It was a sunny day. Summer had arrived and the plains were blossoming in a cheerful green. The table was full and the laughing omnipresent. People were talking in a good mood and at the end of the table, Fargul sat next to his bride and just couldn't help himself but smile: The world was Great! The cleric of the village was eventually convinced to marry them. Many of the women fell for the idea of a marriage. Of course they were a little bit worried about Fargul, but they could not resist Resa's bragging. They knew her from when she had been still a child and could not help themselves but agree to her request. The men were just all for the idea of a Great festival, with much food and many drinks. Again Fargul did not intervene in the selection of dishes. How could he anyways: Resa had not let him do a single thing, out of fear that the villagers would be too opposed to the idea of helping Fargul. So far everyone seemed happy and many of the elders seemed to accept Fargul a little more. He was just happy that they could leave in peace. Oh how good the world seemed this day.
He woke up in a bed with something pinning his arm down, that he was scared his arm became numb over night. As he opened his eye and turned his head, Fargul noticed Resa. She was so innocently resting in his arms, that it almost made him want to cry. How could such a beautiful being stay with him? At last, he thought, Something I can call my own. He decided not to wake her and waited for her to leave the world of dreams. After a while she moved slightly and opened her eyes slowly. She smiled tiredly, and rolled ontop of him, kissing him slowly. He held her in his arms and they stayed in this position yet for another half an hour. Then they rose from their bed, put some light clothing on and decided to have a light breakfast. Resa pointed to the little chest of Fargul and asked:
"Will you finally tell me, what is inside this chest? You have made such a riddle about it, since you started sleeping in here."
Fargul smirked and shrugged: "I'll show ye its contents, as soon as we're out of town. Deal?"
She smiled cheekishly: "Deal."
They started packing up their belongings and sold the animals to some of the traveling merchants. All this, was done in quiet in order to not upset the village. Resa wanted to leave, without a turmoil. The next day came the turn of events:
An armored man, rode into the village. He sat on a white steed and in his belt hung a decorated blade. On his tabbard was the sign of Helm. His blue eyes were sparkling with benevolence. He rode up to the major's hall and demanded an audience with the village's leader. Soon after, an assembly was called in, which asked for the presence of all villagers. Fargul was gathering the last bits of crops, so Resa went alone. After a few hours of discussion, Resa went home, with a somewhat worried expression.
Fargul arrived late, due to some nuisances he had to get rid of, before passing on. Resa seemed somewhat quite nervous about something and her hand was shaking while cutting the bread for him. He rose an eyebrow and looked her into the eyes:
"Wha's worryin' ye, sweetheart?" Resa looked up a little surprised
"Well... There was an assembly today, while you were gone. . ."
"Aaaand?", Fargul could sense the bad news but did not give it away in his expression. Resa sighed and continued:
"Appearantly there is a nest of Devil-worshippers nearby and a Paladin of Helm came, to cleanse them from this region. However he asked for help from the local Militia. But none of the men were willing to go, so they asked me to tell you, to go with the Paladin, as you are the best fighter in the village." Fargul had to take the information in for a while and rubbed his chin in thought. He frowned and some smoke blew out of his nostrils:
"We were gonn' leave tomorrow. Why shoul' we care now? I mean c'mon: Do we really need to care about this?" Resa eyes saddened a little:
"Please Fargul, these people are still mine. I am one of them! And the thought that they might be endangered could never let my mind rest. Do this as a last task for me. Before we leave, please?". Her blue eyes widened into two emerald lakes that just moved something inside the rough mercenary. He sighed:
"How could I ever resist such eyes. Alrite, I'll go pay that Paladin a visit morning. We will ride tomorrow, as I want this done and over with as soon as possible. Could you at least have everything ready, for an immediate departure atleast? I'm really gettin' uncomfortable 'ere." She nodded with a smile and kissed him passionately, with tears of happiness in her eyes. He of course responded, but he sensed that something bad was going to happen. . . Oh why couldn't he have listened to his guts for once?!
