and that I am under arrest for stealing. He went through my coat and pulled out the items I had acquired that morning, then pulled/dragged me across town to the jail.
I did not have to wait in jail long. Later the day I was dragged before a magistrate. The man who caught me was there and talked to the judge, then he spoke to me in Halfling and explained the charges against me, and that I would need to pay 10 gold in restitution or be put into the stockade for a year. I explained that I had no money, and pleaded that I would never do it again, but to no avail. I was escorted back to the jail and awaited my processing.
They allow prisoners to send out letters to family and loved ones if they choose. I decide to take the opportunity to write Sigmundo, to apologize for surprising him like that and to let him know I will not be bothering him again for a while. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish with the letter, maybe some closure, I didn’t even expect the letter to reach him.
But it did reach him. The following day I was released from jail. My debt had been paid and my belongings returned to me along with a small package. In the package there was a cloak, some gold coins, a dagger, and a short letter from Sigmundo. He apologized for not being able to do more for me, that his life is complicated, and that I needed to leave town. He explained that the cloak and the dagger were his father’s and very special, and he would be proud to know someone with his blood had them. He ended asking me not to contact him again and to wish me success as I make my own way in this world.
So I departed. I traveled east across the duchies of Bistrietz, from town to town, learning the Common tongue while my grandfather’s cloak helped keep me unobserved. Through the winter and spring I traveled, eventually making my way to Illian’s Crossing. Entering through the main gate, a guard asked me what my business was in town, I noticed the flier for joining the militia, and on a whim, told him that was what I was here to do.
They brought me inside, and asked me again what I wanted to do. They laughed at my request, a small thing like me wanting to join the watch. With a flip of my wrist, I launched my grandfather’s dagger across the room, barely missing a guards head as it imbedded itself into the wood frame behind him. A split second latter it flew back to my hand where I quickly launched it a second time, this time flying past the other side of his head, then returning back to my hand.
And now I find myself in this room, my first day in the militia, surrounded by a very motley mix of characters. I look around at the assembled group, and despite the unusualness of the assembled group, it just feels RIGHT.
Experience:
I didn’t know who my father was. The story was that my mother and father met when he traveled into town to perform. Even then, he was a famous entertainer and minstrel. People still talk about the fabulous Sigmundo and his amazing voice, how he could mesmerize an audience to the tempo of his songs, making them swoon back and forth like a snake charmer to an asp. He could make the strongest men cry with his tragedies and with a snap of his finger make them laugh, laugh so hard they could barely breathe. And the women adored him, as did my mother, and for one night, they loved.
And because of that night, I am here today. Halflings don’t have “relations” outside of marriage. And in the few occasions they do, they get married shortly thereafter. Halflings mate for life. That’s the way it is, the way it has always been. But that is not my father. He left the following day and has never returned since. My mother sent letters to where she’s heard he was at, but none were ever returned. Finally after years of waiting for him to come back, she gave up. Got into a relationship with a respectable and responsible Halfling and got married. From their union I have two younger half-brothers, nice and boring like my mother and stepfather. A proper Halfling family.
I didn’t blame my father for leaving because I completely understand. Some people think that Halflings are adventurous. They have only seen Halflings in big cities. These are the few that stray beyond their lands into those of the taller folks. Have you ever met a Halfling family? Domesticated Halfling life is excruciating monotonous. Wake up at the same time every day, eat the same breakfast meal, go to work, go to school, talk politely to everyone we meet, come home to the same half a dozen meals, clean the house, say our prayers, and go to bed. Every day. There is soooo little different or new that I used to make a habit of saying what someone was about to say before they could, “Hello Pip, why your as spry as a cricket this fine morning.” Blah!
I dreamed of traveling. Seeing the variety of the world, different cultures, sounds, smells. As dangerous as it may be for someone of my stature, the desire is overwhelmingly compelling. Some Halflings are just born feeling like that, it’s called Wanderlust. And I have it bad.
At school, I used to get in trouble a lot. Like more than every other student put together. I was just so bored. I would snoop around in places I shouldn’t go, sometimes I would take stuff, not for any specific reason, but because I could. And working was even worse. My step-father was a Tanner and Shoemaker, I tried working with him but after a couple weeks my lack of focus made it clear I was not going to be able to help in the family business. I got several other small jobs, but none lasted more than a few days.
So it was no surprise to anyone when I announced I’m going to depart our small town and make my way in the world. I think my mother always knew I would end up leaving. She always said I had more of my father in me than her. They even had some money put aside for me. I guess I expected my departing to be more dramatic, with tears and crying, but it was rather anticlimactic.
