Character Development > Development Journals and Discussion
Naldin
Script Wrecked:
Naldin had thought long and hard about what would be the best way to get amongst the people of Vehl to find out why they had been such a hard nut for the Temple to crack. As an adventurer marching around in armor he was marked as an outsider. Perhaps working among them would give him better access. He considered labouring as a dockworker, working in a tavern, perhaps even standing on a corner as a beggar. In the end, he settled for something a bit more useful; he could roam the streets as a tinker, going from door to door sharpening knives. All he needed was a grinding wheel and a barrow.
Script Wrecked:
Wandering the streets of Vehl as a tinker had been quite an eye opener. It was one thing to observe the Vehlians go about their day-to-day lives, quite another to be chased down the street by someone's losed dog, be warned off by surly youths gathered at a street corner, be pelted by cabbages by adolescents, or be spat by an obnoxious child upon from the refuge of an upstairs window.
More surprisingly, Naldin found that he had actually made a few coppers from his trade. It had proved useful that he knew a thing or two about a good edge on a blade or hatchet. He had gained a few insights as he had stood at backdoors grinding at his wheel. It seemed they were very tribal, and quite territorial with it.
It was like a whole bunch of villages had been mashed together and left to sort out amongst themselves how things were divvied up. Unfortunately, it seemed resources were sparse, and the rule of "first in, best fed" applied. So if someone, not of your village wandered by, they were fair game for, well anything, pickpocketing, mugging, or someone to beat your frustrations out on.
So, he hoped that his written [POST=1722242]submission[/POST] for street patrols to give the inhabitants an umbrella of security might gain some traction within the Temple machinery.
Script Wrecked:
A judge of the law courts had requested help from Maxamilian, Samantha and Naldin in tracking down and retrieving a bard whom had written a certain play which may or may not have incited an accused to rob the local Xeenite temple/shrine.
Och, Naldin had never heard such rubbish. It sounded like a feeble excuse to him.
Nonetheless, they travelled to the village were the bard was last known to be. En route, they came across a local gentry and villagers about to lynch a bandit for killing a shepherd. The Rofireinites could not allow that to happen, and offered to transport the bandit to Vehl for a fair trial. Given their current mission, Naldin volunteered to take the bandit back to Vehl. Samantha even gave him official papers deputising him in this matter.
So, when the bandit promised all sorts of largess in exchange for his freedom, Naldin was quite offended, and the return route may have been a bit more brusque for the bandit than it otherwise would have been. It was with no small pride that he discharged his duty when he arrived in Vehl.
Script Wrecked:
Naldin had fallen in with a group of beggars. Wandering the streets, he would drop the proceeds of his tinkering efforts into the various begging bowls as he went about his business.
One particularly dirty night when it seemed Mist was intent on reminding the whole town how close to the sea they were, Naldin was pushing his cart along a dark street. Someone signalled him from the shadows. Cautiously he approached, only to find himself ushered into a sheltered alleyway by a particularly wiry old beggar.
Gratefully he took his place at a small fire around which were huddled several other vagrants. They didn't say much, and barely grunted in greeting. Whether they had ultimately intended to rob him cannot be said, but as fortunate had it, Naldin was able to proffer a bottle of Tower Malt liquor.
This seemed to win him immediate favour. The bottle had barely completed one circuit of the group before the beggars opened up and started talking. It almost seemed a shame when the bottle finally emptied and the beggars turned over to sleep. They had had quite a few tales to tell from years of living on the streets, of the Beggars' Guild, people seen where they weren't "supposed" to be, and various nefarious goings-on.
Script Wrecked:
Bleedin' Imps! Naldin had thought when the imp Dantrag had showed his face again. Naldin had chased the imp off last time with a few well aimed shoots from his bow. Now the varmint had returned.
Save my master Dakkarnok, who is likely some pit fiend given its locale of Pit Three Hundred and Thirty Three, from some "evil" wizard called Nethrider. Like, what parts of that were likely to be true in any shape or form? And who would step into the snake pit of lies and deception to find out?
Not Naldin. He had made his view clear with a few more fine examples of his archery.
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