The World of Layonara
Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: miltonyorkcastle on February 06, 2005, 02:07:00 PM
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Well, after leaving Blackford's castle and my shortlived military career, I have not managed to make it much further than Hlint. Krumk traveled with me, and continues to be as loyal a friend as ever. If you know him as I do, you know he has a subtle cunning that escapes the notice of those who cannot look past his hide and stilted speech. Together we have managed to procure a minor amount of notoriety in and around Hlint, as well as garner a little wealth. I must admit, while some of it went to good use, the rest I have squandered on booze and the wiles of women. But it all cam at a cost. Both Krumk and I have fresh scars, and I only narrowly escaped death, thanks to some honorable comrades who, at risk to their own lives, dragged my dying carcass to a priestess, who was able to revive me. However, I have gained more than wealth and wounds. I have continued to train with my blade, and I can feel my body and the claymoor uniting. My strength and skill with it is impressive to those who watch me fight, but I cannot somehow help but feel that there is more, that I am not yet a master. And I will master the sword, as I have mastered my body. My blade will lead me in the exploration of my world, Layonara.
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It seems I have become a familiar face around Hlint, for many people recognize and cheerfully greet me. And there are many honorable souls that abide there. I feel I have a stake in Hlint's livelihood, although I am not sure just how much longer I am going to stay there. I feel the urge to visit my hometown, not to mention there is always the itch in my feet to travel.
Among the people I have met in Hlint, one in particular stands out. Alayna Redwaters, pirate hunter and freelancer extraordinair. I call her Trouble.... But she has proven to be a worthy comrade and, most notably, shares my itch for discovery and adventure. Our relationship began when I joined a band of adventurers at the behest of my friend Willy (another worthy comrade, but a quiet fellow). She was a part of it and preceeded to berate the new set of armor I had just procured. I replied in my usual frankness, that if she didn't like it, that she should "fix" it. It was all in good fun, but as it turned out, she did "fix" it, and I wear the armor to this day. As it stands now, we have rescued each other's hide from our respective follies on so many occasions, we have become quite accustomed to traveling with each other.
On another note, I should mention a strange situation I probably foolishly became involved in, but you may understand my reasoning when I remind you that I have begun to take stake in the town of Hlint. The young boy Tom, who is never short on mischief (reminds me of myself as a lad, actually, and, it turns out, he is an orphan as well... or was, but has since become adopted), got himself involved with a woman who we (myself and some other sturdy adventurers concerned about the boy and/or the town) first believed to be a drow. We confronted her, but our lack of working knowledge of the drow became painfully evident as we discovered she was not a drow and was in fact a healer of some sort. The whole ordeal went down hill as our lack of subtlety and obvious intrusion on private matters proved only to annoy the black clad, hooded woman. She was completely uncooperative, which of course leads me to believe that what is going on between her and Tom is very likely of poor character. But I have no evidence, and no real reason why I should continue to pursue the matter...
Still... something bothers me about that woman. I could sense in her a great power, but I could not discern its nature. If we meet again, I shall be more civil and subtle, in hopes to discover who she really is and what her intent is. If not for my own curiosity, then for my own safety.
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Stupid me. Blood soaked my hands.... my blood... I could barely see through the crimson streams flowing from splits in my skull... yet I barreled in to attack the giant anyways. I didn't even get close enough to put my blade in him before he reached out and layed a tree stump into my already battered skull. I crumpled to the ground and found myself struggling to breath.... Through the red I could make out Alayna's face above mine. She was saying something, but I couldn't quite make it out. I tried to respond, but everything was getting so dark. The darkness seemed to swallow everything up, even sound. And to think, before we left Fort Hope I told Alayna to stay close, so I could rescue her from the trouble she gets herself into... but it was me who needed the rescuing. The next thing I remember is the priestess in Hlind. I ached all over, but my wounds had been carefully tended. I could breathe. I was alive. I learned that Alayna and Dane risked their own lives to get me out. I don't know how I will ever pay them back. And I can't help but think, if I were only a little stronger, if I were only a little better with my sword, I would not have fallen, and I would not have put my comrades lives in danger. I must increase my training. I must become the best. And I will not, again, lead my friends into a fight I don't know for certain that I can win, lest it cost them more than what I can pay back.
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I had just returned to Hlind to resupply after a venture into the Sielwood, when I came across a sturdy old dwarf sporting a sword that was sheathed in an unceasing flame. It was magnificent, and I told him so. He agreed and commented that it was his pride and joy. He introduced himself as Oholibama, a Member of the High Council. I knew that name sounded familiar, like I had overheard it in a tavern conversation, and now I knew why. I still can't believe I was actually talking to a Member of the High Council. But I kept my wits about me, and told the kindly dwarf to remember my name, for he would hear of it's renown in the years to come. He smiled and agreed. He agreed! And to show his support he empowered me with a blaze of magic, the likes of which I have never seen. I was stronger, tougher, and best of all, he wrapped my sword in a fiery sheath. The effects were not permanent, but they did not need to be to prove to me their power, for when I returned to the Sielwood, not a creature could harm me. A pack of gnolls surrounded me and I tore them apart only to find that I hadn't one scratch on my body, even though I knew that arrow and axe had both hit me. Being an apprentice to the old bookkeeper in Leilon, I spent some time reading about the Arcane Art. But mere words can never describe the power I saw and felt today. By chance I have kept a few arcane scrolls. I will study them, and in time I too will wield this power they call Magic, that the ferocity of my Fencing and the might of my Art will make my enemies tremble.
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I don't know how many drow we killed, but they just kept coming and coming.... Spellgard has fallen... we are planning how to keep the castle Haven from also falling, but it seems the drow are content with Spellgard for the moment. These dark elves have committed atrocities I have never seen before in my life, mutilating and crucifying their prisoners for all to see. When the time comes that Her Majesty rallies an army to take back Spellgard, I will be among the ranks.
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I have studied, practiced, sweated, and blead with my sword, yet still there is something missing. There is something I have not yet grasped. I don't know what it is, or how to obtain it, but I know there's is more to the art of swordplay. I can feel it. It feels as if there's a barrier, keeping me slower, blurring my battle insight, curbing my reflexes. I thought it would just come to me with intimate practice and meditation, but I remain inferior and my sword a stranger. Maybe I should seek out a master teacher. Maybe..... maybe.... this is driving me insane! I must become the best! I will master the sword!
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Outside of my obsession with my sword, I have spent some time studying the magical writings of spell scrolls and books of lore. I think I am beginning to understand a few things. Soon I will try a few of the less complicated magical tricks I have deciphered. Maybe in time I can use the working of magic to open up the secrets of swordplay.
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It started with a hunt for the lizard folk chieftan (a hunt which itself went completely sour). I met up with Dane, Amendar, And Rothnor, and shortly after Gre caught up with us, but by the time I got there, the trouble had already started. It seems Dane killed an elven ranger. Both Dane and Amendar claim the elf attacked first, and that they defended themselves. I know the both of them quite well, and they are noble Assimar and Dwarf, so I do not doubt them.
However, upon the death of the ranger, another elf strode forward, demanding why the ranger was killed. This elf claimed the ranger did not provoke the attack and was killed in cold blood, and he could not be convinced otherwise. I suspect that if the elf was telling the truth, and I am not sure he was, that Rothnor was the one who initiated the attack on the now dead ranger, and Dane and Amendar did not see it. But Rothnor was silent about the whole thing, other than to call the new elf a pest.
This elf demanded a 'dual of honor' with Dane, who gave the final death blow. Naturally, I told the elf he was nuts, that if he attacked my friend Dane, I would cut him in half. He didn't listen very well. He commenced to fighting with Dane, so I commenced to smashing his head in. Even his magic could not protect him. I sliced right through his protections, eventually causing him to run, although both Dane and I sustained heavy injuries. But, ahh, there was Faithful Amendar right there to tend to Dane and I, and we felt his healing hand in no time. But the elf was not satisfied.
My interference had angered him all the more. After more rounds of battle, the elf somehow ended up fighting Rothnor, who he mortally wounded. At this point, Gre had taken to attacking the assailant with her bow. I increased my attack, as did Dane, until the elf yelled stop. We obliged, however reluctantly. Then we began going around in circles arguing a series of events that obviously no one would see in the same light.
Since Gre and I weren't there, all we could offer was protection to our known friends, and try to reason with the elf. But that was to no avail, for the elf's mind was made up. A death for a death. We even asked if we could perform an act of atonement or in some other way clear the name of Dane for his death-dealing blow. But he would not listen.
I pointed out that he had already mortally wounded our friend, and were it not for the kindness and skill of Amendar, Rothnor would be no more. What more did he want? He sent one of ours into death throws, so now we were even. Apparently the elf had other things in mind. By this time our party had sheathed our weapons in good faith, trying to end the fighting.
