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Ceylo

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    The Unknown Hero
    « on: November 25, 2006, 09:19:35 am »
    Ceylo Krinn leaned back in the rikkety chair at the Wild Surge Inn and took another measured, cautious swig of the drink in front of her.  The tears immediately whelled up in her eyes. Iron Hammer Bock, it was called, and the thick, noxious brew had certainly earned its nomiker well. The foul stuff made the hair on the back of her neck stand up in attention and caused her nostrils to flare hot from the eye-watering odor.

    In front of her, the quite drunken hulk of a half-orc nodded his head slowly from side to side before crashing it to the top of the table with a sickening 'thud'. She had never caught the drunken creature's name.

    "Yes, my good friend" said Ceylo in a whisper as she placed her mug of poison back onto the gnarled surface of the table, "I know what a hero is."

    "Gradfna-dsa beyo... mmphffhaw dashka glorio..." said the drunken half-orc from beneath his armpits.

    "Oh, it doesn't matter what his name is. The very mention of it would spoil what they have done. I may never utter it in the telling of this tale." she replied softly. Her head went back a bit as she stared up into the dust and cobwebs of the rafters. A soft smile slowly crept across her face.

    "Everyone here in Hlint has been wonderful to me," she said after a few seconds of thought. "People have assisted me with food, minor items, and the such. There have been plenty of 'Hellos' and 'Greetings to you, young miss' and the like. Oh, and how everyone bows so grandly - to the point that I began to suspect that the very act of such a bow was the awful result of some unknown social disease..."

    The young fighter laughed merrily. Beneath his armpits and still quite stricken with his own liquid meal, the half-orc chuckled, as well: an awful, garish sound quite similar to the noise made when two long dull blades are scraped together in battle.

    "Whoofal-dak beyoon karash-tey bphlemoogara..." said the drunken half-orc softly. He would soon be asleep; even the effort of this simple conversation was sapping his once mighty strength, and his words (if they WERE words in the first place) were slurred badly.

    "Oh, I suppose" replied Ceylo softly as she took another sip of her awful ale, "I suppose there are plenty of heroes about. I'll have to take your word for that, sir. I am far too young to travel with these people. I've never seen the foes they've vanquished, or the simple folk they may have rescued in my absence. I don't know how heroic these others may or may not be. Not yet."

    "But this one...". She sighed and replaced her mug on the table a second time. "This one is a hero. He gave me no items, he offered no grandious bows of meeting to me."

    "Mphhmhffhph..." replied the half-orc.

    "I met him while hunting the goblins in the wastelands. When he saw me trying to ferret out the loathsome beasts one by one, he joined me in battle. He cast spell after spell on me to make me stronger, more agile. His magicks laid so strong on me that at one point I felt like I could take on and defeat a female black dragon in heat, so powerful they were!"

    The half-orc, amused by her words, chuckled thickly from his stupor on the table. "Syash-dak bein mrapfghaggeel..."

    Ceylo's sword flew quickly from its sheath and leveled across the table at the half-ogre; its deadly point suspended mere inches from the throat of the drunken beast. His huge head lifted slowly at the metallic sound of her warning, leveled one giant blood-shot green eye in her direction and then, with a slight wave of his meaty hand, collapsed back down onto the table top in defeat.

    The fighter coughed nervously and replaced her blade. "Anyway... as I was saying... this young man was a hero to me. We took on an entire camp of the goblins, yet rarely did he ever stride into battle himself except when it looked as if I would be overwhelmed. When I began to rely too heavily on my bow from a distance, he rebuked me for it. 'What are you: a fighter or an archer?' he asked of me. 'If you are to learn the trade of your blades, then use your damn blades, child!' he said to me. And.."

    "Mphfhahfm?" said her drunken companion. Ceylo nodded her head. Truth be told, she couldn't understand a drunken word her drinking partner said to her, but his intent with each utterance was clear enough, even if the words themselves were not.

    "And he was right, my huge drunken friend. He was right. I drew my blades and together we slaughtered many a goblin, that day. Later, we traveled to the North of Hlint and took on Orcs that I could never have vanquished on my own. We circled the entire village, moving from point to point. He showed me each new area with a glint in his eye and a pride in his low voice that spoke volumns of the man, his love of his craft, and his devotion to this area of the world. Traveling to the east, he took me to see this fearsome wretch of a hag living beyond the wetlands and helped me to seek her favor for a quest. After one particularly nasty battle with some Lizardmen, he rebuked me yet again: I had, apparently, got caught up in my battle lust and been nearly killed by the creatures. He told me to learn how to fall back when my strength began to fail me and to rely on another..."

