The Hand that wielded the Daystar 0:0
As some of you may note... who the hell reads this thing? Anyway- as I was saying, in the past I've written stories from characters inspired by character's I've created in games. Some of my more beloved stories are... long loooooooooong gone such as Gurwen from WoW Kayos from FFXI, and Lim Dul from DnD. These are the stories of Dorin Kreigan, a dwarf with a mysterious relationship to the legendary Gurwen Broken-Hammer. Destin a youthful but haunted warrior, Therin a half-drow rogue (Drow: A dark skinned subterranean dwelling characteristically evil elf normally live in organized city-states with a matriarch or queen, males are generally seen as working class second class citizens or drones and adressed with disdain, often make alliances with the Grey dwarves Druegar, and Illithids[squid face people with psychic abilities]) Valsu a maniac human sorcerer (inborn magic talents) and Verick a young bright eyed Paladin (warrior imbued with the blessing of his god and a pious mission of good and law). Two things to note however are this- though based on Neverwinter Nights characters none of the NPC'S will probably show up here and should be treated as some kind of DND based tale. And I believe in evil paladins. Because evil has a purpose, evil can be organized, pious, corrupt, and on a mission, and sometimes more driven and in the right direction than "good". See my tale of Lim 'Dul, (Formerly a very complicated young necromancer with a lot of favor looking down on him from many factions, now an ascended elder god plane traveler and world former).
I think I might start with Verick, though the tale really starts with Valsu and Dorin.
This tale starts, as many do, a long long time ago, in a place far far away, in a place many of us are convinced existed at some time. A place of wise beautiful elves, ambitious wizards, boisterous grumpy salesmen dwarves, and dragon slaying heroes. Though some of these heroes are born places one would least expect. And yes, some heroes are born, some are made. This particular young man Verick was both.
"Nan! A fox got into the pen again!" A young boy, no older than ten came running over the hills. The wind whipping his unruly brown hair, the morning mist stinging his lanky body and crystalline green eyes. He bore no markings of the hero he was destined to grow into while he was playing dragon slayer with the neighbor kids. He felt no course of power and purpose in the blood pounding in his head from the long run, but this was the boy we called Verick. Nothing more than a common boy in ratty work clothes, mud smeared on his nose. Unlike many of the great heroes in these tales he was not an unloved, hardluck orphan. His father was drafted, and slain in battle, but he now lived with his grandmother "Nan" grandfather, and mother.
"Oh rat fart." An old, nearly toothless woman spit through crossed fingers.
"Weren't no foxes this time boy, must've been a damned band of kobolds and goblins after all the charms and traps ye grand'da put on that fence," She reached for the thong tied to a spatula around her waste and tossed it to Verick. "Get ye down to the fence and use that to scare off any of the rotters that come hereabouts till ye 'da can get his lazy bones out of bed."
Verick looked at the implement questionably. He wasn't sure if he sould use it for a sling, a bow, or a club, but he was sure it would be inneffective in all those tasks.
"But Nan, what good is this gonna do me?" She took it from his hands, whirled it over her head and brought the spatula down smartly on his crown.
"YOW! Dern'it Nan!"
She hit him again "fer swearin" and sent him back down the trail with the -2 spatuflail in hand.
Of course every kobold, goblin, bugbear, or fox had been gone well over six hours by the time he had even discovered the incomprehensible mess of tracks and scratches near the chicken pens, but that didn't mean he didn't have to stand guard of an already ransacked shit hole till well after everyone else had breakfast.
"Lousey old rotters" He said whipping the thong absently at his toes. "Afore I know it they'll just send me off to steal more chickens seein as how mom's mind's gone soft." Young boys with no one to talk to often talk to themselves, which was why Verick was a bit surprised when someone about his size said "Hullo" to him.
"Oy what yoo doin on our lan'!" Verick said with all the eloquence his simple country refinery had alloted him.
"Oh, me? I'm just an exterminator lookin for my marks, by the looks of it they came through these parts."
"You oneofthem gnomers?" Verick was still poised to attack and circling the little man cautiously.
"Aye, more in particular a Tinker from the Northermounts, but that's not important, I wanted to know if I could talk to an adult about where the kobolds went."
So it WAS Kobolds.
"Adults don't know nothin, but may'e I c'n 'elp."
The gnome, who looked something of a very dimminuitive 50 year old man with an outlandish gray beard growing in spikes going three directions and huge bushy eyebrows, mumbled to himself and sighed heavilly.
"Are you sure your ma or pa can't help?"
"Possitive, but it weren't no kobolds who done this, t'was foxes."