The elf, after more banter and name calling, backed away, as though he were fianlly leaving. But it was a trick, once out of range of my blade, the elf unleashed a furious ball of flame that neary burnt all of us to death in a single blow. In a single moment we all simultaneously roared in defiance and charged the fool. The fighting was intense, and fianlly, when the smoke cleared, three had fallen. The elf, who recieved his death blow from Rothnor (Who I suspect started the whole business, however unintentionally), Amendar, kind Amendar, and the mighty Dane.
I was stricken, and still harbor a solid amount of anguish over that hour. Two of my closest friends had been slain because of a young elf's foolish pride. But what is worse, is that I could not save them. I laid blow after blow upon the elf, but I was not fast enough, did not strike well enough, and once again, my inability with my blade resulted in my inability to protect those who have protected me.
I fell to my knees, knowing that I had to pray. I was not willing to give up these dear friends yet. But even my prayers were hindered. I went to the shrine in Hlind to pray, only to be attacked by the Captain and his Quartermaster. And for what? That's when I realized that something strange was happening. Something beyond pride and honor. I escaped the guards and slipped into the shrine, where I prayed fervently. Ilsare listened, but I know she was not the only one who saw my plight. I felt a presence, and knew there was a darker work at hand, a magic bent on detroying people from the inside out. To this day I do not know of its source, only that I still seek the source, whatever or whoever it is, that I may put an end to it, if I am able.
To my relief, the gods would not let the souls of Dane and Amendar depart this world, and both recovered. The elf, I fear, did not. We made one more failed attempt at the lizard tribe, after which I went straight away to the tavern, to drown in Ale and then sleep the events of the day into oblivion.
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In my depression over my failings with the blade, I have turned back to that which I have never found failure: the workings of the mind. I have always been a fast learner, and it has been no different in my newly acquired taste for the Arcane. The scrolls I have been studying are slowly beginning to make sense. I have even been able decipher the exact nature of many of the lesser ones, and have begun experimenting with the spells. I was surprised, however, at how much concentration and physical effort casting even a simple spell would be. As such, I have found it immensly difficult to use my tiny repretoire of spells during any sort of battle, but I am growing more familiar with the tug of magical energies each day, and the time will come when I am no longer restrained by my limited knowledge of magic.
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It has been a long time since I have seen the likes of Alayna Redwaters. Once a steady companion, the swarthy pirate hunter has disappeared, likely taken back to her beloved sea. I admit, I had become fond of her in the time we spent together. I had hoped the feeling was mutual, although it is too well known to me how my luck with women goes. No, she has disappeared, without so much as a goodbye letter, and I am left to ponder over her whereabouts and condition. Only the gods know if we shall meet again. May the Lord of Knowledge reveal her path to me.
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On a few of my more recent travels, I ran into a pair of elves (or so they appeared to be), one a sneaky character, but, like most of elven kind, also familiar with the Art. The other is a druid, crafty as she is adept in battle. We had set camp after a small bout with some overgrown insects, and the sneaky one, Kelis Witchblade, if I recall her name correctly, crept into the night in search of pecans trees that grow in the swamps near Port Hampshire. This left the druid and I alone, so, despite how pathetic I am at maintaining interesting conversation, I attempted to become more familiar with the wild magic user. She laughed at my obvious observation that she followed the druidic order, and asked what it is that I pursue. I thought my abilities obvious as well, but it seemed she was looking further, deeper, at something else that I myself was not yet aware of. Confused, I stated bluntly that I was a swordsman, pursueing masterhood, but that I had learned a small bit of magic.
"Yes, a fighting wizard," she said, as if making a final assessment of my person. "By that time you will be mighty indeed, Cole Norseman, and I will be by your side." My confusion was plainly obvious on my face. By what time? And what does she mean, "I will be by your side" ? I cannot even recall the druid's elaborate name, yet she looks into my future? My chance to ask questions, however, was cut short by the return of Kelis, who had managed to harvest a few of the pecans she was after.
I had no other opportunity to discuss what the druid said that day, and have not run into the pair since, but I have spent many hours contemplating her words. There seems no end to the strange companions I keep.
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Bah! That crazy woman returned from her sea voyages only to leave again before I knew she was gone. I am speaking of Trouble, formally known as Alayna Redwaters. However, she did manage to find the time to do some tweaking to my platemail. As usual, she has done an excellent job, and my armor is flat out impressive. I myself have been learning a bit about her design techniques from watching her, and managed to complete the ensemble with a helm of my own design.
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My desire to travel, to see this world in it's entirety, is coming to pass. I have crossed my own continent of Mistone a hundred times, and have traversed at least half of Rilara. As I suspected, my time in Hlint has waned as I spend more time on the road than near any one town. However, I did recently make the trip back home, to Leilon. Not much has changed there. I walked the boulevards and examined the fine houses and gambled with the sailors as they pulled into the docks. It is still home to me, and I think always will be. It was from Leilon that I made my journey to the most exotic place I have yet been: the Barbarian Isles. It is there that I am told my ancestors migrated from. Being an orphan, I can only assume that my sources are correct. Nonetheless, I went there with a group of treasure seekers who were looking for the expensive gems that can be found in the caves on some of the larger islands. I went simply as a mercenary, as usual, my hefty sword being an ever welcome sight to the rest of my traveling companions. And my sword was not left dry. I discovered that the fiercest tribes of goblins survive in that freezing north, barreling down on their prey from the backs of hideous dog-like beasts called Worgs. But it's not the creatures of the place you have to worry about. It's the place itself. It is so cold that during midday you can spit, and your spiddle will freeze before it hits the ground. You don't want to be there at night. We did find the caves, and a horde of goblins waiting for us inside. We were a strong group, but the fighting was the fiercest I have seen since the battle with the drow when they took Spellgard. The goblins and their Worgs used their knowledge of the caves to ambush us time and again. One by one my companions fell around me, until I too felt the stinging bite of death reaching for my soul. But we were not undone. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a slight fellow, hooded and armed with a bow, step out of the shadows and launch a volley of arrows into the goblin raiders. Not a single arrow missed it's mark; at least not any of the ones I saw, for it was about then that my eyes were drowned in my own blood. When I awoke, the figure was standing over me chanting softly, and all of my companions, even those I thought to be dead, were sitting around a fire not two feet away from me. Needless to say, we left those caves not long after. I must admit, I have little intention of returning to the Babarian Isles any time soon, although my experiences there, of which my writing can only offer a taste of, has strengthened me considerably. Strangely, I did feel a connection to the place, even if I am not fond of it.
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I have spent a good deal more time studying than I ever thought I would, scouring the libraries of Mistone and Rilara for books and scrolls on the subject of fencing, and occasionally discovering a new book discussing the nature of the Art. And I have drilled with my greatsword until I could not stand and my shoulders ached so that I thought my arms would fall clean off. I am beginning to see the fruits of my labor only just now, as I have begun to hire out my skills once more. No single giant can stand against me, nor even two, no, only when I am outnumbered by three or more must I retreat. I am so much stronger, I can feel the power filter through me into my blade. But it is still only my power wielding my blade; we are not one yet. In all my studies, that is the one thing I am sure of. I must learn to make the blade an extension of myself, and vice-versa. As to how to bring that to pass, I can only hope it will come with experience, for I have stressed and strained in study, in thought, for so long now without an answer as to how I might close the gap between the animate and the inanimate. At least, no answer other than Magic, and Magic is a whole other thing entirely...
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Note: I purchased a new sword today, although I will never give up my old copper blade that has served me so well. It is a magical sword, I'm told, and, indeed, I can sense its own power radiate through the iron hilt into my palms. It was costly, but I believe well worth it, the proof of which lies in the giant's blood still frozen to it. Yes, frozen. I had its magic enhanced, and the property rendered for the gold I offered made the blade cold to the touch. Immensly cold, as only Magic can do. It's going to take a lot of scrubbin with a piece of a volcanic rock to get it clean, as best I can tell, since even boiling water cools and turns to ice before I can get any real cleaning done.
I hope to see Alayna again soon. She will be impressed with my new blade and my new skills. That reminds me... I need to start saving my gold as soon as I get some new armor... She deserves to have a boat of her own, and I want to be the one to get it for her. I still cling to the rings she has given me, and I have given little besides my company to her, and she deserves more. At least I want to give her more...
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I recall a time when a thousand gold pieces was to me a fortune. Now I find I can make twice that in a day, assuming I can find the right buyers for my scavenged goods, a young weaver or asker to escort, or I get lucky with cards. Speaking of cards, I met a man the other day who is the only person I have encountered that has managed to best me more times than I have him. That is, I think he has five games on me to my three on him... and a thousand of my gold. That man is Aleister... who introduced himself simply as Al. I have learned he is a weaver of some renown. I haven't seen much of his magics, but I have seen his strategies with cards... cards I didn't even know existed until I played him. But I think I have the right set to best him, as well as continue clobbering my other opponents.
To be honest, work was slow for a while. Very slow. So I started advertising myself as a freeblade to anyone and everyone. My explorations have to be funded somehow, and with my skills, mercenary work suits me the best. It's much more to my liking than working the forge all day, that's for sure. And it is becoming very lucrative. I just had to start yelling my name out to any passerby, and, by the gods, it makes sense that at least one of those people will have a need for my skills and strength. All this mercenary work has been good for more practice with my blade, and has been excellent in establishing a ring of contacts. Might I add, wealthy contacts.
