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My RPG Characters - Malachim, a Dwarf fighter and Crusader of Dumathoin
standing 5' tall and almost as wide across, corded
muscles rippling and bulging with the slightest movement.
On his right arm are four livid scars running raggedly
from his elbow down to his ham-like fists. You are sure
that whatever weapons or claws did that laid him down to
the bone, but his stance suggests he is unconcerned.
Looking up into his face is a contrast in itself. Ice-blue
eyes stare from within fiercely red bushy eyebrows, but they
seem to have the innocence, the trusting look of a child.
Focusing again you are surprised that you never realised his
hair and plaited beard are not red like his brows, nor black
as you thought, but dyed a deep blue, the effect dragging you
back again into twin glaciers that seem to twinkle with merriment.
He is smiling at you, and you hope that is a good thing…
Here's a few pictures I've created:
Below continues his BACKGROUND, then a running account of some of the highlights of his life around the Realms (of the Faerun MUD).
[ Skip approval links ]- Level 3 approval
- Level 4 approval
- First (and only) PKill - Laid low by Dondar (Talex)
- Level 5 approval
- Level 6 approval
- Level 7 approval
- Level 8 approval
- Level 9 approval
- Initial scoress
- Score after 100 hours
- Scores at level 4
Background
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Th' head be all but out, Gahra, one last push…
Gahra's strong teeth gnash through the leather wrapped stick wedged in the straining patients mouth.
Aaaarrgghhh
See ye son, Gahra Grimbane. He be as big as any I e'er delivered.
15th day of the Month of Nightal, DR 1351 (Year of the Crown)
The small stone, smooth from use and expertly thrown, wings across the room to catch the daydreaming boy painfully across the back of his ear. Not bothering to feel at the rapidly rising swelling, nor the blood trinkling down to his neck, the child turns his head and stares at his assailant with cold blue eyes.
Yes Matron Threllia?
Ye were watching the Hearth Guards again, boy
, the gravelly voice emphasising the last word. Look ye at yer sloppy work. How can I be teaching ye letters when ye be shafts away, fool boy? Look at those crude marks. T'is ILMENITE, not ILMENJTE.
Every stroke of every rune is punctuated by another slap. Ach, if ye think I'll be havin' this for another ten and five year of ye schoolin', well no. Look for yer cousin Quill and concentrate or ye be feeling more 'n the back o' me hand. Boy.
1st day of the Month of Hammer, DR 1366 (Year of the Staff)
Well, son o' mine, ye never QUITE shamed yer family 'n clan with yer escapades in Matron Threllia's halls, but now t'is time for ye to grow up. I've persuaded Master Halfhand to apprentice ye, along with Aruth's boy, Aelfren. I've no been able to tell ye this afore, but Dumathoin himself appeared on yer naming day, on Moradins request no less, that ye be named after the Malachite ore we process. See ye do yer best for the Master - or ye'll no call me Da again…
The hoary old smith stands before his two new apprentices and sizes them up, taking in the bright eyes of Aelfren, the breadth of Malachim. They stand straight, never moving a muscle as he walks up close to then and circles round them. Without warning his hand lashes out, stopping sharply six inches in front of Malachims eye. Not nice is it?
He asks, waving his ruined hand in front of Malachim. Masses of scar tissue cover the remains of his fingers, the first three of which have literally fused together. This be the only warning I give 'e - either o' yer. The reverberatory furnace be one the most dangerous of them all, being so open. Ye first slip could well be ye last…
[The first ten years are spent gaining an understanding of blacksmithing and metalwork and the use of the weapons and tools crafted, for how can you help make a thing without the knowing of its purpose. The secret folding processes, the reason why every smelt clan must get the finished ore right EVERY time, all of this and more must be second nature. The following ten and five years are spent learning the intricacies of the radiated furnace, comparisons to other smelt furnace, the telling of ores and, beyond all else, ensuring perfection in the purification process.]
1st day of the Month of Hammer, DR 1391
Tears shine is the eyes of the Master Smith, dust from the furnace halls no doubt.
Now Malachim, and Aelfren, ye be men at last before the eyes of Moradin and every Dwarf in the clan. We hold this gathering in honour of ye time served and to set ye on yer next path. Ye will be taught such extra skills as necessary for the outside world for ye must now go out and seek new veins. Ye Da,
he adds, nodding at Malachim, may Moradin warm his forge, knew this quest would be upon ye both, left this map of the Dalelands to guide ye to possible sites
17th day of the Month of Alturiak, DR 1393
Banners decorate the festive halls of the Stronghold hidden within the depths of the Sunset mountains. Sturdy oak tables, centuries old, creak and groan under the weight of cooked meats, of carefully picked fungi and of barrels of hops, mead and Xythum. T'is a day to celebrate. The erstwhile apprentices, guided by an old map from Hrulf Grimbane, have finally returned, unscathed, with news of a rich copper vein within Mount Tesh.
The whole clan was to relocate.
11 o'clock pm, 5th day of the Month of Marpenoth, DR 1405 (Mount Tesh)
That smell? What is that stench?
Ye own breath friend Malachim, ye are knowing it be… Aaaarrggg…
His sentence went unfinished as yellowed talons came out of nowhere to tear through his stomach and up into his lungs. I spun to face a monstrous Troll, grown out of some twisted nightmare, then another. Almost without thought, I threw my axe at one to my left, splitting it's leering grin in twain and leapt at the beast gutting Aelfrens. Knowing it was too late for my shield brother, I grabbed the filth-encrusted arms before me and twisted, hard, taking small satisfaction as I heard the bones snap.
White light flashes, then yellow, a spray of crimson, then there is darkness.
Malachim. MALACHIM?
I open my eyes, but squeeze them shut as blue, red and yellow lights zigzag across my vision. Which is worse, the fiery ache when I move or my head? Both, I decided and reached for the silver flask Da left me - or I tried, at least.
Ach yer a mule. Don't move, I've put a tourniquet on ye.
Get Dethka, ye fool. By the first Forge, that hurts. "Well?
She's dead, they are all dead. We, we are the last of the Doomgild.
All? That can't be. No, ye must look again.
Silence reigns.
I force open my eyes, and see the haggard, haunted look on the wee Acolyte. At that moment I know it is true - Ma, High Miathrin, Thrum Stoneknee, all dead. Unbidden, tears roll down my own face and I know they have nought to do with pain, at least no physical pain.
Kthria, how long was I being out? Can ye tell me what else befell us? I remember tackling the big Troll - Gods above it stank - a commotion behind us, then searing agony
I. I don't know, I panicked, that was all that saved, saved us two. More trolls leapt on us from that side passage aways back, then again by the copper vein on number seven shaft. More than a one could be countin'. High Miathrin held them back a few moments before they literally ripped him apart. Durgan Silvereye went berserk at this, but they ignored him, ignored lost limbs, they…
I waited patiently, my own grief and agony holding back the bitterness I felt.
They jus' kept on comin'. Before they finally took yer Ma she spoke a vile oath and uttered the forbidden LavaStorm, vowing to take the gutterworms with us. If it be consolation, I think the one as laid open ye arm took long minutes in burning. The few creatures as lived dragged themselves away. For two passings I've stood over ye, bathing your light burned eyes and stitching ye arm together, but no more come.
28th day of the Month of Marpenoth, DR 1405 (Mount Tesh)
After seeing to all our fallen an' saying my own private farewell to the memory me Ma, I sealed the entrances to the Stronghold and took Kthria back to her own Hill folk north o' the Dales.
Me family an' friends, aye and our dreams all died in that chamber. I shall seek a new future, so I shall.
As I be sundered from all I knew and loved, so I shall appear. As the Sundered Dwarf be said to have a blue tinge to their hair, so I shall make meself.
A curious rabbit looks on as the once exubertant Dwarf, using his helmet and axe handle as an impromptu pestle and morter, begins crushing large numbers of leaves from the Woad herb…
DIARY
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Me precious axe lost in a spine of a monstrous frog, my armour rusted beyond repair and the stench of rot pervades what little leather 'n' cloth covers me dignity. I HAVE to get out of this damp quagmire.