"the Scum Of The Worlds"
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The Orcs were good at their work. Fargul always believed they were better at destruction than they were at repairing. Well maybe they are, but they had done a good job so far. Might have been, because he beat one of the bigger ones in arm-wrestling, that they had a bit more respect for him, nevertheless it was not to be denied that he owed Vorgazar for this. It was lunchbreak and Fargul had left two big pots with a stew for the Orcs. He himself withdrew back into the sleeping rooms. The kids had entirely shut them off there. As he entered, some would either look to the floor and others would hug them out of fear... A few would not even look at him, blaming him for the deaths of their friends. It was probably true. If he hadn't been such a cocky prick, he might have been a little more careful in securing the orphanage.
He read something to the smaller children, handed out food and the toys, Saiph had given him. It was most interesting to see, how people are slowly trying to help him, as if they had to redeem themselves all of a sudden. It had not really been his choice. If it wasn't for Lerrick, he had never really started with this. And to be honest, if he really loved this children so much, how come that he had left so easily? On the other hand he had returned and he was not going to break his word again. Now more than ever, he had to get things moving. The only hope he had was the peace at the moment. After all this Shadowsworn/Shaper madness, maybe at last he could have some peace. Now it was time to rebuild.
He thought back to when he had just won the fight against the Shadowsworn on Toril. He stood with his comrades before the left-overs of the bigger Jammers, they had crashed. The Warhounds were victorious with minor losses and all the soldiers of Toril cheered for them. Most were granted incredible rewards and some were even granted noblehood. After a brief discussion among them, it was decided that the Warhounds had come to a point, where it was impossible to go back to being "just" mercenaries. So they accepted their new position and all started new lives. Except Fargul, who went back to his old one. But before that, he wanted to see that dream he had once more. So after he had gotten himself rid of all those pesky mighty men, who offered him knightdom, noblehood, treasures, their daughters and all the rest, he managed to ride alone back to where he had buried her. Ontop of that cliff, at the Swordcoast overlooking the Ocean. He sat down next to the rock, on which he had carved her name. It said "Theresa Bernadotte, who died before ever seeing her dream". He smoked next to her grave, because she always said it made him look more clever than he actually was. He thought back at her, the way she smiled. The way she laughed and the way she was. . . And he noticed something: He felt sad of course, however not as dramatic as you should feel over the one love. He thought back, all those memories of her and he realized something: He had never really been in love with that woman! Of course he liked her, but he mostly just wanted to protect her. Nothing more, he wanted to show her what else there is. But to be honest it wasn't that type of love. There was nothing more left to him but to laugh. Another memory, that he could put a stamp on.
He read something to the smaller children, handed out food and the toys, Saiph had given him. It was most interesting to see, how people are slowly trying to help him, as if they had to redeem themselves all of a sudden. It had not really been his choice. If it wasn't for Lerrick, he had never really started with this. And to be honest, if he really loved this children so much, how come that he had left so easily? On the other hand he had returned and he was not going to break his word again. Now more than ever, he had to get things moving. The only hope he had was the peace at the moment. After all this Shadowsworn/Shaper madness, maybe at last he could have some peace. Now it was time to rebuild.
He thought back to when he had just won the fight against the Shadowsworn on Toril. He stood with his comrades before the left-overs of the bigger Jammers, they had crashed. The Warhounds were victorious with minor losses and all the soldiers of Toril cheered for them. Most were granted incredible rewards and some were even granted noblehood. After a brief discussion among them, it was decided that the Warhounds had come to a point, where it was impossible to go back to being "just" mercenaries. So they accepted their new position and all started new lives. Except Fargul, who went back to his old one. But before that, he wanted to see that dream he had once more. So after he had gotten himself rid of all those pesky mighty men, who offered him knightdom, noblehood, treasures, their daughters and all the rest, he managed to ride alone back to where he had buried her. Ontop of that cliff, at the Swordcoast overlooking the Ocean. He sat down next to the rock, on which he had carved her name. It said "Theresa Bernadotte, who died before ever seeing her dream". He smoked next to her grave, because she always said it made him look more clever than he actually was. He thought back at her, the way she smiled. The way she laughed and the way she was. . . And he noticed something: He felt sad of course, however not as dramatic as you should feel over the one love. He thought back, all those memories of her and he realized something: He had never really been in love with that woman! Of course he liked her, but he mostly just wanted to protect her. Nothing more, he wanted to show her what else there is. But to be honest it wasn't that type of love. There was nothing more left to him but to laugh. Another memory, that he could put a stamp on.