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I decided to post a notice for contracts across the lands of Mistone. Once again, I am amazed at how successful advertising is. I have so much work on my hands, I am wondering how I am going to keep up with it all. However, I am rolling in gold coins.
One of these clients, an elven woman by the name of Kali, I only just met, having corresponed solely through letters. Upon meeting her, she and another elven lady- Lindariel, I think is her name- insisted that Kali do a card reading for me. A look into my future, they said. Naturally, I balked. I'm too much of a schemer myself to trust anything else that appears shady. And fortune telling is high on the list of shady operations, particularly at the hundred gold piece "donation" price. However, Kali seemed a genuine customer, and moreover, I wasn't about to lose a buyer and a good reputation with buyers in general, so I gave in. Besides, if things work out, I'll be taking much more of her gold than the hundred pieces I gave her that night.
It turns out, she was very sincere. Or I was very duped. But nonetheless, I was impressed and set to thinking both as a result of her little card reading. She drew three cards. As I should have guessed, the first card was that of the "Fool." She said it means I tend to be reckless, doing things without thinking about the consequences, sometimes to the point of my own detriment. And that I have an incessant desire for change. I had to agree with both. I can't count how many times I have gotten myself into sticky situations that I could have easily avoided had I thought things through. Also, I feel I constantly have to be on the move. Staying in one place too long works on my depression until I get up and hit the road. Yet I was not overly concerned by this card, only slightly disturbed at the accuracy of it.
The second card was the "Hanged Man." Even I knew this wasn't a good sign. In fact, Kali herself looked a little worried when she turned the card over. It was described to me that this card meant loss- either I would, in the future, lose something dear to me, or there is some part of my life that is missing, that I am not entirely whole do to this unknown loss. It is the latter possibility that most bothers me. I know very little of my history, my origins, which is ironic, in the fact that I have long had access to and consistently use, historical annals and records in libraries across the lands. Moreover, I have, since I took up the sword, pursued a mastery that has been nothing but elusive to me. What's worse, is that in recent months, I have noticed myself becoming sidetracked from this pursuit, due to my failure to complete the task I set for myself.
The final card was the "Judgement of the World" card. It too has a two-fold meaning. I had a hard time understanding Kali's explanation of this one, as if she was holding back, afraid I truly might not like what I would hear. In the end, she seemed to say that either all would be over soon, or all would change. Vague, yet poignant in light of the other two cards. The compiled reading, Kali emphasized, was that while my recklessness was pulling me down, keeping me from whatever is my "loss," there was coming a chance for change. The key word in my mind being "chance." Apparently there is a turning point, a crossroad, I am coming to. I just hope I recognize it when I see it, because it seems obvious what the other outcome, the outcome of no change, will be, assuming all this has any actual relevance to my life.
Those cards touched too close to my life. Too close. I fear I will be contemplating Kali's words rather than sleeping for many nights to come. The question is, what is it that fuels my desire to challenge the odds and to insist that I forever be on the move? and when I discover the answer, will it break me? Or make me stronger?
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I'd heard I could buy passage to the continent of Dregar in a city near the Bloody Gate. Having never been to Dregar, I decided to satisfy my wanderlust and explore it. It wasn't long before I ran into the biggest city I have ever seen. I was later told it is the largest city ever built. I wouldn't be surprised. I believe it is called Pranzis.
Despite the city's size, I managed to find a host of aquaintances and friends- Lorio and Gloin to name a few. It turns out they were on a hunt for a being responsible for a slew of strange were-creatures. They let me tag along, which suited my desire to explore plus gave me more opportunity to work my fencing skills. And there was plenty of practice to be had. Those werebears, wereboars, werewolves, and whatever else were a tough fight, and I was glad of my able companions. As far as exploration goes, I traveled some ways across Dregar, but we ended up chasing these things into another dimension. Yeah... I jumped into a portal to which I did't know the destination. After as much as I've read on the subject of portals and extra-dimensional travel, you'd think I'd have balked at the idea of utlizing an untested portal. Nope. I followed the rest of my companions right on in. Thankfully, we didn't get stuck there- wherever it was.
We finally faced off against the insane demonic woman we'd been hunting (I still can't beleive I'd gotten involved in this), only to find we could do absoutely nothing to harm her, and barely managed to survive while she taunted us. In the end it took another supernatural being to end the confronation. I'm not sure what god sent the creature that forced the demon lady to submit, but I actually called on Aragen while others called on thier own dieties. It's the first time I think I've ever called on a god for anything, but, then, it was the first time I'd ever been up against anything as powerful as her or in a place as foreign as that one.
I'm not sure how long I was off my home plane- I've read that time can pass faster or slower from plane to plane- but it couldn't have been too long, and I, with the rest of the people, were dropped back into Pranzis. To my surprise, I ran into Gulnyr, and if I thought I'd experienced the incredible in the previous hours, I had no way of seeing what I was about to get into...
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To pick up where I left off, I had just met Gulnyr in Pranzis after plane-hopping. As I was talking to Gulnyr, a man approached wearing a fine set of armor and hefting an even more impressive broadsword. Naturally, I had to compliment the sword. The man looked at me and smirked, so I showed off my blade and explained that he was looking at one of the best swordsman around. He proceeded to laugh at me... ahem... TO LAUGH AT ME. The man replied that he could easily best me and that if I wanted to even have a chance against the likes of him I would have to be trained by the same master that he had, a man called Swordsbane. For a moment I forgot the insult. This is what I had been searching for all these years- a master who could teach me what I could not teach myself. The path to becoming a master of the sword myself. I immediately asked where I could find this Swordsbane.
"If you think you can hack it," he said, "seek passage to the Desertforest island."
The name sounded a little fishy, but I had to see for myself, and thank Aragen Gulnyr came with me. I damn near got lost trying to find my way back to a port city. I can't recall the name of the town, but it had a harbor and plenty of boats. Someone had to know where this Desertforest island was. While we were walking along the docks, we over heard a ruckus from inside one of the ships. It sounded violent, so Gulnyr and I decided to take a peak. Out pops this swarthy captain downing a bottle of liquor. At least, he claimed to be the captain and demanded to know what we were doing on his ship. We explained and mentioned we were looking for a ride to the Desertforest island. The man burst with laughter and told us he could take us there. We asked how much the fair was, and he said there wasn't one if we were going to the Desertforest island. When I gave him a funny look, he said the expense was handled by some guy named Swordsbane. I began to wonder if this was all too good to be true, that in a single day, by complete chance, I might have found the answer to my life's quest to be the best to touch a greatsword.
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When Gulnyr and I had finally finished emptying the contents of our stomachs over the side of the vessel, I began to take note of the crew of this boat. They were as cut-throat a group as I'd ever seen, but they let us alone. I had to wonder what this ship was actually used for. I think Alayna might have known. I do wish she had been with me.
The captain dropped us on a sandy beach, and told us he wouldn't be back for at least a month. Gulnyr and I looked a each other, then started walking. We couldn't have been walking more than an hour when we ran into a fellow hunched over in the sand, beat and bruised all over and muttering to himself. He went on and on about Swordsbane and impossible and discipline-something-or-another. He was too crazed to let me help him much, and he wasn't very helpful in pointing us to this Swordsbane's residence. We let him be and continued dwon the beach. Presently we ran into another fellow similarly ranting about this Swordsbane, only he seemed less crazed and more angry. Equally as beat-up. He flat out told us that this Swordsbane was an impossible master, that all he ever talked about was "Discipline, Discipline, Discipline." I wasn't sure whether I should be discouraged or more determined. I decided to simply disregard the two men on the beach, with the exception of procurring the location of Swordsbane's house from the second one. To our dismay, Gulnyr and I disovered we had to take a rowboat out to a smaller island. We could see it in the distance; unfortunately, being that Gulnyr and I are anything but sailors, it took us half the trip to get the whole rowing thing down right.
We set foot on an island much different than the island we just launched from. The former island was barren, with sand dunes for as far as you could see. This island, while smaller, was somewhat sandy, but had a grove of trees and lush grasses surrounding a house set on a hill in the center of the island. Desertforest. Clever. But the landscape wasn't what I had come for. If our information was right, the house on that hill belonged to a human who was holding the secrets of the blademasters.
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I knocked on the door of the house. It looked like a normal house as far as I could tell, but Gulnyr and I did notice training dummies set up all around the island. The door opened and a big man with a white beard punched me and knocked me flat before I even had the chance to say hello. My temper flared and, as if on que, the man railed, "Do you know Discipline?" Dragging myself to my feet, I glared at the man and told him I was familiar with it thanks to the military. I quickly added I was looking for a Swordsbane, a master swordsman.
"You'll must learn Discipline if you are to train with me." He tossed a sword at my feet. "Discipline will be your constant companion. You will take it with you when you eat, sleep, and use the jacks. It must never leave your hand."