My first goal of course was to find the father I never knew. It wasn’t hard to learn that he was living in Bistrietz (biz-tree-ets), and that he had quite the reputation there as a performer. Traveling was new and exhilarating. I got to see so many interesting and wonderful things. I couldn’t understand most of what people were saying (I didn’t know the Common tongue at the time) but I could get along well enough. For the most part, people ignored me, almost like I wasn’t there. That suited me just fine as it helped me maintain my small amount of coinage during the trip.
It took a couple of months for me to make my way to the capital city, but boy was it worth it. The spires of the palace can be seen from far away, but you don’t realize just how large they are till you get closer. The city itself is surrounded by immensely tall walls, higher than five human men standing on each other’s shoulders could reach. And the city’s houses are three human stories tall and packed so close you can touch your neighbors from reaching out of a window.
There are some Halflings in Bistrietz, and I was able to learn from one of them that Sigmundo was appointed as the official court entertainer. He sometimes made public appearances, but mostly his performances are for the king’s events and get seen only by local and visiting nobility. If I want to see his performance, either I would have to be patient (hah!) or sneak in.
It was very easy to get in. No one ever pays attention to small people. Around legs, under arms, keeping a body between myself and whoever is on guard. I found myself a nice spot on the mezzanine of the great hall, in the shadow of a corner, not two feet away from a guard. I’m all but invisible to him as he scans the crowd below, supposedly looking for trouble but clearly more interested in looking down corsets.
I had to wait for what seemed forever. I guess there is no urgency to get things done when you’re a noble. Eventually the king entered to standing ovation. Human kings, who cares. Finally after another eternity, the audience hushed. A small individual walked to the center of the hall, the bright colors of his garb drawing all eyes to him. Then he began to sing, softly but powerful, as if he is whispering personally in everyone’s ear. I did not understand the words he was using but I could feel the story in my heart. It was a sad song of an old kingdom, of love found and lost, and an empire ruined. It was beautiful.
And he did more than sing, he played musical instruments of all different kinds and sounds. Everything he touched sounded as wonderful as his voice. The audience was his instrument too, as he expertly played them to highs of euphoria and lows of heartache and despair. He was the maestro and everyone knew it.
When he was done, the audience leaped to their feet and gave a rousing applause. Not in my wildest childhood dreams did I imagine such a performance. He was amazing! I couldn't wait to go meet him. My mind whirled with thoughts of what he could teach me, the adventures we could do together, how proud he would be of me, his son.
It took a while but I eventually made my way to him. I think he knew the moment he saw me who I was, looking into his eyes was like looking into a mirror. It all came gushing out, I told him I was Pip, that I was his son, that I had been searching for him, and I thought he was amazing. I went on talking about how I could learn so much from him and how amazing it was to have him as a father. It’s at that point that he turned and walked away. He never said a word. I was devastated.
I wandered the streets of Bistrietz for a few months aimlessly, hurt and numb and without direction. I didn’t know what to do. I quickly went through the money I had left and had to fall back on taking what I needed to live when no one was looking. Then one day as I went through the market a man’s hand came out of nowhere and gripped my wrist firmly. He yanked me to the side ad quickly bound my hands. The man was dressed in black leather armor that had the seal of the city emblazed to the chest piece. In perfect Halfling, he told me that he’s been watching me and that I am under arrest for stealing. He went through my coat and pulled out the items I had acquired that morning, then pulled/dragged me across town to the jail.
I did not have to wait in jail long. Later the day I was dragged before a magistrate. The man who caught me was there and talked to the judge, then he spoke to me in Halfling and explained the charges against me, and that I would need to pay 10 gold in restitution or be put into the stockade for a year. I explained that I had no money, and pleaded that I would never do it again, but to no avail. I was escorted back to the jail and awaited my processing.
They allow prisoners to send out letters to family and loved ones if they choose. I decide to take the opportunity to write Sigmundo, to apologize for surprising him like that and to let him know I will not be bothering him again for a while. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish with the letter, maybe some closure, I didn’t even expect the letter to reach him.
But it did reach him. The following day I was released from jail. My debt had been paid and my belongings returned to me along with a small package. In the package there was a cloak, some gold coins, a dagger, and a short letter from Sigmundo. He apologized for not being able to do more for me, that his life is complicated, and that I needed to leave town. He explained that the cloak and the dagger were his father’s and very special, and he would be proud to know someone with his blood had them. He ended asking me not to contact him again and to wish me success as I make my own way in this world.