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul leaned back into his armchair on the roof. Some breathing time, to reflect a little bit. Everything was calm again. All wounds eventually healed and he could focus on his orphanage only. It was now completely rebuilt and he managed to hire some personal. Now he had to think: What was going to be his next step? Well there was nothing much to do... How boring, was there really nothing exciting anymore in this state? After all he was still a warrior. And a warrior needs wars to be a warrior. And then he was a mercenary. But as it seemed right now, he was being goody-little-two-shoes. Helping the helpless, giving those, who seemed hopeless an opportunity. After all it was his city, so he could form it a bit... On the other hand was that really himself.
He noticed a rustling and all of a sudden a blank knife was at his throat. He heard a voice saying: "Alright, where is the jink? If you won't cooperate we'll burn this entire place down.". Fargul grinned as, the man behind him sunk into himself. A longer knife stuck in his chest. Fargul had it stabbed into him, under his arm. He stood up and sighed... Maybe he wasn't "that" good after all.
He sat at the edge of the roof now. On the street lay the three thugs that tried to rob him. He cleaned the mess up... Maybe he could work on that Indep problem, that seemed to arise lately. Get some action out of that.
He noticed a rustling and all of a sudden a blank knife was at his throat. He heard a voice saying: "Alright, where is the jink? If you won't cooperate we'll burn this entire place down.". Fargul grinned as, the man behind him sunk into himself. A longer knife stuck in his chest. Fargul had it stabbed into him, under his arm. He stood up and sighed... Maybe he wasn't "that" good after all.
He sat at the edge of the roof now. On the street lay the three thugs that tried to rob him. He cleaned the mess up... Maybe he could work on that Indep problem, that seemed to arise lately. Get some action out of that.
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul walked through them empty corridors of the Orphanage. The kids were all safe from Sigil for now. Eventually he would bring them back. But at the moment it was better like this. He assured their well being, every so often and brought them food.
He had to think about the conversation between him and Khazeet: The Shaper seemed an omnipresent threat. Maybe even the cause of all his problems at the moment. His friends suffered under him... Sigil suffered under him. Usually, did Fargul never attack someone, who hadnt done anything to him. But then again, he made already exceptions in his life. And what that berk was doing, might affect him. Fargul had a comfortable position in the first place: The Shaper showed no interest in him. Why would he? Fargul was simply just another guy. Mir was all over the place and Hildmor had his fingers in every single thing. Fargul was the guy, you'd have a drink with, maybe share a laugh or two and then he would disappear again.
He entered his room. There was a woman on his bed... He couldn't remember her name.
The Signers.. And the Athars. The more Fargul thought about them, the more he noticed how excited he got about hunting this conspiracy down. Maybe he should do it for the kicks after all?
He had to think about the conversation between him and Khazeet: The Shaper seemed an omnipresent threat. Maybe even the cause of all his problems at the moment. His friends suffered under him... Sigil suffered under him. Usually, did Fargul never attack someone, who hadnt done anything to him. But then again, he made already exceptions in his life. And what that berk was doing, might affect him. Fargul had a comfortable position in the first place: The Shaper showed no interest in him. Why would he? Fargul was simply just another guy. Mir was all over the place and Hildmor had his fingers in every single thing. Fargul was the guy, you'd have a drink with, maybe share a laugh or two and then he would disappear again.
He entered his room. There was a woman on his bed... He couldn't remember her name.
The Signers.. And the Athars. The more Fargul thought about them, the more he noticed how excited he got about hunting this conspiracy down. Maybe he should do it for the kicks after all?