More time passses and I be losing my grip, aye, and me stomach. I'm not knowing if t'was the wild muchroom or the haunch of that last slimy Bullywug I ate as near poisoned me.
My one consolation is even unarmed, the slimy things are nay a match for me now I have their measure. Ye want that I tell ye, friend rat? Aye, then I shall. Let 'em come, let 'em leap 'n' bound at yer and on the last jump, use it again' them. Punch the beasts thru their tender guts and be sure tay strangle them with their own intestines. Works every time, long as they be good enough to be comin' atcha one at a time.
Oh Moradin, I be talking to rodents now…
5th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
I finally dragged my wasted body into town where a human lord found be crawling towards a murky trough for a drink of water. I was rendering speechless when he spoke kindly to me in my own tongue and gave me more than enough coin to get myself straight again after my losses in that retched swamp. The knowing of his name is mine alone but i was so touched I have sworn a solemn vows that if I can't repay himself I will endevour to be helping all others as find themselves in such dire straights.
7th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
After a long, must needed rest and the cleaning of swamp filth and worse from me beard and hair, I set about to explore this large town and see what wonders my visit upon my poor eyes…
The brief circuitous tour was informative and, if nothing else, yield an amazingly large number of temples. I recall hurrying quickly by the House Of Skulls (dedicated to Kelemvor, the god of the dead), other shrines to Chauntea, Tyr and Selune. I was actually trying to find a temple dedeicated to Clangeddin and instead found myself examining a great, silver war hammer in Moradin's House.
Bowing quietly while another fellow prayed to the Allfather, the chief cleric, Pandrin, engaged be in conversation, his silver tongue pursuading me to join his temple, as a layman at any rate.
Supposedly there's an Elven lord with the knowing of tongues and maybe yet of letters, but I no can find him. Other places I have found though include Molrahand's who can built me a forge, if I ever get the needing and skill of one, and Master Tethgar who get a help in that line. Then there was Bronn Selgard's smithy Shop, though I thought the prices and quality of his limited range where not to my liking.
Those in hurt could do worse that rest in Hoareb Nimblefinger's house a wee while, those if'n your not dressed for the weather, or at all in my case, there's a few places for clothes at outrageous prices, including Tulba The Weaver, and more near a musicians shoppe I cann'y find again.
Finally, of greater interest to meself was a Weaponmaster (albeit him an elf…). I also found me the stablemaster Bardag Shultu are looked at his horses and the like but feel the keeping of the beasts would leave be penniless and headed by to the Inn for a much needed tankard of ale or three with Tem, a fellow Dwarf as helped me and two of his colleagues.
Clean shaves her beard indeed, she be courtin' talls next!
9th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
A few good folk here are kind good enough to be making myself welcome and helping be improve me understanding of the Common tongue. I also found an Elven College of Languages but the master there told me to improve me Common afore coming back to learn his own words. Bah, I've no time to be knowing words ye can'ny chisel in a hurry anyway. Mayhaps another year.
What a humbling experience! I decided to explore the woods west of the River Ashaba, and got chased out by a bunch o' greenskins. Fortunately I'd put me faith in the Bank (even if I can'ny understood their fluted words) and took out some coin to re-provision and get me own tools back.
And the evil beggers got the jump on me again. Undeterred I set off yet again, this time armed with a stout oak staff. Tymora seemed to favour me, as I found an even tempered mule within the outskirts of Cormanthor and made excellent progress though the woods. I might have made it this time if I hadn't run out of food and tried a cluster of small bright red berries. Themselves say red is for danger, I should'a suspected given the spiky leaves. Fair stole all me breath away an' did other things I'll no mention in mix company…
Adding insult to injury, when I some round to, I found myself back in the Old Skull Inn - with all the doors magically locked by a Lich on the rampage. Shudders . Twas apparently incensed at some adventurous types as were trying to invade his abode, 'n followed 'rm back. At first light he disappeared and we were able to open the doors - only to be greeted by a sight of utter carnage. Bodies and limbs were shrewn all around, with two of 'em hanging in mid-air, dancing a slow circle of death, their blood still dripping from the spikes driven thru them…
10th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
After all yesterdays mishaps I was so danged mad I just up and off at first light, DETERMINED to recover my things.
Sure I must of been fired up cos, for shame, it wasn't until I chanced upon the lord Veltroy who agreed to accompany myself, provided… At which the two Elven Swordmaidens with him burst out giggling, pointedly so, and I looked down to realise I'd even lost my loin cloth in my haste.
Happily, it went well after that as we encountered but one goblin and the corpse of a deadly Displacer Beast. I found 11 coppers after sacrificing the latter, which I will offer back to Moradin when I get to town.
16th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
Decided to pay the outrageous prices in this town for a little extra armour. What I wouldn't ge giving for a decent Dwarven smithy…
Ventured into an abandoned keep I'd heard rumours of, but was beaten back a few times for goblins. Finally made it through their ranks and into the halls. I found evidence that others had been less successful, here a flute, there a jewelled short. I'll take what I can and leave them at the temple for the needful.
17th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1406
Foolishly, I explored a further into the halls and what sorely bested by a fiend from some twist nightmare. Twas an undead, giant squirrel, flesh hanging off of its limbs and along length of its worm ridden body. Claws like scimitars reached for me, yellowing trunklike incisers - matted with filth and body parts of its last victim - gnashed and what looked like poison dripped from it's scabrous tail.
I dropped everything, even the sack with my precious comb and run, scattered coin, weapons, anything to spur my escape from certain and messy death.
Twice more I tried to recover my things, each attempt worse than the last. Eventually I sought companions to aid me in recovering my things, but understanding the locals knew the rumours of that haunt better and were fair loath to go. For lack of anything else to do I wracked my remaining shredded clothes about me and joined a party heading north to recover the remains of their companion who fell to a Behir.
This journey lasted a few days in itself and opened by eyes to the dangers, twisted creatures that where neither man nor vulture, Ogres, Veerbergs, hobgoblins and giant bats, all of these we passed, normally at a distance.
29th day of the Month of Tarsakh, DR 1406
Returned to town to find the town in uproar. A young child had ventured into that keep and was lost. Volunteers, led by Garen, were sought to try and find the infant.
I must admit my interest was more mercenary as I feared the boy dead already, but it offered me a small chance to recover my comb and other lost items and I jumped at the chance.
They sought down into the depths where giant Mantis laired and back up into the halls. Here, not one as I thought, but many of the dreaded undead rodents roamed. My knowledge proved useful though as I was able to guide them straight to the steps upwards - once they finally listened to me. Many times after that I was rebuffed for my errors, shouting and stomping about when caution was needed. To those grouped with me, I apologised for my careless exhuberance.
I'll not catalogue the events that followed at members were lost to ever more Undead, to traps and to Brown Mold that, it seemed to me at least, had been cultivated my some madman in the trap riddled laboratory at the top. Suffice as to say the strength and skills of members like Kyoril and Chet helped us find the child and escape, taking a small amount of recovered treasure with us.
In the end, I helped recover the infant - Tommy was his name - and I recovered my precious comb, trusty mace and packs, though my coin and armour was lost in the rush to flee. As they shared out the trophies and several thousand gold from the sale of small gold plate encrusted with emerald, I counted my blessings and relaxed. I refused my own share as I was more than pleased at recovering my packs, but they insisted I take a share and someone, Raiernia perhaps, slipped a small violet hued flask into my food basket. I will have to have it identified as it might prove useful one day.
3rd day of the Month of Mirtul, DR 1406
Coming back into town with a Elf I'd met culling the amphibians on Toad Knoll, we came across several dead pigs. My new companion mentioned going after Stags, and while I was pointing out we were far to close to town to be killing animals a belligerent red bearded hill dwarf stomped in, prattling the law, refusing to here the truth of the matter.
I must say, I was disgusted with the town guard who watched the exchange and said never a word.