    "Reptial-kak mhoosh bein gharash, sofkaa..."

    "Yes, the lizardmen are quite dangerous: I know that now. When we left the hag, we returned to Hlint and he introduced me to the crypts that lay beneath the village; a place that I had known of already but had been fearful of exploring on my own. We slaughtered tens upon tens of those awful walking skeletons! And in each battle, he stayed back and allowed me to satisfy my blade rage on the whole motley lot of them: by myself, if I could stand it or interceding when it appeared as if I might fall..."

    She fell silent. Her hands reached for the mug of ale for a third time, rested gently on the handle, but then withdrew: the foul liquid was having a rather nasty effect on her temperment now, and she would drink no more of it this evening. In front of her, the half-orc lifted his huge head a second time and stared back at her through the one, malevolent, blood-shot green eye.

    "This young adventurer showed such strength to me, this day: Strength not in his spells or his arrows, but of character and kindness. When all is said and done, I seriously suspect that this is how a hero will be judged: Not by the villians he has vanquished but by the valor of the heart within that motivates them to help another while gaining nothing of equal value in return ..."

    "Dos?"

    Ceylo sighed. "And... and then we were done. When my pack was filled with coin, skeleton fragments - This man told me that crafters have need of them, and the Hag had asked for about two-score of them - I returned to Hlint and our adventure was done. He disappeared into the gathering shadows and I remained behind."

    The half-orc in front of her began to snore loudly. His own witch's brew had finally bested him - He was asleep in the depths of his own alcoholic haze and would say no more this evening. Ceylo leaned her chair forward, planted her thin elbows on the table and peered closely at the sleeping beast.

    "Don't you see? This.. this man gained nothing from assisting me! Was he.. Is he a teacher? Did he gain pleasure from leading this young but quite helpless fighter all about the countryside? By the Gods, was there a cost to all those magickal spells he kept casting on me? He gave me nothing... at the very least, nothing of permanence. He gave me no armor, no shields... He offered me no weapons, either plain or magickal. True, he did loot some of the creatures we bested, but precious bloody few of them!"

    In front of her, the half-orc continued to snore. Ceylo set her chair back flat on the floor and watched him for a few seconds.

    "When all was said and done, my drunken hairy friend, this young hero gave nothing to me but his time and his knowledge of the area. He took a frightened young waif with a ... with a blade, and carefully showed her the wonders that lay around the village that she had been afraid to venture out of! He taught me that, with determination and practice and the guided assistance of another, why, anything was possible..."

    The night was thick about her. Ceylo rose from the table, dropped a few coins ('Trues', her hero had called them) on the table for their drinks, and stretched her tired, aching limbs a bit.

    "Was this man a hero? Probably not, my inebriated friend. I saw him vanquish no horrible monster. I did not notice him saving any beleagured town, or rescuing any young orphan from the hands of bandits. By your standards.. no, he was no hero, I suppose."

    She left the table. Behind her, and oblivious to her parting words, the drunken half-orc continued to sleep.

    "But this day, he was a hero to me. That's all that matters now, in the grand scheme of things. The day will come when I may yet return the favor and pay a handsome return on his selfless investment with the point of my own bloody blades..."

    The young half-elven warrior left the Wild Surge Inn to seek her own rest and respite among the flowers of the fountain that lay along the side of the Hlint barrier wall.

    ***
     

    Stephen_Zuckerman

    Re: The Unknown Hero
    « Reply #1 on: November 26, 2006, 11:48:54 am »
    Well done! A few suggestions, though, on names. Thunder Ale... Perhaps Iron Hammer Bock, a drink we actually have in-game?  Or Broken Knuckle Beer, Will-o-Whiskey, Big Rock Bock...

    And it's the Wild Surge Inn.

    I like the little soliloquy, though; keep it coming! I look forward to reading more of your work.
     

    Ceylo

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      Re: The Unknown Hero
      « Reply #2 on: November 26, 2006, 03:13:16 pm »
      Eep!

      That's what I get when I write so early in the morning... sheesh!
      I'll work on that.