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Back in the Game, Baby pt. 1
Fargul sat on the chair, that stood on the roof of the Orphanage. He looked at the countless bottles next to it. After the first three hours he had finally decided that he is going to return to his old ways: Becoming a Mercenary. He had been thinking about it for a while now... But the words of the future Dani, had kicked off a chain of thoughts. The conversation with Mir and Mash, about the future and stuff just intensified this series of thoughts: He did not want to die as a Cook. He did not want to die like an ordinary citizien... He was a mercenary first and foremost! And he was going to die like one. Just like his father.. And his grand father.. And his grand grand father.. No, the chef was no option for him. Because Fargul knew what he missed all this time: His freedom, and war.
Yes, the two figures that were always with him, just showed what he had missed. And even the children could not help that. He needed to get back to the battlefield. He was just half the man. What he needed were those two things to function as a person. He needed to stop lying to himself. The empty orphanage below him was the proof: It was empty and did not breathe. It was dead.. Killed from Fargul's military paranoia. This had to stop.
After another couple of hours, the mountain of empty wine bottles was triple the size and he slept.. Next to him a list and a drawing of a Spelljammer.. It was titled
The Ace of Blades!
Fargul sat on the chair, that stood on the roof of the Orphanage. He looked at the countless bottles next to it. After the first three hours he had finally decided that he is going to return to his old ways: Becoming a Mercenary. He had been thinking about it for a while now... But the words of the future Dani, had kicked off a chain of thoughts. The conversation with Mir and Mash, about the future and stuff just intensified this series of thoughts: He did not want to die as a Cook. He did not want to die like an ordinary citizien... He was a mercenary first and foremost! And he was going to die like one. Just like his father.. And his grand father.. And his grand grand father.. No, the chef was no option for him. Because Fargul knew what he missed all this time: His freedom, and war.
Yes, the two figures that were always with him, just showed what he had missed. And even the children could not help that. He needed to get back to the battlefield. He was just half the man. What he needed were those two things to function as a person. He needed to stop lying to himself. The empty orphanage below him was the proof: It was empty and did not breathe. It was dead.. Killed from Fargul's military paranoia. This had to stop.
After another couple of hours, the mountain of empty wine bottles was triple the size and he slept.. Next to him a list and a drawing of a Spelljammer.. It was titled
The Ace of Blades!
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul sat back in the chair. In front of him on the table lay the leatherbound journal. The idea from last night had materialized itself in the shape of this book now. Next to the paper, was a quill with a pot of ink. On the other side was a glass of wine with the bottle in reach. Surrounded was this ensemble by the several maps, lists, notes, letters and drawings that formed Fargul's paperwork. He looked around in the small wooden chamber, from the paintings he hung on the wall... The beatiful woman, that was made by a friend, the hills surrounding Waterdeep, where he grew up. A painting of himself, smoking, with a bottle of wine and surrounded by people. A woman, whom he loved once, drew it. This is how she always had imagined him: The lonely man, even when he was in a crowd of people. He dispised that thought, since it made him appear special. Fact was he wasn't. He just had a mouth big enough to enforce his existance... And the Swordplay to back that up.
The smoke of his cigarette filled his lungs and the smell of the herbs being burned flooded his nose. He then picked up the Quill and began writing:
My Memoirs- The Adventures of a Mercenary and Berk.
So I sit in Bottle and Jug and enjoy a glass of whiskey and a pit fight, when I ran into a friend. We started talking about old times and he tells me, that my life's been long enough, so I should start writing it down. I reckoned how good that idea is and bought myself a book. So this is sort of my Story written down... Where should I begin? Mayhaps by introducing myself:
My name is Fargul Hammond Drake Bernadotte. Most people just know me as Fargul however. I hate the fact my name is so long, but to not forget it I had to write it down. Long names remind me of Nobility and Nobility is something I do not want to be associated with. Sooo this is the story of my life, I guess... And like every normal Human I was born from a Woman.