18th day of the Month of Mirtul, DR 1406
Joined a group, lead by Lawrance, heading south to clear up a problem with Werejackals. The party, including the Sorceress Linah and the sword maiden Raiernia, continue south and we ended up clearing out an Orc camp, massacring a number of stinking Orcs, Orogs and a Shaman. Besides the skilled fighters in the party, the shorter stature of myself and my friend Grondath proved telling against the massive Ogres also there as we were able to inflict crucial diabling blows.
Moreso, the party left largely unscathed. More or less, that is. We were resting before making the last leg of the journey when a band of Orcs, out for revenge, jumped us. I fought off two, but a third stabbed me from behind. When I finally recovered consciousness many days later, Deral, our Tyrian cleric, was still tending me.
Korineal had rescued a lot of my things, but I believe Trevor held the rest, but had to leave for Tethir on business. Hopefully he will still have them when he next returns to Shadowdale.
Level 3 Approval
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[Slams stein down, pushing it join the other empty beer mugs crowding the burnished oak table].
The events of last year is ever in me mind. The chance finding by me Da of a rich copper vein in the shadow of Mount Tesh. The start of a new Hold for the Banegild Clan, carving living quarters and channeling a stream to clear the stench 'n' debris of the goblins as once laired there.
* Images flash, vivid images in green, and in red. Memories that no amount of spirits can dull *
A gray green arm strikes from nowhere, gutting me cousin… Filth matted claws of another Troll shred me arm… Waking up I find me family, me friends all passed into the halls of Moradin, taking our hopes and dreams with them.
[A thick thumbs runs along the razor edges of an exceptionally well made bi-pennis. A thin white line appears almost immediately and a smile spreads, widening as surely as the blood that wells, pools and drips to mingle with the sops on the table]
Ach, I've been lost for so long and never knew it. How many times in recent months have I rushed headlong into the jaws of death, heedless of cost to me own skin and to the risks I put to any as braved travel with meself. It reached a head recently when, encouraged by my increased stamina, I ventured once more (unarmed) into the forests south of Toad Knoll and tried to beat a gnoll to a pulp with me loincloth. Staggering out onto the highway, I fell into the arms of Deral, splattering blood over his new robes. The good cleric shook his head sadly and healed the worst of my cuts, never saying a word. As he disappeared north though, I heard his admonishment called out above the cacophony of thrushes and larks.
Ye will learn Malachim, or ye be dead.
How prophetic those words were! Merely hours later, after battling three of the frogmen at once, I found meself awaking on some barren plane. The weather was neither warm nor cold and the sky overcast, with neither the promise of sun to warm me bones, nor the threat of rain on me face. With neither friend nor foe nor any living creature to be seen I wandered aimlessly for I know not how long, until a whispered voice boomed all around. I had died, but was to be given another chance, one last shot at righting things. With that I awoke, bare as me first bornday, right in the middle of the Skull.
Laughing heartily Linah threw trousers, that I be covering me dignity from all the other ladies in there at the time. Squeezing into pants several sizes too small and never cut fer man nor Dwarf, I ran for the door, beating a hasty retreat from the howling jibes and comments of the "ladies" within.
Remembering where I'd fell [shudders violently at membrance] I ventured back into the Knoll to recover what I could before the damp and the scavengers got to them. Fortunately everything was still intact and I set back, chewing on the cuttings from a giant frog. I was sure I'd prepared it properly, but no sooner had I swallowed the steak than I began to feel the sick rising and ran towards town, stomach cramps biting into me every step of the way. Outside the Skull I collided with Linah and Raiernia, the later yelling for a healer and forcing me to rest - this would slow the poison raging through my body. Fortunately I purged the tainted meat from me system without further administrations and so I went inside to brood and drink meself into a stupor.
As I brooded I heard of a young Elf maid in distress, and made me decision. I could do nought for me family, but I could try to be helping others, to I bought meself this exquisite axe and some extra armor and joined a search party recovering her things.
A toast then to ye Tem, for selling meself such a fine weapon. I've gained meself a basic understanding of Elven from tutors at yon College, to I will away shortly to see Master Shaemus, and specialise in this battleaxe, favouring it over all me other weapons.
[Wipes froth from beard, belches loudly and staggers happily out the door.]
10th day of the Month of Marpenoth, DR 1406
The past few weeks has been a black mist for meself following a dastardly incident. I fell prey to a Jackalwere while running to aid Kyoril and awoke, naked, in a pool of me own blood. That be not the half of it mind. Me fine new axe, a similarly vicious spiked mace, me plate armour, everything was missing. They had been rescued by Kyoril who bested the lycanthrope, but to the dismay of all in the Skull, his and Alledras' rooms where later ransacked and emptied by two low-lifes named Kyris and Clem.
Most of it is a haze, largely involving me friends dragging meself away from giving them the beating they richly deserved. Anyways, the end of the tale be that, apparently, Clem is the dupe and returned many of the missing items. I have be doubts, but the others are accepting the verdict, with Kyris being banished. As I got me precious axe and mace back, if not the rest o' me clothes, equipment and provisions, I will live with the decision. I'll be taking the hand o' the next thief as takes me things mind…
22nd day of the Month of Nightal, DR 1406
Visited the Orc encampment with a large party of friends including the redoubtable Srats, Alledra and Raiernia, Deral, Linah and Kyoril. Another mage shadowed us, but I never did get his name, though he cast Stoneskin upon myself, and others.
During this treck Alledra made a rude gesture to a pack of wolves, something was was to regret in the hours that followed as, for the rest of the journey to the encampment back wolves and even huge Ogres dogged the party, aiming their attacks solely upon the lass. Several times she came close to death, saved only by her own stamina and the reflexes of her colleagues.
While in a darkened cave there I lost be best axe whilst fighting three Ogres. I managed to kill the creatures, helped no doubt by the lingering affects of the Stoneskin spell, but in the fight I lost me best axe and was unable to retrieve it before the party beat a hasty retreat. At Srats' request, Kyoril kindly replaced the axe with another its' equall, but it still pains me to think of such a fine weapon in the hands of an Orog or Ogre.
26th day of the Month of Hammer, DR 1407
Lost me pack, axe and everything else due to a silly mistake. I were investigating the Cormanthor, far east of Shadowdale and came across a cave. Curiosity got the better of me and I entered only to find, strangely, I was far west of where I knew myself to me and facings an enraged Black Bear, protecting her cubs. I could easily have defeated the animal but I was loath to return the attack and suffered several vicious slashes for my trouble.
Finding meself back at the Skull, in a rather dishrivelled state, me problem then was how to get me things back without having to fight the mother bear. The paladin Lawrance came to the rescue. After berating meself for entering the lair, he asked Sarafin to make be invisible that I could enter and leave unseen. This I was able to do, though it were a nerve wracking task as the animals could sense me by smell. I left at quickly and quietly as possible and needed south to try and catch Lawrances group on another expedition to the Orc encampment.
I have also decided to steer well clear of the forest area west of the Ashiba, at least for now, as the Jackalweres that haunt that area, to a beast, have taken a taste to me hide and, frankly, them critters are too nasty for me liking. I have felled at Ogre with a single blow of me most excellent of axes, but these foul things. Me best blows maimed, mutilated and devastated one such thing, but despite ravages as would kill a giant it still it came at me, casually tearing the arm off a travelling companion as it continued its frenzied attacks.
Soon mind, when I'm a little more experienced in the ways of battle, I'm gonna get me some plate armour and carve me clan history into every one o' them uglies. Until then, I will keep to the north woods where the worst I can face is a Behir, unless I stupidly enter the Lichs' haunt, though I be told the fiend is dead now.
Level 4 approval
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The Paladin, Lawrance, looked around at the scattered remnants and glared meaningfully at me.
We've risked the journey this deep into Cormanthor, dogged by gnolls, jackalwere and worse, FOR AN OLD AXE!
, the last part of his sentence roaring out in his disbelief.
I ignored his mounting anger, too stunned to answer, completely at a loss for words, at least any I could say before a man of the cloth, a champion of the faith I had recently converted to. I searched the area again and again, flapping my arms and trying to get me bearings, me mouth opening and closing in denial, me fists clenching and unclenching as I tried vanely to fight down a black rage. But the truth was afore me, the scattered clothes, an old axe, stale bread. In the few hours betwixt me mauling by a Grizzly to finding aid in recovering me things, heartless scavengers had been through the area and taken everything of value.