I gave a quick glance to Gulnyr who shrugged. I kicked the sword up to my hands and examined it. The thing was hardly more than a thin piece of metal with a handle. You couldn't call it a sword. It was knicked, blunted, and bent to such a degree I doubted it would cut through anything. The balance was better than I expected.
"Go on," he said, pointing to a dummy. "Get to work."
I started with simple military drills, slowly working in the more intricate moves I'd developed or learned through the years. I could barely make a dent in the dummy with that stupid sword. It was more like beating a rug than swordplay. Swordsbane left me at it for about an hour before walking up behind me.
"Give me the sword," he said. I was ready for a rest anyways.
He took that hunk of metal and, with a single stroke, cleaved the dummy in two. Gulnyr, who'd been watching me work, took a step back, while I just stood there in shock. Swordsbane, without so much as a grin, pointed to another dummy further down the islandand said, "Again."
I don't know how many times I heard that "Again." Much of the rest of my time there was a blur of sweat, blood, and metal. It was dummy after dummy, drill after drill, until I was crawling on my hands and knees from one broken combat dummy to another. That much I can remember- that and some sort of blindfold being put on me. I hurt until I didn't hurt, and as long as he said, "Again," I swung that sword. Gulnyr tells me I was yelling and taunting the dummies like they were real enemies. I don't remember that much, but Gulnyr doesn't lie.
I woke up on my back next to a campfire outside the house with Gulnyr and Swordsbane looking on and chatting. I still had the sword in my hand. Swordsbane looked me up and down. Every bone in my body ached, yet somewhow I managed to stand up.
"You've done well," he said, "but we're not done yet."
I followed him inside his house and down into a basement area that was filled with books. He pointed to a glowing portal.
"Get ready. These dummies fight back."
It turns out flesh is alot easier to cut through, even with "Discipline." I don't know if the creatures were real or illusion, but that portal kept spitting them out, and I cut them down one by one. I could feel the ease with which each stroke found it's mark. The ease that I had been craving, that I had been so long in search of.
Yet how it finally came to me is still a mystery. All I did was beat on dummies until I was senseless. Was that it? Was that the secret for which took me so long to find? Sparring until it was fighting until it was fighting to keep moving until I collapsed, then getting up to fight some more? Or was it simply a gift, that can only be handed down from a master? If such is the case then there will be a time when I must pass this gift, this secret. If only I knew what it was.
But I cannot deny the sweet comfort I have with any greatsword. Swordplay is no longer work; it truly has become *play.*
-
*As submitted to to get his character approved, this is a synopsis of Cole Norseman's life before adventuring, before the call of the Great Dragon*
Cole Norseman hails from the port town of Leilon on the continent of Mistone. He is descended from former inhabitants of Krashin (The Barbarian Isles) who migrated to Mistone some generations ago. However, his parents, as far as he knows, died of a flu-like disease when he was a toddler. He too contracted the disease, but did not die, although it left him with a damaged immune system, hence he is prone to sickness. To counteract this, he spends a great deal of time training his body, pushing and conditioning it.
He grew up in orhan houses until he was of age to enter an apprenticeship. His parents' surname was unknown to the officials of Leilon, so the last name of Norseman was given to him because of his known heritage. He has always been very smart, but tends to let his curiosity get the better of him, and often finds himself using his brilliance to get him out of the trouble he has already gotten himself
into.
His wit was recognized early on, and so he was apprenticed to a dwarvenbookkeeper. This is where he was first introduced to the Arcane arts, as some of the texts dealt with such phenomenon, but at the time he was more obsessed with maximizing his body's potential; he was already smarter than everyone else in town (at least he thought so).
He quickly took to reading and, within a short time, was familiar with all the books in his master's charge. Unfortunately, the tedium of daily chores and copying texts wore on his wild spirit. He longed to know more, to seek out knowledge from around Layonara, to see for himself the things he read about. Every morning he looked out over the ocean and it called for him. His master recognized this and tried to satisfy the young man's wanderlust by sending him on journey's across Mistone to procure copies of new texts from other libraries. But this only increased Cole's determination to become an explorer.
At 19, he said farewell to the master bookkeeper, and headed south to Blackford's castle. He enlisted in the military there, serving the minimum 4 year term. To his dismay, his unit never traveled from Mistone, and now he had a new obsession: to master the sword.
He is now 23 and feels ready to pursue his dreams of travel and discovery. It it likely that there is now only one thing that can stand in his way. His own personality. It was well known in Leilon that there was never more honest man than Cole Norseman, nor more blunt. It was this lack of subtlety that, more than anything, kept the female population at bay. He doesn't care much for grooming, but also finds hair to be a nuisance, so he can often be found in a scraggly state, somewhere between trimmed and overgrown. When it comes to diplomatics, he generally says, "Y'all go ahead and argue. I'll come back when you're done." This is not to say he isn't on the compassionate side. When it comes right down to it, the man's a bit of a softee and couldn't live with himself if he didn't offer what skills he has to someone who might need them. It's possible this stems from his experience as an orphan.
Well, that's the story on Cole Norseman of Leilon. Let me know what you think.
-
It has been long since I have spent the time to wander among my writing book. I have traveled extensively, studied intensely, and practiced heavily. I cannot begin to comment on the things I have witnessed and heard in these last months. Hlint has become the epitome of a racial melting pot. The dead speak and the elements war. Rival gods make pacts against a demon so fierce that all tremble at his name, a name fulfilling the demon's desire.
Through all this I wander, seeking to know more, to get stronger, to quench my thirst for the unknown. The Great Library has proved invaluable in preparing me for foes I have never fought and spells I have never cast. Yet the piece of knowledge that has proved the most curious to me did not come by way of a book, but through a young black-haired fellow by the name of Thomas Vot.
Thomas Vot is an able wizard, if not a bumbling coward. Yet he'll follow me into the depths of the earth, trembling all the way. And why should he be so enthralled with the likes of Cole Norseman? Because he claims to be my cousin. That's right. He looks nothing like me, I have no known relatives by any book, and he will not be shaken in his resolve that we are cousins. He claims to have proof... proof that is supposedly locked away with a school of mages that he was expelled from.
Of course, I don't believe him at all, but it's been so long since I have even thought of family. That is, all I've known, all I've ever been, is an orphan. And it's never bothered me. I looked for a while when I was first apprenticed to the bookkeeper, to see if his contacts knew anything, and I learned no more than what I had been told as a boy. I haven't looked or even given it thought since then. Yet here it is before me, and I wonder, I do wonder, if there might be someone out there who is actually of my blood.
-
With the support of a few solid investors, I think I have finally found constant place to sell the raw materials I gather, rather than having to find individual buyers. With my advice and their own business savvy, Klugger and Company will start a store that will buy and sell resources thus making it possible for anyone to sell the raw materials they find themselves with, as well as being able to find the goods that other vendors don't sell. People won't be forced to treck across the continents battling the dangers that only a few of us crazies enjoy doing to get at uncommon and rare goods. We should be able to get things up and running within the next few weeks. Quantum and I are working out a pricing guide for raw materials and we will meet again to discuss and compare our work within a few days. The store will be based out of Haven, which I think will be a perfect place for such a place to start, being so close to the Haven mines.
On another note, I have actually managed to discover the secrets of a fair amount of spells within the second circle. I still have trouble getting them to work all the time. The strain is immeasurably greater than the first circle. I will soon need to work on finding a way to produce the magic with much less physical exertion, because I still cannot cast my spells during battle, being far too hindered by the scale armor I wear.
-
This is where it begins and ends. My purpose is being seen. Why does a sickly orphan survive to learn the sword? For one who is nothing to anyone, who is worth less than the dirt he walks on, to still be walking. For one who has lost his love, feels the sting of eteranl death even now scratching at his sides, who has more blood on his hands than all but the oldest soldier at Blackford, to still be allowed to swing a sword. For one who will never have a home beyond the streets he traveled since he was a boy, there is yet a purpose.
The bane of the earth I walk, the death of the life I live to see and breath: *burnt into the paper* Bloodstone. He will feel the point of my Blade. This I vow, as I will make my Blade, the Blade of Cole Norseman the greatest, the largest of all blades. A blade that will stretch across the lands, across continents, even to the far stench of Xantril. And he will know the Dread he so inspires among those that walk this earth and watch over it. He will see this Dread Blade prick his side and see his own Blood spill onto the earth. This Dread Blade I shall call forth and no army will be able to rise against it. Beware, Bloodstone, The Dread Blade will reach you, and it will cut you.
Let it be known there is a mercenary who takes his payment in Blood!!!
Aragen guide the hands that swing the Dread Blade!!!
-
How many? More than I could count on my fingers; more than I care to count. I am nearly alone, and nearly gone. My generation has passed, and I am soon to pass with it. Letter after letter, ale after ale, yet there is no consolation.