That woman's name was Elegancia Marie Bernadotte. She was born as Elegancia Marie D' Eispinne, a rich and well positioned Mage family in Neverwinter. She used to study the Arcane in an Academy I forgot the name of, until she met my Father Fernando Bernadotte. He was a Mercenary Captain of the Warhounds, a well-known Company of 200 Mercenaries. Their name was mentioned, when folks with coin needed those extra swords to turn the tides of wars, solve problems or simply to scare all other folks with coin. They were known from the Swordcoast up to Thay. Now Elegancia was used to the dusty libraries of her academy. She ran into Fernando on a fortunate occasion, who told her of the world. Of course she fell for him. And of the wide, wide world. Soon they left the city, however Elegancia's parents did not like the idea of a child who was raised in a dirty company of unshaven men, whose smartest thought would be how they could get to their next ale, alive. So Elegancia and Fernando had to make a tough deal: The first born was to be kept as next heir of the Bernadotte family and the Warhounds, whereas the second child, was to be given to the D'Eispinnes in order to raise the next Great wizard at the Academy. Both Elle (how my father used to call my mother) and Fernando did not like the idea at all, having to give up their child... Nevertheless, it had to be done.
So then 6 years after that, their first born arrived: Fargul Hammond Drake Bernadotte in a farm, nearby Waterdeep. Fargul was chosen by my mother, which she took from her favorite fairy tale. Hammond and Drake were names of earlier Bernadotte Captains. Now the first real memory I have was the hills around my house, in the light of the sinking sun, a picture, I've been always keeping in my mind. A small child, I always ran around the farm and it's nearby forests and stayed with the men of my father, listening to their stories and bringing them wine. My favorite toy was a wooden sword, made from my father and the stories of my ancestors and fairy tales, my mother had read up in her Academy's library. This was my world, until I turned Six years old. Then my Wooden sword was replaced by a Short Sword I named "Siegmund" as well, as the date when my little sister Regina Helen D'Eispinne was born. However she was taken away and I had never seen her since. I must admit, I've never searched for her either. This was the start of my Training towards becoming a Mercenary. Every day, I would have to swing that short sword, increasing my mindset towards ultimately killing a man. Among my neighbours friends, I was feared and admired, for being able to make another boy bleed, without even trying to put up a fight. In the evenings I would have to learn reading, writing and history, from my mother. When the Company moved out, I would stay behind, alone on the Great farm. My parents insisted on not staying too long, and on most occasions, they took me with them. Quickly I learned how to survive and how to avoid blows from even an adult. This game, I played for five years... Then reality began.
My mother was the one who had the most issues with sending me to the battlefield. However, she was reassured, after I survived it. They say the first time for everything is an experience, which is brutal but also amazing at the same time. This was true indeed for me. I will always remember that day: We were on a mission to take over a nobleman's castle deep in Neverwinter Forest. We arrived at Dawn, I was eleven years of Age and had my trusty short sword and a buckler, who were fit for my size. They gave me a hin-sized chainshirt and a pot helm, that was much too big. I was to protect my mother, together with Harrlik, a Half-Orc of intimidating appearance, Gareth, my best older friend and another 8 men. We were stationed in the village, while the main force would approach at the caste from behind, while the siege-crew were taking care of the farce. It was so scary, my hands wouldn't stop shaking and I was standing between Harrlik and Gareth. Then a scout patrol, which we hadn't anticipated attacked us, as they reckognized what we were doing. Soon the men drew their swords and rushed towards us. My nervosity and excitement led me to hit my shield at the man who was rushing at me. He must have taken me for a Gnome or something, for when I managed to get my head focused on what I had learned and slit that man's legs, his surprisement was visible even after I had killed him. This is how I remember my first kill: The surprise how a child could kill a grown man. The surprise how easy it was to take another man's life. Soon, my mother had prepared her magic and we rushed at the castle. This was the highpoint of that day: When we ran into through the doors of the smaller castle. I could barely keep up on my small legs and didn't even get to kill another man. But that one kill, made me the hero of the day: Small Fargul was now a real Warhound! This positive relation to killing, has probably messed up my moral sense, nevertheless it shaped me for the rest of my life.
On that battle, would follow numberless battles, my first love, a slave girl in Thay (Which also taught me to hate slavery of all kinds), my Strategic education and the day, I was allowed to wield a Longsword. Another Five years it took until I had seen, what most men would find disturbing, and I had more life-experience than 100 year old farmer. Then everything changed, when certain unfortunate events occured that have finally brought me to Sigil, the mystical City of Doors.