It was a long trek back, Lawrance watching all around for danger as the cold winter night drew closer - bringing with it the ever present danger of hungry beasts attacking. Meself was stomping through the deep snow, picking up moldy leathers and half rusted gauntlets and just spoiling for a fight. Much to me companions relief, but me own disgust we encountered nought all the way back, so I paid me due to Tyr and stomped back across the Ashaba and north where the ever-present, ever-dim Bullywugs were kind enough to be queueing up while I vented me frustration on everthing as even looked at me wrong.
Days later…
Having spent the last of me savings bolstering the few scavenged pieces of armour I wore, meself joined another party heading into the woods, if only in a vane hope as some Ogres were kind enough to brain those as took me things. A little relief, meself thought. Ha!
With every mile south meself, and the other veterans of the woods - Lambar and, leading, Lawrance - came to be regretting more our choice of companions. Greenhorns to a man, they were a motley lot and no mistaking it. As we rested in the first safe clearing, ready to offer instructions, nery a word could be heard fer the chattering teeth of two of 'em as never had the sense to wrap up warm, despite the falling snow.
Further south, despite repeated warnings, a young cleric poisoned himself eating spoiled fruit off the forest floor. We wasted good daylight and much time in healing him, trying to stave of the toxins that ravaged his frail body. The same one was later to be crushed to death in a chaotic fight with two Ogres we spotted as, despite being told to stay put, they left a safe clearing and plowed into the fray.
Me hat went off to a brash barbarian called Thog though. It was only Lawrances patience that oft' held me from throttling him as he wandered off time an' again, chasing rabbits without regard for the dangers ahead. More amazingly, the denizens and uglies as kept attacking us, looking for weaknesses, ignored this one. Feeling the constant urgings from Tyr, I expressed me need to return to town, as did Lambar from Moradin.
The way back was a repeat of the start. Of the eleven members we set out with, one headed back early, 'nother died and the rest, bar us three, where lost to the forest. Perhaps they are still they, not yet fallen prey to another - perhaps not…
All I be knowing is that the journey back was so fraught with delays and dangers as we repeatedly searched left and right for the delinquents that Tyr thought I had turned his back of him and no more heeds me petitions than does Moradin.
I be stronger for the ordeal, in mind and in body and now I needs must travel to Waterdeep and seek of Lord Stromgren that I be reinstated within his faith…
3 o'clock am, 4th day of the Month of Mirtul, DR 1407.
Stepped of the ferry onto the docks and peered around, trying to discern things on the gloomy Scornubel port. Even at this late hour the docks on the north side of the Chionthar were bustling with people, though none I recognised. Merchants, traders and adventurers all milling about as they either make their way onto the barges that carry goods and passengers up and down the river, or step onto the docks, their journey over for now.
The next thing I know meself is jostled south, falling through a missing rail and down, striking the churning surface hard. The water was deep and cold, the shock to the system as meself sank like a stone into its depths, me heaving armour dragging meself to the murky depths, what little light as made its way through grows dimmer the further one moves away from the surface and toward the bottom of the river.
Lungs screaming my air, arms flailing I felt the coarse brush of hemp and dragged, using it I struggled towards the surface in blind desperation, heaving meself up the rope from an anchored fishing boat. Me armour ruined, I lay gasping on the side, grateful to be alive.
Crazy Dwarf!
intones a familiar voice and I look up into the eyes of me superior, Lawrance…
Player Killed
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We'd set out, a strong party, twelve in all and most of us veterans of various degree. Liquilla of Arabel was to lead the group and it was agreed that our target would be the Orc encampment in southern Cormanthor. After two days of travel we finally reached our destination, having lost no members on the dangerous trek around the Ashaba.
Once inside the camp however, our calm demeanour disintegrated as we began to encounter large groups of Orcs, Orogs and Ogre. Within minutes we were down to four, then three, losing Gerfikt when we fell foul to their Shaman. For Liquilla and myself, the only two survivors, the escape was a nerve-wracking event, constantly set upon at every turn, only me great strength keeping us alive. At the last turn through, as meself staggered under the immense weight of the packs I dragged - carrying as I was the arms and armour of Linah, Gerfikt, Sharnessa , Volchannon and others - we ran into six determined Orc Guards. At my insistence Liquilla, already badly injured, fled while I tried to hold them back but, even for meself, there just were too many swords hacking.
Once again I found meself wandered the Fugue plains until, eventually, Lord Tyr heard me call and returned meself to the mortal realm. However, I awoke - covered in blood - to a strange town. After wandering aimlessly, desperate to find the temple I realised I was in Arabel and, finding the halls of Tymora, tried to offer my dues to Tyr here in his stead. Lady Luck, or at least her acolytes took a dim view of this and the guards threw me out onto the street, jeering as they did.
Slowly recovering my strength, I found a bank and withdrew enough gold to refit myself for the journey back to Shadowdale. It was in the coach station that I met and got talking with a young human who gave his name as Dondar. He seemed pleasant enough, despite his habit of spitting 'bacco every few minutes and when our conversation turned to religion he assured me that Tyr had a temple just outside town. I thought this strange at the time but I was so weary and tired to the bone at the time that I accepted this at face value.
As we travelled yet further away from Arabel I first began to have me doubts, until we came to a spot I recognised as leading towards Gnoll Pass and knew the truth. He had tricked me here for some no good purpose, and I would need me wits about me. Thus I sat and rested, letting my stamina return as I listened to his talk became ever more estranged and his tone dangerous.
It reached a peak when he lit a hurricane lamp and, blinding me night attuned eyes, drew his sword.
Who is the one true god ?
He demanded.
Then, as the pain left me burning eyes, I remembered I'd heard tales of a murderer who preyed on people in coach stations. I stared into sleep depraved red eyes below a tangled mass of black spiky hair, and watched as he twitched and the grip on his long sword grew ever tighter, his knuckles turning white under the strain.
A good question !
" I replied
Again he demanded, moving menacingly closer and I instinctively knew what he sought.
Cyric of course
I replied casually, hoping Tyr would understand that the answer I gave was what this lunatic believed, wanted to hear and not my truth.
At this he visibly relaxed and, pointing to the modelled symbol of Tyr I openly wore, asked why it was I wore the 'bauble'. Again I sought the truth he wanted to here and found inspiration in me last visit to Clarence when I had left a selection of swords and leather jerkins I'd found in the woods, let this Dandar, if that me his true name, believe what he would.
I find meself naked in a strange town. The Tyrians often have coffers full of armour and armour
A mad gleam appeared in his eyes at that moment as he leant forward, ever closer, and demanded,
Then will for agree to worship Cyric and forsake all false gods
.
I refused to answer even as he raised he sword and his strangely calm voice promised,
You will forsake all false gods and agree to serve only Cyric
.
Meself had but recently been rejoined with Tyr and because of the delays this lunatic caused I knew I would again be banned again for not paying me dues on time and something in me snapped. Oh, meself could have lied to save me skin, but that would be a cowardly dishonourable act so, believing he was about to slay me in cold blood, I threw meself at him, ignoring the pain as me flailing fists split and cracked on his mail armour. Screaming a promise of death to the follower of Cyric, advocate of lies and murder, I battled to the end, inflicting punishing blows to his face even as his sword slipped into my ribs, a grim smile playing on his battered lips as he slowly pushed the blade deeper, twisting it as he did.
10 o'clock pm, 16th day of the Month of Eleasias, DR 1407.
For whatever reason, Tyr and Moradin returned me breath to me and and a long recovery and several ventures into Cormanthor to rebuild me strength I once more found meself in the spot the villain had attacked me, but running with a different crowd.