The shadows envelop me. Their whisperings fill my mind. Their tendrils have infused themselves into my flesh and my once sickly body has ceased its constant bleeding. Both a blessing and a curse. Licquor no longer offers solace. No amount can keep me inebriated for much longer than an hour before the whispers return, and I'm coherent again.
Bloodstone draws nigh. The world pulls to a point and teeters. It's Blood, or freedom, they say, and, indeed, we cannot let Bloodstone win. Yet... Yet what monsters must we allow into the world to defeat him? The world teeters, and there are many ways it can fall.
-
There's been a discovery in old Storan's crypt. A Bloodpool. A cursed mess of magical power once belonging to, created by, Bloodstone himself. Now, it's owned by the Black Wizards. They stole it from Blood, wrestling it from Blood's general Eon. And the Dread Blade has now been hired to wrestle it from the Black Wizards. At least, to provide support in the matter, as I have quickly discovered the Black Wizards have very near an equivalent power to Blood's.
This may very well be my last stand. When the time comes, if no negotiation settles the matter first, I will fight to see that Bloodpool destroyed and out of reach of any other faction that might opt to use it. But the time will be a while in coming, and much planning has yet to be done. We shall see just how competent my employers are. If things go poorly, I will not suffer the Blade to fall and will pull back my forces.
The Lord of Knowledge guide my sword.
-
As more and more of my generation pass on, as I find myself wandering- much like I did in my early days as a freeblade, only now I do not wander the lands of Layonara so much as I wander the depths of my own soul- I find myself turning back to those days long past, seeking out those that remain who might trigger the memories I seek.
In this search I have come across a halfling with a louder disposition than even myself. This halfling made her way into the heart of Aleister, the old codger, and now I turn to her heart and seek its contents, hoping to find more clues to my past. Clues that explain my present, and, perhaps, my future.
I have come across the fortune teller, the card reader, who once laid out my cursed life before my eyes and forced me to become painfully aware of the path before me, of who I am. Even to simply look upon her sends shivers down my spine. Derrick employs her now. It seems my spine will stay very loose.
I have been reaquainted with a girl, now an impressive young woman, I once had the amusement of giving a little lesson in life as an adventurer. She is now an aspiring champion. Her skills as a warrior rival veteran soldiers and her beauty makes the young men falter. It would be my pleasure to once again teach her.
Perhaps I will yet leave something worthwhile behind before the shadows finally overtake me.
-
After the meeting with the King, Queen, and the Sisters, dealing with the Bloodpool in Storan's has dropped significantly on the priority list. We may yet do some dealing with the Black Wizards, but for now, restoring Shadow is of prime importance. I just hope the cost of doing so is worth the prize.
On another note, I have begun taking apprentices, offering my knowledge as a freeblade mercenary to a select few in whom I see potential....
-
My newest apprentice is the young Kahna Krows. She is both bright and fierce, but, most importantly, a willing student. She shares in much of the common problems that plague young warriors, namely, impatience and the reliance on brawn rather than brains.
I began her training with a test of martial skills and tactical ability, as well as a test to determine her information gathering skills. As I said before, she's a bright girl, if a bit too eager to please, and thus she completed both successfully. However, she took the hard road on both, and had her luck run out, she might have found the tasks to be the death of her. But she took the criticism without grudge, as I then took her out and showed her what she could have done to make the tasks easier, not to mention significantly increase the chance of success.
She has three more lessons, and then, the test.
-
Starting about the time I founded the Dread Blade, I began visiting the old Leilon orphanage I spent my boyhood in. I now spend time there on a regular basis, making sure the caretakers have all the supplies and money they need. The children are still somewhat afraid of me, but a few have come around. There are two children that my intuition tells me will have a very interesting future ahead of them- something beyond the dockwork, smithing, or tailoring that most of these children will find themselves doing as adults. These two, a boy and his younger sister.......
-
.......who I found in a ditch on the side of the road near the lake outside of town. The boy had to have been no older than fourteen years, and his sister looked to be around the age of seven. I dragged them out and threw one on each shoulder. The boy put up a weak fight, but quickly gave up after I began walking. I told the headmistress, that cranky hag, to get those two into shape. She gave me a funny look, so I left her an extra bag of jinks that day.
The two recovered suprisingly fast. The young girl adjusted to her surroundings just as fast, and I could tell she was becoming a favorite among the other orphans. She's a pretty girl, but her spirit is twice as sweet, and she does a great deal to help the mistresses in their work. The boy, on the other hand, is very quiet, and keeps to himself. His one saving quality is his love for his sister. In that regard I've helped him. In the last few years I procured him a job working freight at the piers. He's been able to use that money to get the extra things his sister might need, and she's conviced him to use some of it to help the others in the orphanage. He's a strong boy, and sharp witted. When the time is right, I'll offer him a sword.
I've asked him, on many occasions, where he and his sister is from, if he knows of any relatives, and so on. All I get from him is silence. I've told him of my start in life, my curses and my failures, my loves and my victories, all in hopes that by sharing he would share in return. But while he is an excellent listener, I think his tongue must have rusted as little as he uses it.
He's a young man now, and there have been many offers for apprenticeship. He has turned down every one of them, refusing to leave his sister. I expected as much. What I didn't expect came just after one of these refused offers. I had sat down with him and was trying to explain that he needed to get himself a secure occupation. That's when he looked up at me, and I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't been there looking at him, but the boy spoke. Someone must have mentioned to him that I had taken on a few apprentices, because he looked me straight in the eye and asked me to be his teacher. I asked him why. He told me he wanted to be strong like me. For that, I told him no. Strength he can get on his own. He would have to give a better reason than that. And thus, he returned to his usual silence, at least for a day.
His sister is coming of age. It won't be long before the headmistress will want to put her name in the job pools. I'm going to see to it she stays right there. She cares so much for the other orphans, what better occupation than that of a mistress at the orphanage. I'll make sure they have enough gold to keep her on as staff.
-
I was just leaving the Leilon Arms after having a drink with Derrick when the boy approached me. He was on his way from work at the docks to the orphanage to see his sister.
I nodded to him, and before I could even get in a word of greeting...
-
..... the boy threw a hefty sack of gold at my feet.
"It's true I'm a mercenary," I told him, "But some things cannot be bought and sold with gold."
His demeaner was set, hard, and he did not move.
"Why?" I asked. "Why do you want strength?"
He continued to stare at me, and I could tell he was deciding whether or not to speak. So I turned, leaving his gold lying in the street, and began to walk away.
"Find me when you have an-"
"To protect her. To avenge her." His voice was as steady as the wind blowing over the ocean. I took my time to stare, to examine. His eyes were true.
"So it's for your sister, then, eh?"
He responded with his usual silence.
"Pick up your gold, mate. I've got something to show you..."
-
I took him to the Great Library. I'm not sure he expected this first part of training, but aside from the confused looks, he did as I asked without question. He quit his jobs at the docks and spent the next two months reading and copying books for the Master Librarian. I directed him to all the pertinent sources of knowledge for current events and phenomena. The Librarian had him copy books containing fighting styles, swordplay, and creature descriptions. I had him copy books relating to the Weave. He liked this task the least, it seemed.
It was a twelve hour per day process. I had to make sure this boy could handle the real training. Not knowing his background, this was the best preparation for him and the best method for me to discover where his true interests lay. Naturally, I covered the cost of his living expenses during this stay.
The boy's smart. Maybe not as quick-witted as I was at his age, but above average in that department nonetheless. He is, however, phyiscally tougher than I ever was, and quicker with his feet and hands. I also have a feeling he's not interested in using a greatsword. We'll see what weapon he chooses.
One more note: the boy is certainly not of the sociable types, which is understandable, with the blue skin and curvy little horns in his skull. And I can definitely sense something about him, something... well, let's just say horns generally denote a connection to less than savory beings... perhaps he has some natural abilities with the Weave... or perhaps it is something else, something worse. However he was less than interested in the books on magic. The answer must lie in his past. But is it a part of his past he knows about? In other words, is it something I can glean from him in time? Perhaps.
At least for now he has a good record. People fear such oddities as that boy. It's been all I could do to keep him in Leilon, for all that wanted to ship him off the Krashin. Not has he's caused any trouble. He's actually well mannered for a guy who never speaks. Of course, there are those that have thought to pick fights with him, but I made sure to put an end to that. It's well known he's under my care, and no one crosses me in my hometown.
-
The boy has advanced faster than I had imagined he would. In fact, he is the best pupil I have ever had. He seems to have a natural feel for battle tactics and handles a sword like it's an extension of himself. I've taught him the use of a myriad of weapons, everything the militaries use and more. His favorite weapons, however, are the curved blades. I've never been fond of them myself, but as I mentioned before, he's a bit more graceful than I ever was. He's to the point that I allow him solo training, and we have done some traveling as I've taught him the use of maps. It seems he's learned a bit of direction-finding elsewhere. Perhaps some of the sailors at the Leilon docks taught him. Every night we are not in Leilon, he writes Lyn a letter. What goes into those letters, I have no clue, as he has never once shared anything to me about their relationship. That boy is closed up tighter than an oyster.