"Child, I'm an expert tracker and trapper, I think I know a band of kobold's prints when I see it"
"Then how come the place smells like fox piss?"
"Ever smelled a kobold?"
"Nosir."
"I have, and fox piss is considered one of the more delicate smells associated with the little rats."
Verick just nodded as if he too were a kobold sniffing expert.
"In any event child, why don't you come with me as this is your land and I suspect the culprits don't dwell too far from here?"
"I reckon, but Nan told me not to go with strangers no place."
"Ah, but if I told you my name, then I wouldn't be a stranger and we could get around to solving some problems aye?"
"I reckon." Verick said finally resting the spatuflail on his shoulder.
"Very well, I am Orias Vekinsale Doitsal Ulrich Twinknoromeous Doitsal Empshire Ulrich Twindle Vangaurd VIII." Blasted Gnomes and their long names.
"Yoo said Doitsal and Ulrich twice."
"Of course I did boy its a very complicated Gnome tradition with family names and heritage that we don't have time to discuss the bylaws consequences and heresy that it all entails if I don't say them twice, so off we go."
By noon they had found what looked to be a pile of leaves and filth.
"This is it kid, I'll be back soon, Kobold hole's no place for a kid like you"
"Oy, I'm bigger than you!"
"That may be true child, but you're illequipped, and inexperienced, but grab yourself a suitably sized branch and whomp any of the lil rotters that come out of there," Orias drew a long thin triangular blade from his belt and dove in. Minutes can pass like hours when you're on gaurd duty with anything involving kobolds, but thank the sun something yeeping and screaming came flyin out of that hole like a bat out of hell with a torch shoved up its colon. Verick brained it with his new found whompin stick and the lil rat dragon went limp with ooze and sick coming out of its head. He couldn't help but feel a little satisfied, and a little ill at the same time. Afterall he hadn't killed anything bigger or smarter than a chicken till just now, and even then that was for dinner.
"Good work boy, I didn't much want to go running after that damn thing with the rest of the nest gone." Orias went to work on carving off the thing's left ear and tossed the bloody stump into a sachel. Probably some proof or purchase or marker for an employer, or some sick habit.
"I'll cut you in after we get squared up in town."
"I'm not sure if'n my Nan'd like it if I went into town with you."
"You worry too much boy, we'll stop by your place first."
They did in fact, and Verick along with his spatuflail and whompin stick were told to wait outside a spell. Till Orias came back out.
"Well that's settled, I just bought you boy, come on then."
"What you talkin bout bought me?" Orias was dragging him by the arm.
"I own you now, and for no small price, fifty gold."
"Get ye off me! MAAAA! NAN! HELP NAN! PAAAAA!!!" He set his feet into the mud, he bit and tore at the arm dragging him away from the hovel.
"Shut up boy, I'll give you a better life then they can ever hope to give you fightin foxes and siftin through pig muck and whatnot." His voice was stirringly dispassionate. Verick stopped thrashing. Come to think of it, he really did hate it here.
I think I might start with Verick, though the tale really starts with Valsu and Dorin.
This tale starts, as many do, a long long time ago, in a place far far away, in a place many of us are convinced existed at some time. A place of wise beautiful elves, ambitious wizards, boisterous grumpy salesmen dwarves, and dragon slaying heroes. Though some of these heroes are born places one would least expect. And yes, some heroes are born, some are made. This particular young man Verick was both.
"Nan! A fox got into the pen again!" A young boy, no older than ten came running over the hills. The wind whipping his unruly brown hair, the morning mist stinging his lanky body and crystalline green eyes. He bore no markings of the hero he was destined to grow into while he was playing dragon slayer with the neighbor kids. He felt no course of power and purpose in the blood pounding in his head from the long run, but this was the boy we called Verick. Nothing more than a common boy in ratty work clothes, mud smeared on his nose. Unlike many of the great heroes in these tales he was not an unloved, hardluck orphan. His father was drafted, and slain in battle, but he now lived with his grandmother "Nan" grandfather, and mother.
"Oh rat fart." An old, nearly toothless woman spit through crossed fingers.
"Weren't no foxes this time boy, must've been a damned band of kobolds and goblins after all the charms and traps ye grand'da put on that fence," She reached for the thong tied to a spatula around her waste and tossed it to Verick. "Get ye down to the fence and use that to scare off any of the rotters that come hereabouts till ye 'da can get his lazy bones out of bed."
Verick looked at the implement questionably. He wasn't sure if he sould use it for a sling, a bow, or a club, but he was sure it would be inneffective in all those tasks.