So I departed. I traveled east across the duchies of Bistrietz, from town to town, learning the Common tongue while my grandfather’s cloak helped keep me unobserved. Through the winter and spring I traveled, eventually making my way to Illian’s Crossing. Entering through the main gate, a guard asked me what my business was in town, I noticed the flier for joining the militia, and on a whim, told him that was what I was here to do.
They brought me inside, and asked me again what I wanted to do. They laughed at my request, a small thing like me wanting to join the watch. With a flip of my wrist, I launched my grandfather’s dagger across the room, barely missing a guards head as it imbedded itself into the wood frame behind him. A split second latter it flew back to my hand where I quickly launched it a second time, this time flying past the other side of his head, then returning back to my hand.
And now I find myself in this room, my first day in the militia, surrounded by a very motley mix of characters. I look around at the assembled group, and despite the unusualness of the assembled group, it just feels RIGHT.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935
Last edited by a moderator:
Rodrik’s Story
I was a child of wealth and taste. The Bauhare’s have been influential members of Bistrietz since time immortal. The history of our family starts more than a dozen generations ago, when Oderik Bauhare successfully defended the kingdom during the third orc war. Upon the king’s request, Oderik moved the family from our ancestral village of Bauhare to the capital, where we have lived ever since.
The fortunes of the Bauhare’s have waxed and waned over the centuries, reaching its pinnacle with my great grandfather, Count Geoferic, crown treasurer. He married into the royal line when the king gave him his second daughter, Willamena, as a bride. The product of their marriage was my grandfather, Frederik, who was born a duke, and when the king died without a male heir he was the oldest of the male cousins with a valid claimant to the throne.
The politics of Bistrietz is dominated by the five major noble families that have all had ancestors that have sat on the throne. There are many other lesser houses, including Bauhare, with significant influence, but when it comes to choosing a new king, the major houses are all that is important. Fortunately, Frederik was a strong, charismatic and intelligent young man, many said he got the best features of his father and mother, was well liked by three of the major houses. He seemed to be the favorite to ascend to the throne, and with that, would elevate Bauhare into a major house.
Bistrietz is a kingdom and all major decisions are made by the King himself. But for most decisions, they are left to the council of thirteen, appointees of the King. When the king dies without an heir, it is the council who will decide who be next to take the throne. As treasurer, Geoferic sat on the council. The rest of the council seats were filled with members of the other major families. With support of three of the families and Geoferic, Frederik had at least 8 votes in his favor and a plurality of the council.
But might wins over politics. The night before the crucial vote, war erupted between the houses when assassins killed the heads of one of the leading houses. One accused the other of betrayal, and before the night was through, one house had been utterly destroyed by two of the others. That left only ten members on the council and a possible split vote. As the council assembled, with heightened security, two of the houses accused Geoferic of bribing one of the other houses with funds skimmed from the treasury, and had him arrested. In absentia, the council elected Joakhim of house Ludendorf, Frederik’s second cousin, to the throne.
Geoferic was tried for his crimes and sentenced to death for treason against the kingdom. Frederik was forced to relinquish his claim to the throne and the rest of the family was stripped of their titles and banished. Most of the family wealth was claimed by the crown. Frederik, Willamena, and the rest of the family took what possessions it had left (not meager by most standards, but much less than they had) and moved to Illian’s Crossing.
Frederik was met kindly by King Lothar at Illian’s Crossing. Both young and charismatic, with shared interests in sport and hunting, they became good friends. Frederik married Lothar’s cousin Mary, and became Barron Frederik Bauhare. Mary was a comely looking girl, but Frederik loved her none-the-less, and they had two children together, my father Manderik and aunt Willamena (Frederik’s mother passing away the winter before). Life was good for the new family, in many ways better than it was in Bistietz.
Then the orcs came. The last orc war, or the Great Orc war, was forseen by the clerics and Illian’s Crossing was prepared. Frederik was named Captain Commander of the guard and led a massive force of three thousand men to Fortress of Festung at the entrance to Donner Pass, where the orcs would need to pass to reach the vale. The fortress had been stocked with months of provisions for all the men, allowing them to hold the crucial pass from its high walls and rain arrows and rocks on those who pass.
But the orcs were many. Many more than anyone could imagine, and they came with other fell beasts. Festung fell, and all the men there perished, including Frederik. No one remained alive to tell of exactly what happened, some say that the dragon Blauzite took the fortress for his own then, while others say he came later. The orcs poured through the pass and pillaged the land. The people hid behind the walls of their towns and cities while the orcs rampaged, waiting for the end.