Bandit attacks had been getting ever more frequent around Gnoll pass and a large group of adventurers, a number of whom had lost things, had gathered together to end the trouble. The roll call was too long to mention but suffice to say that with Lawrance leading, the twenty or so of us, including the sorceress Shadow, Liquilla of the Red Knight as me friends Deral and Raiernia, we had little to fear of a few bandits, however well they be organised.
The though the climb up and up they came as us, Bandits and other desperados, end Hobgoblins and the odd Hill Giant had joined them. All as opposed up fled or died, until we ran into a ruddy basilisk…
Days passed before I awoke in the hills above Gnoll Pass. The barren hills rose and fall all around. Travel through here is somewhat nerve wracking. Who knows what lies beyond the next rise in the land? It could be something as harmless as yet another patch of scrub grass. Then again, it could be something much more sinister. All around me where dead - here an arm, there… Sixteen I buried that day, four of the elves, another four half-elven, the rest human.
My own things ruined, I fled back towards town to find the redoubtable Sunset Dwarf Grum leading another group to extract revenge. Joining in with Srats, Sarafin and Alledra, and several others I knew, we set off once more, the fighters bolatered by spells to strengthen their skin against the oncoming onslaught, others, like meself in my weakened, near naked state, made invisible to help as best we could.
By 1 o'clock am half of the group was either dead or too injured to continue, through countless Hobgoblins and bandits had fallen, many to Grums unbeatable axe-work, through our job was aided by a number of Hippogriffs and a huge panther which methinks Eerenvor Lamahel - the flame of Sune - had magically summoned. With the aid, though sorely tired we made it through their ranks where Grum beheaded their leader - Arnold and laden with booty and our fallen friends, we retreated.
The way be ever perilous though as if the dark, staggering under the weigh of surplus arms, myself and Liquilla fell. Fortunately meself was tackling a Hobgoblin at the time and he broke my fall, though I suffered for several cracked ribs and a horrible fracture in me forearm; Liquilla was screaming in agony nearby, his fall halted by a tree, a limb of which was poking horribly through his thigh. But for the healing powers of Eerenvor I be sure we would of died…
Diary continues
[Δ]
During a trip into Cormanthor with Elyndra, young Soril and a few others we ran across a greatly distressed Green Elf, pleading for help for his besieged village. A few of us stared nearby to offer support while Elyndra ran back to Shadowdale for supplies and extra support for what would inevitably lead to battle.
Again Lawrance lead, backed up with veterans like Grum and Faerliane. South and west the trail led, until a fog fell from no-where, panic arising as a number of Hags set upon us. The next thing I am aware of I am waking up back in the Skull, battered and bleeding and some git of a barbarian is running out of the Inn with my plate mail leggings! I hope they shaff 'cos sure as eggs is eggs, they'd no fit the …
15th day of the Month of Uktar, DR 1407.
Return to the Dales after visiting come of me remaining kin in the Sunset Mountains to see a ruddy Basilisk outside the Skull. Screaming a warning to the folk about I swallowed me pride and dove back into the carriage an' told him to drive, as if he needed tellin' twice!
13th day of the Month of Hammer, DR 1408.
Meself led a party into North Cormanthyr to check into rumours of some ugly fire breathing chicken they called a Pyrolisk, but on meeting up with the Lander, Garen and the Smith, Nat, I let wiser hands guide up to deal with the creature as was happily burninng down the forest.
9th day of the Month of Ches, DR 1408.
A sad for for all in the Dales! After rescuing Endryd adopted child, Alissa, Kale and Kyoril got into a fierce argument. I'll no go into the words banded about infront of the child, but suffice to say Kale was angry and "wasting" a spell to save a half-orc and, well in to end they left to continue the fight outside the town. Minutes later meself and Soril came across Kyoril's ruined body, the evidence of a lightning strike evident on his melted armour.
It is to sad, he was one o' me very very friends in town and I shall mis him dearly…
Level 5 approval
[Δ]
Meself heard Deral bellowing for Tyrs' faithful even from the doorway to the Skull and, despite me fatigue from a long trek into Cormanthor, turned and ran back towards the temple to see what ailed me comrade. Clarence was there, naturally, glaring at me as if daring me to enter his temple, as was Jandler who I'd seen dashing into the temple ahead o' me. Ignoring Clarence, I turned to me long standin' friend and was shocked to see the stern, almost forbidding look on his normally passive visage.
Slowly and deliberately he explained to us that the mad god Cyric had ordered his death. Meself was sympathetic, but shrugged all the same, not understanding his reaction. The homicidal deviants as worshipped the cruel God were all avowed to kill us Tyrians; had meself not been lain low by the machinations of Dondar of Skullport, Tyr restoring me life that I may seek retribution of him by his given name of Talex…
Letting out his breath, and methinks, grinding his teeth, Deral explained that the real problem was that they was doing it from within, becoming at face followers of the Lord of Justice to infiltrate our ranks and sow discord. At least one such creature had done so an' we was to find her and deal with her. Thereafter Deral explained, no I wasn't to simply "deal with her" but to to see her brought afore the nearest Priest of Tyr that HE himself might make an example of her.
What does she look like Deral?
Queried Jandler. She a human, then?
I added, but to both of these there was no answer.
The meeting ended, I paid my dues to Clarence - who pointedly ignored the sound of all the coins falling onto the offering plate - and left with Jandler, discussing the matter further.
Having no clue as to where to look, nor even a race, I helped lead Soril and a small party to the temple of Mieliki where a young Ranger, Bayan, wished to be initiated. Barely the journey had started than I began to have misgiving, an itch I could nay scratch. The further we went into Cormanthor, the worse it got until, just after leaving the Lady's wooded grove, meself was shocked to hear, in me head, a call to appear afore Tyr in Waterdeep, at all haste. Thus I rushed the party back and ran ahead to the temple.
Kneeling before the altar I prayed aload to Tyr for forgiveness, pointing out that, best will on Toril, I was days away and…
… found meself between Lawrance and Deral in the magnificent temple constructed by Waterdeeps funding.
'Lo Deral, Lawrance
I began, then looked up and up into what I instinctively knew to be the face of Tyr's Avatar, an' of a sudden me mouth went dry.
TYR gestured to a human woman, beaten and blooded at his feet. Starinia was her name and she wore our holy symbol, but tainted it with the touch of her purple silk gown. Casting withering glances at us she turned her hateful stare into HIS face and shrugged, casually stating that she was merely following the dictates of 'the one true god'.
At this HE drew a huge sword, not a sword, more that a mere sword. It was raised and fell in a mighty blow and we all fell back, stunned. I closed me eyes an' watched the blow again, ignored the power of a Gods wrath at the sacrilege in his own Temple, ignored the hot blood running through the aisles and concentred on HIS example. Watched again, in slow motion the too sharp edge strike above the womans right ear, shearing through her head and face, her neck, carrying on to exit below the heart and casually removing her left arm at the elbow, twisting HIS wrist and flicking HIS wrist so that the few drops of blood on the blade flicked away and the woman fell cleanly in two, fountains of blood dretching those in the front of the altar.
Then I was back in the Dale. Had I dreamed it? No, it was too vivid, as were the vibrations of HIS command to mark well this example. Then too flooded back me training, the carefully purifying of metal after metal, the careful, exacting layering of rune encrusted sheets to be forged. The way the formed rods where bound and forged together, twisting the glowing strands and forging anew, heating and folding, heating and folding, until thirteen layers become a thousand, a hundred thousand, the quenching in hot salts, the tempering, that oily blue pattern as it's finally polished.
In that one bloody example I saw meself reforged and knew it was time to leave the Dales. Meself is gonna learn to make an axe the likes o' that sword n' teach Talex and his brethren the meaning of Justice…
Level 6 approval
[Δ]Waterdeep Coaches
Many people crowded into the tiny ticket room of the busy coach station this evening and it, seemed, few where intent on travel. Instead the growing mob jostled and elbowed to watch the ongoing arguments as the murderer Talex was dragged screaming towards the carriage and a summary trial in Shadowdale. Even the strength of Tem and Nigel where not enough to confine the madman as yet again he broke lose his chains.