Fargul stopped... He smirked slightly, as he had reminded himself of all those rush of images and memories, that he connected with these words written. He gave the ink to dry a bit and ashed the last cigarette in a small rock bowl out. Then finished the last drop of wine and stood up, leaving the next chapter to be written another time.
The smoke of his cigarette filled his lungs and the smell of the herbs being burned flooded his nose. He then picked up the Quill and began writing:
My Memoirs- The Adventures of a Mercenary and Berk.
So I sit in Bottle and Jug and enjoy a glass of whiskey and a pit fight, when I ran into a friend. We started talking about old times and he tells me, that my life's been long enough, so I should start writing it down. I reckoned how good that idea is and bought myself a book. So this is sort of my Story written down... Where should I begin? Mayhaps by introducing myself:
My name is Fargul Hammond Drake Bernadotte. Most people just know me as Fargul however. I hate the fact my name is so long, but to not forget it I had to write it down. Long names remind me of Nobility and Nobility is something I do not want to be associated with. Sooo this is the story of my life, I guess... And like every normal Human I was born from a Woman.
That woman's name was Elegancia Marie Bernadotte. She was born as Elegancia Marie D' Eispinne, a rich and well positioned Mage family in Neverwinter. She used to study the Arcane in an Academy I forgot the name of, until she met my Father Fernando Bernadotte. He was a Mercenary Captain of the Warhounds, a well-known Company of 200 Mercenaries. Their name was mentioned, when folks with coin needed those extra swords to turn the tides of wars, solve problems or simply to scare all other folks with coin. They were known from the Swordcoast up to Thay. Now Elegancia was used to the dusty libraries of her academy. She ran into Fernando on a fortunate occasion, who told her of the world. Of course she fell for him. And of the wide, wide world. Soon they left the city, however Elegancia's parents did not like the idea of a child who was raised in a dirty company of unshaven men, whose smartest thought would be how they could get to their next ale, alive. So Elegancia and Fernando had to make a tough deal: The first born was to be kept as next heir of the Bernadotte family and the Warhounds, whereas the second child, was to be given to the D'Eispinnes in order to raise the next Great wizard at the Academy. Both Elle (how my father used to call my mother) and Fernando did not like the idea at all, having to give up their child... Nevertheless, it had to be done.
So then 6 years after that, their first born arrived: Fargul Hammond Drake Bernadotte in a farm, nearby Waterdeep. Fargul was chosen by my mother, which she took from her favorite fairy tale. Hammond and Drake were names of earlier Bernadotte Captains. Now the first real memory I have was the hills around my house, in the light of the sinking sun, a picture, I've been always keeping in my mind. A small child, I always ran around the farm and it's nearby forests and stayed with the men of my father, listening to their stories and bringing them wine. My favorite toy was a wooden sword, made from my father and the stories of my ancestors and fairy tales, my mother had read up in her Academy's library. This was my world, until I turned Six years old. Then my Wooden sword was replaced by a Short Sword I named "Siegmund" as well, as the date when my little sister Regina Helen D'Eispinne was born. However she was taken away and I had never seen her since. I must admit, I've never searched for her either. This was the start of my Training towards becoming a Mercenary. Every day, I would have to swing that short sword, increasing my mindset towards ultimately killing a man. Among my neighbours friends, I was feared and admired, for being able to make another boy bleed, without even trying to put up a fight. In the evenings I would have to learn reading, writing and history, from my mother. When the Company moved out, I would stay behind, alone on the Great farm. My parents insisted on not staying too long, and on most occasions, they took me with them. Quickly I learned how to survive and how to avoid blows from even an adult. This game, I played for five years... Then reality began.