The orcs mostly moved east, leaving small groups to keep the men in their towns to starve them. A small army laid siege to Illian’s Crossing for almost a year, but lacked the numbers and equipment to overwhelm it. Eventually the orcs moved back north and an army from Bistrietz came and “liberated” the town from the remainder of the horde.
My family was left leaderless. Manderik and Willamena grew up without a father and were spoiled by their mother. Manderik was smart and shrewd, though lacked the charisma and physical presence of his father. When he became of age, he took half of the family’s wealth and invested it in a mining operation in the foot of the Thunder Peaks, creating a flow of income for the family they had not had since moving to Illian’s Crossing. Willamena was wed back into Bistrietz nobility, coincidently to the family that was accused of taking bribes from Geoferic, though the dowry was significant.
Manderik worked hard to build up the business, but it was more challenging than he first expected. The capital required to mine and transport was a lot and problems abounded. It was rough for the family and excesses were cut. In his thirtieth summer he married my mother, Edith, the daughter of a wealthy merchant family in Illian’s Crossing, though a commoner. His wife’s money provided the capital needed to expand the business, and for a while, was profitable.
I was born shortly after their marriage. I grew up comfortably. My mother cared for me deeply, and spoiled me when she could. My father was proud to have an heir, and when he was around would tell me stories of our past and heritage. I received tutoring in the arts and sciences, as well as riding and sword craft. I seemed to excel at the latter, seeming to have some of the skills my grandfather had. Some of the older folks said I even reminded them of him.
My mother passed away suddenly when I was 15. It was a short illness while my father was away with work. It changed us. Nothing was ever the same since then. We rare spoke after that time, my father becoming more engrossed in his business pursuits while I was basically raised by my tutors. Without supervision and with access to funds, I spent a lot of time carousing drinking establishments and other unsavory places. I was a bit of a wild youth and got into trouble on more than one occasion.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my father took loans from a couple of the merchants in town, including his in-laws, to expand the mining operation to a new promising vein found deeper in the Thunder Peaks. It was a risky and expensive venture, and took a lot of capital to get going. Unfortunately the vein proved to be shallow and after an excessive and foolhardy amount of digging, a total loss.
My father was jailed for failing to pay his debts and covering up the losses. My mother’s jewelry, the house where I grew up and all of its contents were sold to help cover a portion of the losses. With all of my tutoring, I never learned a skill I could make money from, and mining was certainly out of the question. With only my sword and armor as my possessions, I only had one option to stay alive, the guard.
So here I am, a noble of Illian’s Crossing with a disgraced name. Without money, without influence, and no direction, I find myself in this room with an unusual motley crew of individuals. As I scan across the group, I smile. Something just feels RIGHT about us, about me, about this time and place. Things are changing.
Experience:
I was a child of wealth and taste. The Bauhare’s have been influential members of Bistrietz since time immortal. The history of our family starts more than a dozen generations ago, when Oderik Bauhare successfully defended the kingdom during the third orc war. Upon the king’s request, Oderik moved the family from our ancestral village of Bauhare to the capital, where we have lived ever since.
The fortunes of the Bauhare’s have waxed and waned over the centuries, reaching its pinnacle with my great grandfather, Count Geoferic, crown treasurer. He married into the royal line when the king gave him his second daughter, Willamena, as a bride. The product of their marriage was my grandfather, Frederik, who was born a duke, and when the king died without a male heir he was the oldest of the male cousins with a valid claimant to the throne.
The politics of Bistrietz is dominated by the five major noble families that have all had ancestors that have sat on the throne. There are many other lesser houses, including Bauhare, with significant influence, but when it comes to choosing a new king, the major houses are all that is important. Fortunately, Frederik was a strong, charismatic and intelligent young man, many said he got the best features of his father and mother, was well liked by three of the major houses. He seemed to be the favorite to ascend to the throne, and with that, would elevate Bauhare into a major house.
Bistrietz is a kingdom and all major decisions are made by the King himself. But for most decisions, they are left to the council of thirteen, appointees of the King. When the king dies without an heir, it is the council who will decide who be next to take the throne. As treasurer, Geoferic sat on the council. The rest of the council seats were filled with members of the other major families. With support of three of the families and Geoferic, Frederik had at least 8 votes in his favor and a plurality of the council.
But might wins over politics. The night before the crucial vote, war erupted between the houses when assassins killed the heads of one of the leading houses. One accused the other of betrayal, and before the night was through, one house had been utterly destroyed by two of the others. That left only ten members on the council and a possible split vote. As the council assembled, with heightened security, two of the houses accused Geoferic of bribing one of the other houses with funds skimmed from the treasury, and had him arrested. In absentia, the council elected Joakhim of house Ludendorf, Frederik’s second cousin, to the throne.