On another note, I've discovered there exists such an Ale that can literally knock me off my feet. After which Acacea stole my boots. Even more strange, the hostess, Lily, at the Arms, seems to enjoy my company almost as much as Acacea. I'm working out a deal with Kali and Derrick to give her some self-defense training with a dagger.
Retiring from mercenary work has left me to spend most of my days, when I'm not training someone, in study. I've become quite interested in the history of Layonara, specifically, each race's culture and language. Perhaps I'll pay Kali to teach me the Elven language. I'm not sure who I'll be able to find to teach me the Dwarven language. Most of the old fellows I would have sought are long gone. But I have time yet.
-
Steel has left Leilon. I could have taught him a thing or two more, but he was bent on leaving, and he's his own man now. I'll be watching to see how the world takes to him.
On a less somber note, I finally got around to fixing up a corner with throw-pillows and a blind to accomodate Acacea when she feels like staying. And just to spite the old devil, Aleister, himself, I had Kali make Smiles a new dress. It's red, of course.
Speaking of Acacea, she tried to bet me jinks that she could discover the entire life story of a lass I met the other day. Naturally, I didn't take her up on it. I don't like throwing my gold away, even if it will be used for pie and ale.
I met the girl while travelling with a band of dwarves and their entourage. We found her in Dalanthar after she had tried exploring the Rift. She learned the hard way not to try that again. She recovered well enough, though, and asked to accompany us. We were all a little hesitant, except for the guitar-toting Bard, who said she was worth her salt. So we let her follow, and it turns out, she is quite handy with a blade. She uses the same type of curved blade that that crazy skirt-wearing Lokri uses. I believe Ireth's fellow Jet also uses it. I myself am not familiar with that blade, having never trained with it. It's not a sword customarily used in the Queen's army. She wore a breastplate, but fought in a long skirt, which, again, I find odd. And that's saying nothing of how she dyes her hair green. An interesting young woman indeed. I am curious to discover who did her initial training, and where she is from, for that matter. All in good time, I suppose.
-
Acacea claims she'll teach me elven. I'm guessing that's only if she figures out how to sit still for more than five minutes. Still, I did learn one word from her. "Lasicala." At least, I think that's how it's spelled. It means, "Smiles."
-
Surprisingly, my Elven is coming along. Thanks to Acacea's constant rambling and occasional translations, and Yard's meticulous explanations, I can pick out bits and pieces of most conversations in Elven. I'm still a long way from fluent, however. I need to find a teacher of the Dwarven language, but that is proving a difficult task indeed. I only seem to be in a dwarf's company during the tide of battle, and many aren't willing to share the language, much like my old master. Stubborn lot, those dwarves.
-
In these past few months, many old friends and acquaintances have surfaced. Gulnyr, Ray, Key- to name a few... Each meeting has been a solace to me, a good memory, a pleasant wave fondness for the days of my youth.
Most importantly, this new time spent with old friends has restored my hope. Hope that not all is lost. Hope that maybe she is still out there; that the sea did not swallow her up; that the Lady of Storms may yet spit her back to shore.
But herein lies a new problem. Interests have arisen. I am well known and my fame has turned the eyes of women in my direction. And I have found interests of my own among them.
How long shall I wait for her return? How long can I allow myself hope in what has been long lost to me? Perhaps it is time to release myself from that hope.
I will seek counsel with Acacea, and perhaps with Kali, when she returns.
-
*A sealed letter, addressed to Seteece, daggered to the top of a crate in the Freelancers' Hlint warehouse, trifolded*
Seteece,
As usual, your craftmanship is superb. This adamantium armor has already stood the test of several skirmishes and left me nearly unscathed, without even so much as a dent in the armor. Many have asked the origin of my current sword, and now this armor, and so your name has been spread and they have all looked in awe upon your work. And rightfully so- it is masterful.
Now that I have finished waxing your arse (and sincerely, I might add), I have another topic to bring up. I have made my fortune, Seteece, my name is well known. I have worked hard and long to procure raw goods for crafters across the continents. Yet I tire of such toil. At one time, it lead me to exploration and new challenges. Now, it is tedious and overbearing.
I am nearly 36 years of age and I wish to retire of this business before what's left of my youth escapes me. And yet I see no end, for there are many who now rely heavily on the goods I can bring. I wish to return to the days where I served as an escort or private guard. I have new interests in the study of languages and magic. Few if any can match my prowess with the greatsword, yet that prowess is used to cull rift-raft from mines more than to protect the souls of my own people.
You have always treated me well, Seteece, and I will always offer my gains as you require them. You know well that should you ever need it, I will call upon all my resources to aid you. Yet I ask for your help in this: find me a way out of this merchant's business that I have found myself so deeply embedded in. I know I will never completely escape it, as I will always need the things that such trade can offer- you of all people can understand this- but perhaps I can soon lessen my attachment to it.
*signed and stamped with the shadow of a panther*
Cole Norseman
-
Count it a miracle- I actually mixed a vial of scribing ink correctly, without splattering it all over Moraken's tables. Yardislan's list of what each type of ink needs has proved most useful, and Freldo helped me retrieve some of the skullcap needed for the abjuration inks. I even think he looked a little interested in scribing for himself. I'll have to tell Yardislan in the letter I've been trying to write, thanking him for all his troubles in helping me learn the Elven language (even the list of scribing materials had elven translations!). The trick is, I'm trying to write it entirely in Elven, as practice, and writing the language is almost harder than speaking it. Oddly enough, the scribing should help with that, as many of the magical runes and grammatical form mimic the Elven language, or is it the other way around?
Also, I finally did find that platinum Ael kept telling me about in the swamps of Roldem. It took me two trips, nearly a month of time, and numerous companions' help, but I managed to find it in a cave that blew with a constant wind. Interesting how both major deposits of the ore are found beneath swamps. I wonder what sort of natural connection the two have.
-
Dear Addy,
I'm not sure where to begin this letter, so I suppose I'll start with the worst of it, and end with the better.
What Ozymandias says is true. I have lived life hard and fast, teetering on its brink, and now my time is nearly up. I have trained nearly my whole life to be one of those that helps destroy, or at least banish once more, the tyrant Bloodstone. When the time comes, I will fight. I am well aware of the danger, and suspect, too, that it will be my end. I only hope I meet that end after I have played a part in Blood's defeat and the defeat of his generals.
It's because of this knowledge that I have said nothing to you in regards to your feelings for me, and yes, it has been obvious for quite some time, even before other began commenting about it. Plainly, I have avoided a relationship with you for that very reason, that my end is near, unless there truly be a god that favors me, and there has never been one before. I have loved, Addy, and loved dearly. And worst of all, I lost that love to death, and I would not dare do such a thing to you or anyone else. You already understand what that pain is like, how unending it is. I have not fostered your affection for me because I do not want it to hurt worse if I am gone.
That is to say, I have never found you unpleasing, but rather intrigueing and impressive on many accounts. And thus your affection for me has been a struggle within me for many months now, not yet having gotten over the loss of my first love, and knowing that should I find renewed hope, renewed passion, in a relationship with you, that it could all be lost in one fell swoop at the hands of Bloodstone.
I could never turn you away, as I may be strong in battle, but I am weak of heart. So the choice is yours. Love me, and we both may find I am able to return it. Yet I am determined to face down Bloodstone and his generals. And should such peril end me... we both know the pain of a broken heart.
I beg your forgiveness for not being forthright with this in the beginning.
Sincerely,
*stamped with the shadow of a panther*
*signed*
Cole Norseman
-
Lasecala,
I have not seen you for some time, and I'm assuming that's because you are hiding out in the desert playing with sand and riding griffons. I confess, though, I've missed my number one bard and lucky halfling. And you know what? You've missed something yourself. Through correspondance in letters, and finally in an evening dinner at the Surge, Addison admitted to my person her obvious affection for my old arse. Naturally, I had to explain why I had up to that point avoided recognizing her affections. A copy of the letter I sent her is on my desk if you wish to peruse it (if you haven't already).
It took her a few tankards of iron bock to work up the courage, but she told me if she could be with me for today, it would be enough- that she has come to realize that all we have is now, and to live in it, while hoping for the future.
That left the hilt facing me, so I took it and admitted her having left an impression on me, and consented to trying a relationship with her. You can blame yourself and Jennara for that.
We parted with a light kiss, and now I have become a worthless bag of self-consciousness. Yes, you guessed right- I actually bathe every day now, if at all possible, and even manage to shave a little more often. I'm still trying to decide if I'll keep it up, since she liked me beforehand, and taking so many baths really seems unnecessary in my line of work. Not to mention, she really enjoys getting bloody and dirty with me. That is, in our battles against the monsters that find themselves in the way of our blades as we work.
I suppose that's all you'd find interesting in my life currently. Another time, Smiles.