Turning just so to obscure his actions from the ladies present in the room, Malachim helped foul yet another escape attempt by means of a vicious disabling blow. As the heavily shod metal boot contacted the thick set dwarf bent low and muttered to the groaning man, Dondar, Talex, what ere ye name, ye no father 'nother #### like yerself…
Vandos turned away, wincing in sympathy as Talex gasped feebly for air. The criminal turned his bruised and bloodied face up towards his assailant, the pain he felt registering in the intensity of his gaze and the promise of retribution to come. The Dwarf merely nodded to acknowledge the threat and grinned all the more.
Stromgren frowned, obviously upset and turned toward the Dwarf. Now… Malachim…
Aye lord ?
You directly disobeyed an order of the faith.
The dwarf shrugs, uncaring. I was merely helping detain him.
Deral, turned toward his friend, and back towards his superior, chewing worriedly on his lower lip.
Upset and at a loss word the right words Stromgren made his decision, Navriin will judge you I will not, but till then…
Malachims' stomach rumbled then and as he reached into his hamper for a loaf, Stromgren finished… You are banned from the faith.
Deral winced in agony, sighing as Stromgren stomped out the tiny waiting room.
Ye OK Deral ?
Deral nodded, answering, I suffer for ye my brother
Malachim looked up, surprised, Ye have a brother ?
Why could ye nae leave him alone?
he asked, then hit his friend on the head, saying Aye, ye yer fool,
and the rest of my faith
Confused, Malachim merely shrugged again. Oh? Why ?
Navriin's decision aint gonna be a good one. You got in a lot of trouble here.
Sighing heavily the young cleric sat down resting his head in his arms…
I only hit the bastard once. I WAS going to cut his ruddy legs off
Ye should have kept yer temper. Our faith is about law also Malachim, We follow orders…
Vandos, following the conversion, left with the two alone.
Catching on finally the easy going Dwarf asked, And what about justice ?
Deral sighing finishes. That was for our Priests to deliver, not us, and now that evil…
Darma pops here head in announcing that a merchant caravan is about to leave.
That evil, he is headed right towards my son.
Tired beyond reason the priest dozes off and, patting his friend on the shoulder, Malachim joins the outgoing merchants.
Getting himself as comfortable as possible on the splintered wooden seats, Malachim leans back and rests, thinking. Thoughout the long journey the dwarf holds his symbol, showing his devotion to Tyr, and mutters, trying to sort the thoughts out to make sense….
Cyric's foll'wers kill Tyrs.
Tyrs kill Cyrics.
Then the hierarchy decides to get all friendly like, saying don't 'it 'em, for any reason.
So meself gets banned f' kicking 'im before they drag 'im off t' hang.
The sword coast rumbles by, the long caravan pausing at Baldur's Gate to trade and again later, at the keep that is the Friendly Arms Inn, finally arriving in Trademeet. His decision finally made, Malachim carefully wraps the symbol in cloth and secretes it the bottom of his rucksack before heading alone into the depths of Tethir.
Far below the forest, in a water carved chamber lit by fungus growing from crushes gems, Malachim nods at those few present and bows before a granite statue of Dumathoin. Well, Silent Lord,
he thinks aloud, yerself was at me birthing. So I shall follow yer own dictates. We of the Mountains knows where we be with stones n' gems, hmmm!
Level 7 approval
[Δ]
The sturdy dwarf raised his head at the incessant murmuring and raised his head from the deeply notched and beer stained bench where he'd fallen asleep, too tired to walk the three flight of stairs to his bed. Bleary, bloodshot eyes focused on the room and shaking off the fatigue as he tried to follow the excited chatter.
Jhaele inclined her head, acknowledging the still armoured fighters unspoken request and walked over, dumping a steaming coffee and some freshly baked bread before him. As she swept up his coins he caught her hand and muttered,
S' all the commotion, hmm ?
Adorra, sitting close-by answered in Jhaeles staid, spinning a tale of blazing lights in the sky and how they had fallen nearby and that search parties were already out looking for them.
Good metal in them meteors, think I'll 'ave a look. Which way they go ?
A young half-elf, giving his name as Caerial answered, saying that they had all gone east, believing it had crashed into Cormanthor. Nodding in thanks, Malachim stood up ready to leave when Jhaele pipes up, "Ye might want to check the other way, another fell across the river, beyond the bridge." Folding his arms, waiting for more, he leans against the door, but having spoken up for once, the tavern owner turned her back on them and when back to polishing tankards. Shrugging, he left the Skull with Caerial and Adorra who have decided they wanted to investigate this also.
As the party crossed the bridge Landar ran past them, hurrying towards town. LANDAR
yelled Malachim in his gravelly voice, caused the two beside him to flinch as there ears were assaulted. Ye seen a meteor on yer travels?
Landar shakes his head and Adorra politely asked him if he'd care to help them search. Hours pass as they head east along the roadway, exploring towards the old keep and finally doubling back to explore the areas within Toad Knoll that Landar hasn't been to earlier in his search for a portal, kin to the troublesome one destroyed in the Ardeep so recently.
The hot summer heat did little to relieve the muddy swamp, instead raising a miasma that left everyone hot, sweating and uncomfortable. They left the relative dryness of the Knoll and half walked, half slid into the soup below. Croaking fills the air and in a rare moment of silence, they all stop as one. Before any had time to look around for the cause, a cricket begins to chirp barely long enough to be heard before the frogs and toads begin their chorus anew. Before them lay a large hole and such pitiful trees the marsh held had been smashed apart by the mud and earth thrown up when the rock had landed, it rock it was, for the meteor was a large, smoking glossy black boulder lying within a crater.
A studious looking gentleman stood before the site, furiously copying notes into a voluminous tome. Malachim studied the rock, then the human. Gotta name? Sir, meself is Malachim n' these be Landar, Caerial n' Adorra of Lliira
. He ignored them for a minute, sprinking fine sand over his notes to dry the excess ink before turning to address the party, replying is a carefully clipped tone I am Felis Tvihoarnan, son of Magel Tvihoarnan, I am investing this amazing thing before us.
He went of to claim that it gave off magical light and had enabled him to learn six languages in the few hours he'd been there.
A bullywug charges through the marsh toward them at that point, shouting Ah, I see you have…
at which point Landar's gauntlet smashed into the slimy things temple, killing it instantly, before they all did a double take. It SPOKE?
asked several querulous voices at once. Then, for a moment, everyone present found themselves yourself lost in thought about various things.. The nature of the universe, proper brewing of potions of flight, and the most delightful swamp mushroom stew.. Malachim merely grunted and, for some reason passed the wild muchrooms he'd gathered earlier to Landar. Not far off, they began to hear a pair of croaky bullywug voices discussing various theories for creating unique potions from local swamp fungus.
Another Bullywug entered they clearing then, looked sadly at his fallen clansman and after expressing his disgust at the barbarians we are, went on to discuss far intellectual concerns. The bullywug exclained that the artifact enhanced higher brain functions and that, My calculations would seem to suggest that the meteorite does not produce a harmful effect. Though I would also estimate that, by mathamatical deduction, you will not heed my words.
Everyone in the area then started to do chaotic things for an instant, jumping, lying to the ground, singing, lastly becoming aware that they were also part of that chaos then it all stops. The bullywug seems to have his attention drawn to something, idly drawing a complex mathamatical problem in the mud, solving it flawlessly before brushing it away. Ah, but in our universe, material wealth is only temporary.. Knowledge can last for eons!
The group paused to nod at a bemused Nat and Drund at they entered the clearing.
Malachim nodded sagely and said. Yep, casts light, lets yer understand frogs n' goblins. M' having meself n' axe made outa that thing.
Felis looks on horrified as the burly Dwarf drew his axe, before the bullywug interrupted, saying Perhaps you would be able to better understand the meteor by enhancing your visual perceptions into the sub-material spectrum!
, letting out a quiet 'ribbit', which seems to betray his otherwise refined speak.
Soon after a giant frog also entered the devastated clearing and proclaimed, You should be aware that I do not believe my more ferocious brethren here in the swamps would be willing to allow you to tamper with the meteor!