My mother was the one who had the most issues with sending me to the battlefield. However, she was reassured, after I survived it. They say the first time for everything is an experience, which is brutal but also amazing at the same time. This was true indeed for me. I will always remember that day: We were on a mission to take over a nobleman's castle deep in Neverwinter Forest. We arrived at Dawn, I was eleven years of Age and had my trusty short sword and a buckler, who were fit for my size. They gave me a hin-sized chainshirt and a pot helm, that was much too big. I was to protect my mother, together with Harrlik, a Half-Orc of intimidating appearance, Gareth, my best older friend and another 8 men. We were stationed in the village, while the main force would approach at the caste from behind, while the siege-crew were taking care of the farce. It was so scary, my hands wouldn't stop shaking and I was standing between Harrlik and Gareth. Then a scout patrol, which we hadn't anticipated attacked us, as they reckognized what we were doing. Soon the men drew their swords and rushed towards us. My nervosity and excitement led me to hit my shield at the man who was rushing at me. He must have taken me for a Gnome or something, for when I managed to get my head focused on what I had learned and slit that man's legs, his surprisement was visible even after I had killed him. This is how I remember my first kill: The surprise how a child could kill a grown man. The surprise how easy it was to take another man's life. Soon, my mother had prepared her magic and we rushed at the castle. This was the highpoint of that day: When we ran into through the doors of the smaller castle. I could barely keep up on my small legs and didn't even get to kill another man. But that one kill, made me the hero of the day: Small Fargul was now a real Warhound! This positive relation to killing, has probably messed up my moral sense, nevertheless it shaped me for the rest of my life.
On that battle, would follow numberless battles, my first love, a slave girl in Thay (Which also taught me to hate slavery of all kinds), my Strategic education and the day, I was allowed to wield a Longsword. Another Five years it took until I had seen, what most men would find disturbing, and I had more life-experience than 100 year old farmer. Then everything changed, when certain unfortunate events occured that have finally brought me to Sigil, the mystical City of Doors.
Fargul stopped... He smirked slightly, as he had reminded himself of all those rush of images and memories, that he connected with these words written. He gave the ink to dry a bit and ashed the last cigarette in a small rock bowl out. Then finished the last drop of wine and stood up, leaving the next chapter to be written another time.
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
His eye rushed open... He could not really remember what he just dreamed of. Probably was one of those funny dreams, he keeps on having, ever since... Well ever since he wasn't barmy anymore. Most of the time he saw an image of himself. It was after an explosion and he walked away... It was dark.
It reminded him of the time he killed the murderer of his parents. It was a similar night... And a similar situation. It had been now a while, ever since he gave up his mind to Tharizdun. Then he got it back from the Athars, which was truely weird, he felt. How easy it had gone, while he was killing himself trying to not lose himself to his own personality split.
He then turned towards the table and smirked. The book was still lying there, with the bottle the quill and the pot of ink. Right now, he had no time to write down his memories. Not if there was too much business in his hands. Especially not now. He needed to stay sharp and get more active. He needed to make sure that everyone realized who he really was: A man of action and a man of his word!
It reminded him of the time he killed the murderer of his parents. It was a similar night... And a similar situation. It had been now a while, ever since he gave up his mind to Tharizdun. Then he got it back from the Athars, which was truely weird, he felt. How easy it had gone, while he was killing himself trying to not lose himself to his own personality split.
He then turned towards the table and smirked. The book was still lying there, with the bottle the quill and the pot of ink. Right now, he had no time to write down his memories. Not if there was too much business in his hands. Especially not now. He needed to stay sharp and get more active. He needed to make sure that everyone realized who he really was: A man of action and a man of his word!
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Fargul slendered into his Cabin. Everything looked just like always. As he left it yesterday... And the day before that and the day before that. His eye took in all the details. Even though he liked to stay out and see the wonders of the Multiverse, it was always a bit different to come back to that chamber of yours. The table was still crowded and would probably never be free. Except for that one spot, which was occupied by the book, the bottle of wine and the candle. He smirked and sat down to write up the next chapter of his life-story.