*stamped with the shadow of a panther*
*signed*
Cole Norseman
-
So much. So much. I should be... Happy, I suppose. I have lived long enough to see my goals to take the fight directly to the doorstep of Bloodstone and his generals come to fruition. Yet in all this time, I have not beheld a fear like I see now. It's not the fear of a coward. No, such fear was left behind decades ago. I look upon those I have called friend, even dear friend, and I see this fear.
It is the fear of failure. It would seem that hope does not extend beyond failure. Yet, then what is hope?
We recovered Eon's Phylactery at great cost, yet this we expected. But the true cost did not come during the actual fighting required to retrieve the phylactery, but previous to it. The true cost of the venture was the derision cast upon us by a single decision to choose how the destruction of Eon's phylactery would come about. To put faith in the explosively dangerous Black Wizards and take them up on their deal to drop it in a void, or find our own methods of "destruction."
Myself, Reventage, and Acacea spoke hard against siding with the Wizards. Yet there was a Black Wizard among us, and he had allies, in the form of a Silver Tongue and the druid Brisbane. The decision was splitting us in half. And if there was one thing we couldn't do, it was divide our power. We needed- no, still need, all of it.
Neither side was giving ground, and in the end it came down to one voice, one man's choice, to end the argument, and set us on the path that we have now gone down. This voice, was that of Plenarious. A trusted force for those who stand against Bloodstone. The Eyes of Katia. Bane of Fisterion and the Thorn in Eon's Side.
He had first given his support to the deal with the Black Wizards. Surprising, but he had talked in confidence with Rufus, the Black Wizard in our company, and seemed confident in knowledge he would not share with the rest of us. But our initial desire to seek other methods rather than a deal with the Wizards lead us to find the phylactery on our own, within a ninety percent assurance. And Plenarious was the most sure among us that we had found the right hiding place of Eon's phylactery. Then doubt crept in that we might not be able to destroy it before Eon managed to get it back from us, and that if we snubbed the Black Wizards, it would come back to bite us. So much fear. So little hope.
At the height of the argument is when Plenarious spoke, and with the raising of his voice all others fell silent. All eyes turned to him, to await his decision, for his word could, and surely would, break the impass we had reached. He was the tie breaker.
To my own, and I think moreso, to Acacea's and Reventage', dismay, Plenarious made his final decision to support the deal with the Wizards. Both Reventage and Acacea could not abide this, and abandoned the group. Plenarious went to speak with Acacea. I went to speak with Reventage. We both returned with heavy hearts.
To be clear, I cursed the Black Wizards, pushed hard for the gathered to refuse their offer. But my decision had been determined long before the Wizards even made an offer. And I was not going to reduce the stength of the group again by taking leave as well, despite my contempt for the decision to deal with the Wizards.
Above all, we must remain united. The loss of Acacea and Reventage was a solid blow, and had the tide turned in our favor, we likely would have suffered the loss of Rufus' and Brisbane's might, perhaps even the Silver Tongue's. Either way, it is this derision I must seek wholly to prevent in the future, or else we will never see the final victory in our grasp. Poor decisions, hard decisions, despicable decisions will be made. This is war. But once the decision has been made, we must hope, we must trust each other, and we must remain united, or it will all be in vain.
The moment we Fear failure, we give it a foothold to creep in. The longer we hold onto this Fear, the stronger it becomes until it consumes us, and we will indeed fail.
Winning requires losing.
-
There was a time, a time when I was as straight and sharp as masterwork longsword, but now... Now I'm careful. I keep secrets. I hold back, even. I have to. I have become a liar, keeping face by keeping up appearances. Masks. How this came to be, I'm not entirely sure. When, I'm even less sure, though I have a feeling it was my time among the shadows that has lead me to be as shifty as they are. A subtle influence that has begun to mature. Worse, I am nearly at ease with my tormenting shadows. It seems my ability to adapt to pain has filtered from stength to weakness. Or is it just another kind of strength? Is it a strength I want?
-
Lots of work. Helping with the efforts to restore Roldem, striking new deals with the trade guilds, helping the Arms stay caught up on supplies, delving into the shadows with Lalaith, and preparing for the battles yet to come in this war of souls.
But what takes my mind at all times.... I for so long though I was sterile, unable to produce children. I won't go into the details why I thought this, yet it seems I was wrong. Addison is with child. My child. And worse, I may not live long enough to see it born. It becomes increasingly harder to return to the bindstones. And the war is not yet done. Not by a long shot.
-
//// A few final entries are to come, but here's something of where he left off. His ECDQ submission:
Prologue- another look at his beginnings:
There was a young boy, feeble, sickly, but sharp witted. Somewhat prone to foolishness, but what young boy isn't, the headmistress would say. He was an orphan under the charge of Leilon's Home for Delinquents. It still exists today, although there is a different headmistress. The Home is nothing more than an orphanage- a place for lost and helpless children to live, learn a trade, and be tied to an apprentice. And so it was with this boy. He lived there, from infancy until he was 12 years old.
This boy had a hard time keeping up with the other children when they played tag in the yard, but learned to read and write in half the time the others did. The only problem was, he knew he was smart, even as a child, and was proud. Proud until the day his wit didn't save him from a sound beating.
He'd learned the favorite games of the sailors quickly- dice, Dead Man's draw, and others. He also learned he could make quite a bit of coin with a careful stacking of the deck. So he'd sneak out after curfew and head to the local taverns. He'd bounce from gambler to gambler, skimming just enough from each not to anger the drunkards.
A certain sailor noticed how the boy always left with more than he came with. This sailor wasn't a gambler, but he often watched the games. After a few times of watching the boy, he decided to make some profit himself, and waited for the boy to leave dockside. Easily convincing the sods who'd gotten swindled to help him get their money back, the sailor and his cronies waylaid the boy, surrounding him in the back alleys.
This sailor was not the only one to notice the skinny, limping boy with the flashing smile to match the flash of coin in his purse. While the sailors cracked open the boy's jaw, another trap was being laid. The boy went down in a single hit, and a number of the men wondered why they hadn't thought of this earlier. Just as they began to argue over who got how much of the boy's purse, the light from their torches were snuffed out, as were the stars in the sky. They stood in a stupor trying in vain to see through the black air. With several loud thumps and one crack, the sailors all crumpled to the ground. The shroud of darkness lifted and a dwarf, short even by the standards of his race, stood over the boy, leaning on the staff he'd just used to make the sailors' hangovers ten times worse.
He carried the boy back to the Home for Delinquents, and the boy spent the next few weeks recovering. During this time, the claimed an interest in taking the boy on as an apprentice. The headmistress was both suprised and concerned, but not in any position to argue. And thus, when the boy recovered, he became apprentice to the master bookkeeper of Leilon.
The bookkeeper was as swarthy a dwarf as any, and less patient, but he knew the boy's mind was quick, and could be better used for things other than gambling. Yet the book knowledge was only a small piece of what this old dwarf had to offer the boy. The dwarf saw something beyond the sickly boy's appearance.
So, along with the boy's lessons in calligraphy, binding repair, and the like, the boy also had to run. The dwarf would scamper along behind him, thumping the back of the boy's head if he slowed down too much. He made the boy eat full meals five times a day, and forced him into performing ever more challenging physical feats as the years passed.
At first, the boy thought the dwarf was trying to kill him. He could barely keep up, and his body was wracked with pain that would sometimes send him into heavy fevers. Not only were his muscles atrophied from little use, but they were underdeveloped thanks to the disease that ate at him as a babe. But the dwarf never let up, and always seemed to produce the right remedy to at least calm the boy's current mallady.
Eventually, the boy began to find strength. And this taste wet his appetite for more. Soon, he would charge into the regimen on his own, and as he grew into manhood, began to match the dwarf's own wily strength. It took the boy the longest to get over the limp he had carried with him his entire boyhood, but once that was gone, he felt the world would be his.
He began to yearn to see the rest of the world, especially after conquoring every book in the library. Seeing this, the bookeeper allowed the now adolescent boy to take his place in traveling Mistone to procure copies of new texts. It was on several of these journies that the boy visited Blackford castle, its library, and he was always impressed with the Queen's soldiers, or, really, their show of strength. It was on one of these visits he was allowed to watch the soldiers in the training fields while he waited. On the field that day was one of the Queen's captains, and he was teaching a unit how to use a type of sword more immense than any he had ever seen. He was not quite sure how they even managed to swing it. It was that day he determined he too would learn to use such a blade.
And so it came to pass in the years following that he informed his master, the bookkeeper, he would be joining the ranks of the Queen's soldiers. As usual, the dwarf's face was as unreadable as carved stone, but he gave his consent. When the boy left, the dwarf let a smirk sneak across his face.
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List of things that need to be addressed for Cole's ECDQ (that is, things we discuss):
1)
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Breathing slowly, quietly, he looked at himself in the mirror. He held his dagger, a bronze dagger he'd constructed over a decade ago. He forced the tip of the dagger an inch deep into a bare forearm, his forearm. Drawing it out, grimacing, the blood immediately came to the surface. Instead of flowing out, however, it stopped at the surface. He watched as it slowly drained back into his arm, and within a minute the skin was sealing itself back up- on its own. What have I become? he thought.
