Character Submission: Kross Swift

[Kross]

Full Name:Kross Swift
Age: 24
Class(es): Monk
Race: Human
Subrace:
Alignment: LG
Deity: None
Domains (if cleric):
Biography and Description:


Kross was only a young boy when the raid on his village occurred, too young to remember it in much detail. What he does remember is that he was the only survivor of that horrific day. All of Kross’s family, townspeople, even livestock was slaughtered, or so he was told by the person that found him, Mosbourn Scratch.

Mosbourn was a businessman who dealt in exotic goods, or at least that is how he portrayed himself. Actually, he dealt in an underground circuit of pit fighters, trading and exploiting men against their will, forcing them to fight for others pleasure. Typically, this required them to fight to the death, but one was to get to old or broken, then Mosbourn would “allow” them to leave, nowhere near civilization of course. For a day after their release, Mosbourn would take up “the hunt” as he was accustomed to calling it. He did so enjoy being able to track down and kill his prey, and fancied himself rather good at it, for no one had yet escaped his vice.

It was this same Mosbourn that found Kross, hidden in a meal barrel, sometime after the slaughter, about a week by his reckoning. Impressed by the boy’s resilience, and not one to waist a good person, Mosbourn took the youth in. Oh, he wasn’t fond of him by any means, but he allowed the boy scraps, both of food and clothing as long as he earned his keep. Kross’s chores were initially limited to cleaning the bloodied weapons and armor and over time, increased to include everything from loading the caravan to fixing arms, both of flesh and steel.

After a several years, now a boy in his early teens, Kross began to realize that his life wasn’t normal and that what his master was doing was very, very wrong. Kross wanted to run, but was afraid of Mosbourn’s hunting prowess. What would he do if he found him?
He decided to reason w/ Mosbourn, offering to relieve him of this extra mouth to feed and back to clothe. The discussion did not have the effect Kross wanted, for Mosbourn began to become increasingly irate. So much was his rage that he ordered his personal guard to lock Kross up.

He knew Kross, and had feared that this day would soon come. No longer willing to trust this little urchin, Mosbourn approached Kross with an offer, “If you defeat tonight’s opponent, “he said, “I will allow you to leave.” Kross understood the implication in that statement, though.

A short while later the guard came back with a small leather tunic and a black bag to place over Kross’s head. Once he arrived at the pit, the black bag was removed and a dagger was placed in his hand.
The next few minutes are difficult to recall, but what will never be forgotten was the horrible sunken feeling of emptiness Kross felt in his gut, and the vomiting that occurred beside the man slain at his feet.

Mosbourn didn’t keep up his end of the bargain. Apparently, Kross performed so well, he decided to keep him as part of the show, hailing him as the most dangerous boy alive.
It really wasn’t so much that Kross was skilled at fighting; what kept him alive was his quickness. That same quickness, consequently, earned him the surname Swift.

After a few years, Kross Swift had all but given up hope. The regulars were getting tired of seeing the same faces, betting was getting low, and it seemed more of his companions had fell prey to Mosbourn’s “sport” as of late. That was until a fresh, new vein in the circuit was rumored to have opened up in foreign territories.

What was supposed to have been to the road to newfound wealth and luxury marked the end for Mosbourn. After a long trip in a merchant vessel, the caravan was traveling through unfamiliar territory when they were ambushed by a marauding band of ogres. During the fray, Kross’s cage was smashed and broken along with his arm. In the following skirmish all of his companions and most of the marauders were killed. With only a couple of ogre’s able to come after him, it was again his quickness that saved Kross’s life. Near the road was a deep ravine at the bottom of which rushed a strong current. And rather than face any ogres with only one good arm, he decided to take his chances with the rapids. He barely made it off the ledge when a large club flew harmlessly above him. For a brief moment, Kross thought himself safe, but as his broken arm hit the water a wave of pain blasted through him causing him to lose consciousness.

When he came to, his arm was secured, and he was lying in a straw bed. “I took the liberty of setting your arm,” were the first words Kross heard Danagan say. After introductions and a brief explanation of how Danagan had found Kross on the riverbank, he suggested it would be safer if Kross stayed with him until he was healed. It was over the next several weeks that Kross came to understand that this elderly hermit was a monk who long ago forsook the areas saturated by mankind. Though not devout to any deity, Danagan was accomplished enough to fend for himself in this harsh atmosphere, scores of miles away from real civilization.

During those weeks, Danagan came to know Kross and to understand his plight. He saw the anger and the confusion in Kross. He understood that if this young man were to venture into the world as he was, he would most likely end up in similar circumstances again, whether it be jail, or a sword for hire. No, not a mercenary, for in the few short weeks he had known Kross, Danagan came to see the goodness that was in his heart. He heard the sincere remorse in his voice, grieving for every man who had fallen to his blade. How intensely he seemed to hate even the site of that blade, vowing that he would not allow anyone to fall victim to such evil acts as he.

It was on the day before Kross was planning to leave that Danagan made his offer, “I will teach you how to control your anger, how to focus your mind and strength, and mostly how to follow your heart, but this choice is yours.” It was not a difficult decision, though Kross Swift was anxious to see the world, Danagan was the first friend he had ever known.

Danagan was actually surprised at how well Kross was able to apply the principles and disciplines of the monk lifestyle. It was almost as if he were born for such a life. Years passed, and Kross grew stronger and more disciplined in both body and mind. Kross would’ve been content to remain with Danagan, but the aging hermit became increasing more insistent that Kross’s abilities would be needed elsewhere in the world. “There are, of course, plenty of wrongs that need to be righted,” he would say.

One cool day, still weeks away from the first snow, Kross came to understand all too well Danagan’s insistence. “You have learned all that you need from me,” he said, “Go, follow your heart.” These were the last words Kross heard from his dearest friend.

Days after Kross had buried his friend and mentor, he began to prepare for his long journey. It was wise old Danagan, of course, who always seem to know best, and he had made Kross promise him that he would not grow old in the wilderness like his hermit of a friend.

While gathering items for his journey, Kross ventured into Danagan’s room. Kross found a neatly wrapped handkerchief laid on a small table, in it was his old dagger. He picked the blade up, rolled it over in his hands, and gently placed it back in the cloth. As he wrapped it up, he whispered a silent “thank you” to his only friend.
That was the last day he held a blade in his hands.

[minerva]

Very Nice Welcome to Layo

[approve]