Malachim grunted, muttered about talking animals and stated flatly that, An they try, Jhaele be servin' frog steaks for a week, hmm!
The giant amphibian replied You truly do not understand? Have you yet to realize that you now understand my language? Think how it is for us!… For I am Deint'e Ran-Caoure De-Loncreu, the most grand chef in all of Toad Knoll, though humanoids are not my specialty. I, of course, always favor a particularly succulent Night Fly to go with my meals.. but I suppose a fine wrapping of smoked ham would compliment the particularly sharp taste of our local mushrooms.
Felis, the adventurer begin to make the calculations on his bare hand. It looked like a chemical formula, and he was muttering vague remarks about halflings, or half-lives and rate of decay. At this point a swarm of mosquitoes flew in, buzzing excitedly around the clearing, the buzzing begginning to form words.
Bugger that,
snorted Malachim I AIN'T talking to no bugs
, gets a firm, two handed grip on his axe, raises it high and slams into the glossy boulder, all his weight behind it.
All the enhanced intelligence they were enjoying is instantly gone with a faerie light appearing above the meteor. Suddenly, the eminations from the meteor seem to vanish and the bullywug blinks a few times before stupidly hopping away. Felis fell to the ground and the other looked on, stunned. Grinning, he nodded at them happily, Damn but ye get good axes forged outa this, eh !
Drund, drawing his own axe jumping high, brought his axe from behind his head, landing it on the meteor in the same spot. The glow faded and the meteor seems like a big, original rock right now with cracks covering its surface. Borrowing a dagger off Caerial, he wedges it into the crack and dragging the semi-rotted hunk of an Oak out of the mud uses it as a club, smashes it down on the dagger, splitting the meteor in twain. Malachim rocks at the meteor fragments and drags away a piece weighing some 60 pound. Nodding happily, he guides the rest out.
That should be 'nough for me an axe or three..
Level 8 approval
[Δ]
Resting his weary legs, the Dwarf drops gratefully onto the lightning blasted stump of a silver birch, nodding happily as the sun lowers, painting the sky several shades of orange and red. Though his too blue eyes still burn from the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the trees, his hearing is good enough to decide that the sound of crashing branches to his left can only mean trouble. Saplings and young trees bend and sway dangerously as his adversary thuds into the tiny clearing.
In a fluid motion the steel clad figure is upright, shifts his left leg and twists slightly to improve his balance and, gripping the haft tightly, brings his battleaxe up high across his right shoulder and slashes diagonally down to disembowel the giant. At the last moment he notices the wooden symbol and reverses the swing, the razored edge sinking deep into an ancient oak. The verbeeg looks sadly at the damage and down at the stout figure. The dwarves merely grunts.
Bugger me Grog, I wish ye'd holler first. Want some nuts ?
Days and many miles later
Seeming to step out of thin air, Zaakaar appears behind the Ogre, twin daggers entering the hide covered back, ruptering both kidneys. As it falls to it's knees the daggers reach around the thick, fatty neck and drag backwards spraying blood in a wide arc as the veins and arteries are opened to the air. The self styled official smiles slyly as Malachim looks on, unimpressed.
Several more weeks pass.
The well built elven man stands behind the sweating Dwarf and curses more fluently than ever before, trying to get the blade from his hamlike fist.
No, no, NO. When you wield a dagger it is to slice, thus…
Holding the knife with its 8" blade pointing towards inwards towards his ulna he brings his left arm forward and round in a sweeping swing, his elbow close to his ribs, the blade arcing outwards.
… then back to gut.
Finishing the swing, he pulls back along the cut in the dummy the blade going in deep in a ripping motion that would have spilled the entrails of a living model.
What you DON'T do is have a deathgrip on the handle, trying to pummel it to death in the hope you don't cut yourself.
Malachim looks up at Shaemus abashed and tries to follow the instructions.
…
The dwarf creeps across the hard packed dirt floor towards a small circle in the middle of the room, where a rather large man sit in its center, seemingly resting on a beautiful, crimson-hued carpet. The jamiya raised above his head for a killing blow, he prepares to strike but, in a fluid motion, the elf swings up and round and a trickle of blood runs down the polished shortsword.
For all your speed Malachim, you sound like a herd of cattle when you 'creep' up and that overhead swing, even were you in armour, leaves you open to a killing blow through the armpit
Winter 1409
Satisfied that Shaemus had neither the time nor the patience to train him further Malachim wandered into the forest south of Shadowdale, waiting like a lamb for the slaughter. Entering the small glade he smiled at the two goblins, trying to look timid, but they were up and running before he could get even close. Muttering veiled curses to himself and swearing at the snow obscuring his vision he stomped further and further south, following a deer trail.
The blow took him by surprise - almost, the rusty scimitar slides along a steel armplate and wildly to one side. Smiling happily the half frozen dwarf turned to the gray paloured Orc and drew matched daggers, striking just how he'd been taught. The first blade missed completely, having failed to compensate for his heavy armour, the second flew from his grasp, flying off into the bushes. The last thing the Orc heard, before a gauntlet hammered into its face shattering teeth and bone was the dwarf grumbling to himself.
I'll get the ruddy 'ang of these if'n I 'ave t' kill every Orc in these ice haunted woods
Spring 1410
His eyes closed in silent prayer to Dumanthoin, the blue bearded Dwarf smiles as images from his youth flash before his mind.
Rehlina, swayed her hips mimicking the daughter of one the arms merchant currently visiting the mountain hold. Malachim, never one to miss an opportunity, leared as the shield maiden exposed her kneecap, just before she drove it savagely into the groin of one of the kobold they were fighting, the short sword held steady in her vicelike grip and the verminous creature doubling up, conveniently taking the blade under its chin and out through the back of it's neck as the warrioress heaved upwards.
Snapping back to the present Malachim adjusted the grip to his shield, gripped the shortsword low, close to his waist and bellowing a challenge, plowed into the Orcs, the short powerful thrushes decimating the poorly equipped and unskilled guards.
Summer 1410
Keeping a two-handed grip on the pommel the blade crashed down savagely; the Ogre screamed as the point ripped a furrow in its leg, blood pouring in streams and the edge continued, shattered the kneecap with the sound of tortured metal.
The long sword was a masterpiece, it's oily looking blade tempered to perfection, it's once razor sharp edges chipped. Were it enchanted, right about now it would be screaming.
Put me down you ignorant oaf, I'm a sword, not a club!
Three bolts of blue light flew from Eldekars fingers, finishing the maimed creature as Malachim looked sadly down.
Aw bugger, I've chipped it again. I'll never get the 'ang of this thing.
Eldekar simply looked down at the mutilated corpse and muttered to himself…
Level 9 approval
[Δ]
An Urd looks on as the relatively tall Dwarf squeezes through a tight opening and enters a world of darkness, his eyes adjusting to the light, but there is no light, only vague emanations of heat. A muffled scream of pain echoes and the lizardman drops the rat he was gnawing on and runs.
Bugger, that stalagmite gets me ev'ry time!
Cursing his abraised shins Malachim fumbles on his hands and knees for his dropped backpacks, looking for a lantern to properly guide him through this mysterious labyrinth of narrow and twisting turns where, at some time is ages past, the powerful flows of an unground stream had scoured some of the walls to a marble-like polish. The possibility of a visual cornucopia of mineral delights ahead, he continues weaving his way through the maze of tunnels, watching all the time for a step that drops him into an abyss, or a spear-like stalactite ready to lay open his skull.
Ahead some few hundred yards he detects a brighter glimmer of light ahead. Could this be the headlight of a fellow miner or some filthy Orc's lair..? Dousing his lantern, he waits as his eyes readjust before the challenge of moving through caves without breaking the fragile formations, thus giving his presense away. Dropping to the chilly, damp floor he slides belly-down towards the opening ahead.
Water glistens dimly on the shadowy walls, the greenish-yellow light sourced from the phosphorescent fungi on the damp walls and from the battered lantern beside a fallen cleric, his hand clutching his symbol in the rictus of death. Surrounding him are three tiny gray skinned creatures, their minute spears still dripping blood. Malachim glances over the pot-bellied men with their ancient, wrinkles faces and begins to swear before chasing them away.