"But Nan, what good is this gonna do me?" She took it from his hands, whirled it over her head and brought the spatula down smartly on his crown.
"YOW! Dern'it Nan!"
She hit him again "fer swearin" and sent him back down the trail with the -2 spatuflail in hand.
Of course every kobold, goblin, bugbear, or fox had been gone well over six hours by the time he had even discovered the incomprehensible mess of tracks and scratches near the chicken pens, but that didn't mean he didn't have to stand guard of an already ransacked shit hole till well after everyone else had breakfast.
"Lousey old rotters" He said whipping the thong absently at his toes. "Afore I know it they'll just send me off to steal more chickens seein as how mom's mind's gone soft." Young boys with no one to talk to often talk to themselves, which was why Verick was a bit surprised when someone about his size said "Hullo" to him.
"Oy what yoo doin on our lan'!" Verick said with all the eloquence his simple country refinery had alloted him.
"Oh, me? I'm just an exterminator lookin for my marks, by the looks of it they came through these parts."
"You oneofthem gnomers?" Verick was still poised to attack and circling the little man cautiously.
"Aye, more in particular a Tinker from the Northermounts, but that's not important, I wanted to know if I could talk to an adult about where the kobolds went."
So it WAS Kobolds.
"Adults don't know nothin, but may'e I c'n 'elp."
The gnome, who looked something of a very dimminuitive 50 year old man with an outlandish gray beard growing in spikes going three directions and huge bushy eyebrows, mumbled to himself and sighed heavilly.
"Are you sure your ma or pa can't help?"
"Possitive, but it weren't no kobolds who done this, t'was foxes."
"Child, I'm an expert tracker and trapper, I think I know a band of kobold's prints when I see it"
"Then how come the place smells like fox piss?"
"Ever smelled a kobold?"
"Nosir."
"I have, and fox piss is considered one of the more delicate smells associated with the little rats."
Verick just nodded as if he too were a kobold sniffing expert.
"In any event child, why don't you come with me as this is your land and I suspect the culprits don't dwell too far from here?"
"I reckon, but Nan told me not to go with strangers no place."
"Ah, but if I told you my name, then I wouldn't be a stranger and we could get around to solving some problems aye?"
"I reckon." Verick said finally resting the spatuflail on his shoulder.
"Very well, I am Orias Vekinsale Doitsal Ulrich Twinknoromeous Doitsal Empshire Ulrich Twindle Vangaurd VIII." Blasted Gnomes and their long names.
"Yoo said Doitsal and Ulrich twice."
"Of course I did boy its a very complicated Gnome tradition with family names and heritage that we don't have time to discuss the bylaws consequences and heresy that it all entails if I don't say them twice, so off we go."
By noon they had found what looked to be a pile of leaves and filth.
"This is it kid, I'll be back soon, Kobold hole's no place for a kid like you"
"Oy, I'm bigger than you!"
"That may be true child, but you're illequipped, and inexperienced, but grab yourself a suitably sized branch and whomp any of the lil rotters that come out of there," Orias drew a long thin triangular blade from his belt and dove in. Minutes can pass like hours when you're on gaurd duty with anything involving kobolds, but thank the sun something yeeping and screaming came flyin out of that hole like a bat out of hell with a torch shoved up its colon. Verick brained it with his new found whompin stick and the lil rat dragon went limp with ooze and sick coming out of its head. He couldn't help but feel a little satisfied, and a little ill at the same time. Afterall he hadn't killed anything bigger or smarter than a chicken till just now, and even then that was for dinner.
"Good work boy, I didn't much want to go running after that damn thing with the rest of the nest gone." Orias went to work on carving off the thing's left ear and tossed the bloody stump into a sachel. Probably some proof or purchase or marker for an employer, or some sick habit.
"I'll cut you in after we get squared up in town."
"I'm not sure if'n my Nan'd like it if I went into town with you."
"You worry too much boy, we'll stop by your place first."
They did in fact, and Verick along with his spatuflail and whompin stick were told to wait outside a spell. Till Orias came back out.
"Well that's settled, I just bought you boy, come on then."
"What you talkin bout bought me?" Orias was dragging him by the arm.
"I own you now, and for no small price, fifty gold."
"Get ye off me! MAAAA! NAN! HELP NAN! PAAAAA!!!" He set his feet into the mud, he bit and tore at the arm dragging him away from the hovel.
"Shut up boy, I'll give you a better life then they can ever hope to give you fightin foxes and siftin through pig muck and whatnot." His voice was stirringly dispassionate. Verick stopped thrashing. Come to think of it, he really did hate it here.