Geoferic was tried for his crimes and sentenced to death for treason against the kingdom. Frederik was forced to relinquish his claim to the throne and the rest of the family was stripped of their titles and banished. Most of the family wealth was claimed by the crown. Frederik, Willamena, and the rest of the family took what possessions it had left (not meager by most standards, but much less than they had) and moved to Illian’s Crossing.
Frederik was met kindly by King Lothar at Illian’s Crossing. Both young and charismatic, with shared interests in sport and hunting, they became good friends. Frederik married Lothar’s cousin Mary, and became Barron Frederik Bauhare. Mary was a comely looking girl, but Frederik loved her none-the-less, and they had two children together, my father Manderik and aunt Willamena (Frederik’s mother passing away the winter before). Life was good for the new family, in many ways better than it was in Bistietz.
Then the orcs came. The last orc war, or the Great Orc war, was forseen by the clerics and Illian’s Crossing was prepared. Frederik was named Captain Commander of the guard and led a massive force of three thousand men to Fortress of Festung at the entrance to Donner Pass, where the orcs would need to pass to reach the vale. The fortress had been stocked with months of provisions for all the men, allowing them to hold the crucial pass from its high walls and rain arrows and rocks on those who pass.
But the orcs were many. Many more than anyone could imagine, and they came with other fell beasts. Festung fell, and all the men there perished, including Frederik. No one remained alive to tell of exactly what happened, some say that the dragon Blauzite took the fortress for his own then, while others say he came later. The orcs poured through the pass and pillaged the land. The people hid behind the walls of their towns and cities while the orcs rampaged, waiting for the end.
The orcs mostly moved east, leaving small groups to keep the men in their towns to starve them. A small army laid siege to Illian’s Crossing for almost a year, but lacked the numbers and equipment to overwhelm it. Eventually the orcs moved back north and an army from Bistrietz came and “liberated” the town from the remainder of the horde.
My family was left leaderless. Manderik and Willamena grew up without a father and were spoiled by their mother. Manderik was smart and shrewd, though lacked the charisma and physical presence of his father. When he became of age, he took half of the family’s wealth and invested it in a mining operation in the foot of the Thunder Peaks, creating a flow of income for the family they had not had since moving to Illian’s Crossing. Willamena was wed back into Bistrietz nobility, coincidently to the family that was accused of taking bribes from Geoferic, though the dowry was significant.
Manderik worked hard to build up the business, but it was more challenging than he first expected. The capital required to mine and transport was a lot and problems abounded. It was rough for the family and excesses were cut. In his thirtieth summer he married my mother, Edith, the daughter of a wealthy merchant family in Illian’s Crossing, though a commoner. His wife’s money provided the capital needed to expand the business, and for a while, was profitable.
I was born shortly after their marriage. I grew up comfortably. My mother cared for me deeply, and spoiled me when she could. My father was proud to have an heir, and when he was around would tell me stories of our past and heritage. I received tutoring in the arts and sciences, as well as riding and sword craft. I seemed to excel at the latter, seeming to have some of the skills my grandfather had. Some of the older folks said I even reminded them of him.
My mother passed away suddenly when I was 15. It was a short illness while my father was away with work. It changed us. Nothing was ever the same since then. We rare spoke after that time, my father becoming more engrossed in his business pursuits while I was basically raised by my tutors. Without supervision and with access to funds, I spent a lot of time carousing drinking establishments and other unsavory places. I was a bit of a wild youth and got into trouble on more than one occasion.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my father took loans from a couple of the merchants in town, including his in-laws, to expand the mining operation to a new promising vein found deeper in the Thunder Peaks. It was a risky and expensive venture, and took a lot of capital to get going. Unfortunately the vein proved to be shallow and after an excessive and foolhardy amount of digging, a total loss.
My father was jailed for failing to pay his debts and covering up the losses. My mother’s jewelry, the house where I grew up and all of its contents were sold to help cover a portion of the losses. With all of my tutoring, I never learned a skill I could make money from, and mining was certainly out of the question. With only my sword and armor as my possessions, I only had one option to stay alive, the guard.
So here I am, a noble of Illian’s Crossing with a disgraced name. Without money, without influence, and no direction, I find myself in this room with an unusual motley crew of individuals. As I scan across the group, I smile. Something just feels RIGHT about us, about me, about this time and place. Things are changing.
Experience:
Code:
Session 1 200
Session 2 370
Session 3 365
Total: 935
Last edited by a moderator:
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