Meself crawled in this muck f' a few jermlaine! Bah.
The twinges in his back and left shoulder however remind of all the times he was less cautious and he ceases his grumbling to follow the traces of mineral vein in the tunnel walls. Here a line on quartz, now and then being blue veined, but ever stronger is a metallic tang and the faint but growing smell of rotting eggs, reaching to a point where the sulfuric smells choke the tunnels and caves. Pale yellows and reds flow over the walls here in thick, lumpy rivulets, the mineral deposits seeming to shimmer in his lamplight.
Ignoring the ever-present rats and lurking jermlaine scouts, the dwarven crusader of Dumathoin continues with his quest, sampling and testing yet two more another crystal samples for the tome he is writing with the aide of the mage Linah Enverse. Pulling a small chisel and hammer from one of his battered rucksacks he carefully breaks a few of the rhombohedral crystals off the tunnel wall, noting their vivid vermillion colour in his lantern light. For a few minutes he stands lost in thought, remembering lectures eighty years gone, before pulling a wax plugged vial out of a padded pouch. His thick fingernail scratches into the adamantine lustred surface of the crystals before he carefully removes the bung, dripping the solution onto the sample, nodding happily to himself as the hydrochloric acid eats into the mineral.
Curiosity overcoming their fear of the heavily armoured dwarf, the tiny cave dwelling edge closer as he crushes a few crystals onto a platinum spatula and thrusts it into the flame of a small oil fire he'd lit. The scarlet powder soon sublimes to leaves a silvery bead of liquid mercury as he pulls it out the flame. The soft yellow crystals he had tested at an earlier time when he'd pursuaded the delicate mage to see this cave system, the garlic stench when heated helping Linah to confirm them as an arsenic sulphide - orpiment as the apothecaries know it.
Malachim nods to the closest jermlaine.
I'll shave me beard an' ye ain't got a good vein o' cinnabar here. Bugger all use mind, ye ask me, but 'll like give this to the lass with the rest.
Heavily laden with yet another selection of minerals, rock samples, gems and precious jewels, he gathers his equipment and stomps his way out the tunnels and into the moonlit night, looking forward as ever to finding his human friend while she cuts, polishes and shapes more gems for his growing collection.
Initial Statistics at level 1
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+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | ID xxxxx-xxx _____________________________________ Pg #1/2 [SOD 9.12] | | ____| Malachim |____ | | \ |_____________________________________| / | | /_____) (______\ | | | | Title : Banegild | | Race : dwarf Level: 1 Str: 18(18) Dex: 17(17) | | Sex : male Age : 61 Int: 11(11) Con: 17(17) | | Class : fighter Hours: 2 Wis: 7( 7) Cha: 6( 6) | | [STATS] [MONEY] | | Hit : 2/13 Platinum: 0 | | Move : 17/150 Gold : 0 | | Rp Points: 0 Silver : 0 | |Except Str: UNKN Copper : 0 | | Thac0: 20 MaxLvl: 17 Armor Class: 7.0 | | Wpn Slots: 0 Slots : 0 Exp : 216 Exp To Lvl: 1784 | | Align: Chaotic Good | |You are : thirsty,and you are resting. | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | ID 20961-115 _____________________________________ Pg #2/2 [SOD 9.12] | | ____| Malachim |____ | | \ |_____________________________________| / | | /_____) (______\ | | | | [SAVING THROWS] | | Paralyzation, Poison or Death Magic: poor | | Rod, Staff or Wand : defenseless | | Petrification or Polymorph : defenseless | | Breath Weapon : very vulnerable | | Spell : very vulnerable | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ Known Languages Skill ----------------------------+--------------------- Common |very poor Dwarven |an expert Known Weapons Skill ---------------------------------------+--------------------- Battle axe |pathetic Dagger |pathetic Long sword |pathetic Mace |pathetic Known Proficiencies Skill ---------------------------------------+--------------------- Horseback riding |very poor Swimming |very poor Hand to hand |very poor Butchering |very poor
COMMENT:
I didn't think here. As a fighter, I could have liked to have specialised in two weapons. (You can only specialised in one). This would have made a big difference, but I choose, in time the axe. Shortsword would have been better, as a dwarf, as it allows the use of a shield. (Other worlds and DM's may let Dwarves use axes with shields)
With specialised, fighters can start as Good with one weapon. Also it allows weapon skill to progress to be a Master.
Planned progression (for Faerun)
Reading and writing is high on my priorities
I must be learning Elven and perhaps another language, if needful
Blind Fighting would be very useful
Later I will take up weaponsmithing and maybe armoury [if coded]
Having spent a miserable few weeks fighting through woods and marshes, I may learn the ways of the staff and club and mayhaps, one day the use of crossbows.
Friends and acquaintances
The mage, Srats.
Stats after 100 hours
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+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | ID 00000-000 _____________________________________ Pg #1/2 [SOD 9.12] | | ____| Malachim |____ | | \ |_____________________________________| / | | /_____) (______\ | | | | Title : Banegild | | Race : dwarf Level: 3 Str: 18(18) Dex: 17(17) | | Sex : male Age : 65 Int: 11(11) Con: 17(17) | | Class : fighter Hours: 100 Wis: 7( 7) Cha: 6( 6) | | [STATS] [MONEY] | | Hit : 32/32 Platinum: 0 | | Move : 12/180 Gold : 0 | | Rp Points: 0 Silver : 0 | |Except Str: UNKN Copper : 167 | | Thac0: 18 MaxLvl: 17 Armor Class: 4.1 | | Wpn Slots: 0 Slots : 0 Exp : 4007 Exp To Lvl: 3993 | | Align: Chaotic Good | |You are : hungry,and you are resting. | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | | | [SAVING THROWS] | | Paralyzation, Poison or Death Magic: poor | | Rod, Staff or Wand : defenseless | | Petrification or Polymorph : poor | | Breath Weapon : defenseless | | Spell : defenseless | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ Known Proficiencies Skill ---------------------------------------+--------------------- Horseback riding |poor Swimming |very poor Hand to hand |excellent Butchering |average Known Weapons Skill ---------------------------------------+--------------------- Battle axe (Spec) |good Dagger |pathetic Long sword |pathetic Mace |pathetic Known Languages Skill ----------------------------+--------------------- Common |an expert Dwarven |an expert Elven |an expert
Planned progression
Weaponsmithing or preferably Armoury are high on my priorities
Blind Fighting would be very useful, bandaging more so.
I will work to become adept in the weapons I already known well, favouring axe and mace.
Friends and acquaintances
Too many to mention, but my stoutest and closest include Deral, Kyoril, Alledra and Raiernia.
Stats at level 4
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+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ | ID 20961-115 _____________________________________ Pg #1/2 [SOD 9.12] | | ____| Malachim |____ | | \ |_____________________________________| / | | /_____) (______\ | | | | Title : Banegild | | Race : dwarf Level: 4 Str: 18(18) Dex: 17(17) | | Sex : male Age : 67 Int: 11(11) Con: 17(17) | | Class : fighter Hours: 149 Wis: 7( 7) Cha: 6( 6) | | [STATS] [MONEY] | | Hit : 32/45 Platinum: 0 | | Move : 140/210 Gold : 0 | | Rp Points: 0 Silver : 3 | |Except Str: 31% Copper : 10 | | Thac0: 17 MaxLvl: 17 Armor Class: 4.2 | | Wpn Slots: 0 Slots : 0 Exp : 8039 Exp To Lvl: 7961 | |Carry Itms: 12/12 Weight: 105.0/280 Align: Chaotic Good | |You are : standing. | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
Notice the changes?
My exceptional strength is shown. 18/00 would have been nice !
The number of items I carry, and can carry is also shown.
Finally, my encumberance is shown - I'm currently hauling 105lb of arms, armour and supplies around.
So far I've had my A/C to around -2 though I reckon with the right armour I can lower it to -4 or lower !
From now on though, dying is a big drain on experience points.