Sitting at his desk, closing his eyes, shadows swirled beneath his eyelids. Their voices whispered in the darkness of his mind. Incoherent, yet he listened. The voices became shapes imprinted on a background of the void. Figures that danced and slithered and merged until they were no longer beings. Colors flashed from the black and filled the merging shadows until pictures, scenes of places across the world, came to life, as though he were standing in them. Things he had seen; things he hadn't. The volcanic peaks of Firesteep, the underwater depths of the Bay of Carocsa, the bustling streets of Pranzis.
He stood on a ledge in the Grey Peaks of his mind, and looked down at himself. What he saw was shadow. He was shadow, dark and spiraling with wisps of murky air.
His eyes opened, and he was again sitting at his desk, notes scattered across it, all quiet.
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How the Lumbral has effected him. Specifically, how the effects of regeneration and connection to the shadows will affect/have affected his aging. Even apart fom that aspect, however, the whispering of the shadows nearly drove him insane, which is hinted at in his journal. He still occassionally lapses into speaking the shadow language unconsciously, sometimes in mid-conversation with someone, or in mumbling to himself. He especially has problems containing the whispers when he is in an emotional strain. The way that he's learned to shut them out, or at least maintain some control is to continuously play cards, Creatures, in his head. Originally, after the affair with the Lumbral, he despised the shadows, for wrecking his mind so, but has more recently come to a term with them, and keeps his peace. Whether that means he is slipping even more, or that he has finally gained a real measure of control is yet to be seen. At this time, he is involved once more with the Lumbral, through Lalaith's ECDQ, and still with shadows in Ashiel's CDQ. He can never seem to escape them, and strangely, they give him strength.
2) His study of magic. Mentors include Yardislan and Aleister. He learns magic very slowly, but is self taught, which may be a reason for the immense time it takes for him to master even the simplest of cantrips. He's learned through the study of scrolls, primarily, as well as other resources from the libraries of the lands, and observations of his magely friends. He is not, and never was, a mage in the normal sense of the word. When he was young, he learned the usefulness of magic through his readings as an apprentice to the dwarven bookkeeper, and continued to read on the subject in his spare time while he was stationed at Blackford in the Queen's military. He got his hands on a few magical scrolls in his early travels as a freeblade, and began his practice from there. He treats the magic he knows much like the acid flasks and tanglefoot bags he keeps in his travel bags: they are fine tricks to accomplish one's goals- tools, but not the definition of his strength. In the past year and a half, Yardislan has taught him how to scribe for himself. He's learned this process with decent speed, and produces minor scrolls which he uses himself on a regular basis. During the battles against Bloodstone's generals, among other incidents, he's come to believe magic is not only a useful tool, but a necessary one. To that end, he has redoubled his efforts to learn stronger magics, and with the aid of Yardislan, and his study of the elven language, he is making progress, even so far as to be able to cast his magic with only a word, no longer requiring the elaborate gestures that he so often botched while wearing his full plate armor.
3) His study of languages (at this point, he's been studying Elven for the past several in-game years, but that's all). He has now spent some 4-5 years studying the Elven language. He keeps practice sheets and translation guides with him at all times. Yardislan has seen to it Cole keeps advancing, even writing up some of the practice sheets himself. At one time, Acacea also helped Cole learn words and phrases, which he still remembers to this day. (like "Tyea illw ilca." - Pie and ale.). This study has, however proven most useful in his study of magic, as much about the Weave has been written by the Elves. He now regular picks out pieces of Elven conversation, and occasionally speaks the tongue himself in reply.
4) His reputation as a mercenary. He is renowned throught Mistone as for being a willing, if eccentric help for near any problem, so long as pay is offered. To the surprise of many, he is not particularly picky about what the payment is, so long as he gets paid. Thanks to that attitude, he has been paid for his services with everything from pie to servitude, from gold to kisses. He is known for being both dangerous and adventure loving, and, mostly, for having no fear of death. He has contracts with both major trade guilds, the Freelancers and Raven. Also, although he is no longer a soldier of the Queen, he always takes a job if it has anything to do with protecting the Queen. He maintains a deep loyalty to her. He became a mercenary because it seemed the best way at the time of fulfilling his dream to see the world, and everything in it, with his own two eyes. He was not wrong. His work has taken him to the far reaches and back.
5)
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Taking his right hand in both of hers, she greeted him with a smile.
"And how's my fair Norseman today?"
"Still alive, don't ye know it! Ha! And 'ow are ye, me fair headmistress?"
"As good as can be expected. A few more wrinkles and grey hair everyday, and you can thank those twins for that, you certainly can."
She smirked and he laughed and kissed both her cheeks.
"Aye, mum. I'll be hevvin a word wit 'em. In the mean time, go put this away afore the tax collectors notice ye carryin' it."
He handed her a hefty burlap sack. She held it up and pondered a moment.
"It's heavier than usual, my son."
"I buried a box of trinkets in the middle fer ye and the girls. Jes don't tell the boys lest they gets the jealousies. I'll bring sumthin' fer them next time. Is there anything else ye be needin'?"
"Actually, there is one thing... If you could speak to the contractor we arranged to build the new structure, I'd appreciate it. He seems to have it in his head we're building a palace instead of an boarding house, and insists on a sum of gold well beyond our initial figures for the cost of the building."
"Ye talkin' about old Finney?"
"Yes."
"Oi. I'll hev a chat wit 'im. He should know better than te git greedy wit the pride of the Norseman."
"Thank you. Oh, and before I forget, Lynn made something for you."
Retrieving a box from her the top of her desk, she held it up to him, opening the lid just enough for him to catch a whiff of what was inside. He grinned and took the box.
"I see ye med good use of them nuts and fruits I brought ye last time."
"Lynn did anyway. Not that you didn't go on and on about your favorite kind of pie last time you were here. That reminds me, tell Derrick thank you again for me. The children really enjoyed the small feast the Arms prepared for them last Wedlar."
"Aye, will do. And I'd lek te stick around and chat wit ye some more, Catherine, but I hev many more miles yet te travel. Tell the children I'm sorry I missed them."
"You'd better at least see Lynn, you old barbarian, and thank her for the pie."
"But- "
"I'll fetch her. Stay right here."
"Aye."
Grinning, shaking his head, Cole watched the headmistress leave the office, and took a moment to get another peek at the pecan pie.
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His ties to Leilon. That is, the Orphanage he grew up in and now helps fund, the Arms, and others his reputation has connected him with. His journal covers a lot of the orphange stuff. He is also in the midst of helping Jennara build a new orphanage in Roldem. Oddly enough, he is about to sire a child of his own, that is, it's still in the womb. He also has a love for "his" city, and wants to see it prosper.
6) His ties to Blackford, from his days in the military of the Queen. He still visits Blackford regularly, to use its library, and the portal to the Great Library. He has been in the presence of the Queen multiple times, though has not been directly addressed by her. He is fiercely loyal to the Allurial, despite having left her army as soon as his first term was up. He is well known amongst the guards, and armsmasters stationed there, though not so much by the officers. When Drezneb attacked Blackford, he was there to defend the castle, and immediately joined the forces who gathered to determine how to strike back at Drezneb, no pay included.
7) His relationships to the multiple dieties. Specifically, whether or not he will begin to lean more heavily toward one or stay as he is and align with none of them. He has often relied upon the help of Aragen in his studies. He has witnessed the rites of Lucinda, and uses the Weave, and has many friends among the mages. He has cursed Dorand, and Dorand has spoken back in return, until they both came to a measure of agreement (a little DM intervention, not actually quest related)- agreement to not like each other and leave it at that. He grew up in the shadow of Mist, yet gets violently seasick. He lost his first love to the ocean, to Mist. He has been in close contact with the followers of Katia, Aeridin, Rofirein, and Toran, and has prayed at times to all of them. He has many friends among the halflings, though does not often confer with Deliar, and the same goes with Xeenites- many friends among them, but seldom has anything to do with their god.
8) His training program and his apprentices. Eventually, I see him building a training facility and hostel for young freeblades- something of a mercenary school. Four apprentices have already completed his training, and he still has another under his charge. Not all use his chosen weapon, and not all are human, though often they are female, which is a strange thing, since he is neither handsome nor genteel. Miss Krows, Miss Reyer, and Miss Briams are among those who've trained under the Norseman. His current apprentice is a Miss Greystone. He has a developed curriculum, designed to teach young warriors to use their greatest weapon: their mind. He forces them into situations where a warrior's first insinct - to fight - makes the task much more difficult, or even impossible. The curriculum has become standard, though he alters it slightly to fit the different apprentices.
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As previously mentioned in the PM to Pankoki, I'd like Cole's ECDQ to involve a contract from Queen Allurial herself (or one of her operatives). The job would involve some sort of covert, extra-military operation that Cole would oversee. It should be something that calls more upon his mind and array of skills and resources than on the use of Wicked (his greatsword). The more of the topics mentioned above it could encompass, the better.