The time from when I was 11 to 16 was rather adventurous. My parents realized, that I was capable of surviving on the battlefield. Often we would ride now together, me becoming first a member of the reserve, until the entire Company agreed, that I was not only worthy of being a grunt in the Main force, but also could ride along my father's side with the bannermen. It showed everyone else, how much I had learned, how many men I had killed and how many maneuvres' success, I had partaken in. I've seen many girls of course, throughout my travels. And the other boys in the towns were oh so impressed by my physical strength and by the adventures I'd tell them, from other missions. My mother of course, would continue to teach me, to use my head just as much as my arms and my Father taught me a lot about the Beliefs of the Family Bernadotte and of all Freedom-loving men.
Then came the day, when everything changed. It was a rough experience and turned my whole life into a different direction. We had just arrived from a skirmish against some bandits, where we successfully took control and drove them away. The men were relaxing at the campfires and we took to sleeping. I was of course in my bed of hay in my room. Then in the middle of the night, I was woken up by the smell of fire.
I ran to my window, just to see the Camp burning. I heard Blades meeting each other and quickly I grabbed the best weapon, I could find: My knife. I ran into my parents room, where I saw a tall armored man, facing my father. The Rage grew up inside me and ran towards the Tower of Metal. I jumped on his back and tried to get to his neck. I jammed the small blade, that was only used to the taste of Apple flesh and it broke off. However the pain the man was in, caused him to take a swing, me falling against the door. Which in turn exploded, due to the Use of Alchemist's fire. The last sight of my right eye, were my father's face with anknowledgement and proud and the tear-filled face of my mother. Then I turned around and saw the splinter flying into my eye. I will never forget the pain. I felt every inch of the wood digging itself into my head. And I felt every second it was stuck inside.
I heard their voices from outside. They were going to rush in and kill them off. I turned to my parents and saw how my mother was already preparing the spell. I knew her plan already. And this was how I learned to hate magic. I was about to run towards her, as all of a sudden the world went dizzy around me. Before I noticed what was happening, I was alone... In a dark forest. The sound had disappeared. Failure was the only thing on my mind. They pain was robbing me of all my senses. I looked around, then I saw that glimmering oval. I thought it was the portal of my mother. Quickly I darted towards it, stumbling over one or two roots on the ground. I dashed through it and ended up running into a wall. What had happened? Why did everything become so warm all of a sudden? Then was it, when I realized that I was walking on cobblestone. I had entered Sigil, the City of doors.
The time from when I was 11 to 16 was rather adventurous. My parents realized, that I was capable of surviving on the battlefield. Often we would ride now together, me becoming first a member of the reserve, until the entire Company agreed, that I was not only worthy of being a grunt in the Main force, but also could ride along my father's side with the bannermen. It showed everyone else, how much I had learned, how many men I had killed and how many maneuvres' success, I had partaken in. I've seen many girls of course, throughout my travels. And the other boys in the towns were oh so impressed by my physical strength and by the adventures I'd tell them, from other missions. My mother of course, would continue to teach me, to use my head just as much as my arms and my Father taught me a lot about the Beliefs of the Family Bernadotte and of all Freedom-loving men.
Then came the day, when everything changed. It was a rough experience and turned my whole life into a different direction. We had just arrived from a skirmish against some bandits, where we successfully took control and drove them away. The men were relaxing at the campfires and we took to sleeping. I was of course in my bed of hay in my room. Then in the middle of the night, I was woken up by the smell of fire.
I ran to my window, just to see the Camp burning. I heard Blades meeting each other and quickly I grabbed the best weapon, I could find: My knife. I ran into my parents room, where I saw a tall armored man, facing my father. The Rage grew up inside me and ran towards the Tower of Metal. I jumped on his back and tried to get to his neck. I jammed the small blade, that was only used to the taste of Apple flesh and it broke off. However the pain the man was in, caused him to take a swing, me falling against the door. Which in turn exploded, due to the Use of Alchemist's fire. The last sight of my right eye, were my father's face with anknowledgement and proud and the tear-filled face of my mother. Then I turned around and saw the splinter flying into my eye. I will never forget the pain. I felt every inch of the wood digging itself into my head. And I felt every second it was stuck inside.
I heard their voices from outside. They were going to rush in and kill them off. I turned to my parents and saw how my mother was already preparing the spell. I knew her plan already. And this was how I learned to hate magic. I was about to run towards her, as all of a sudden the world went dizzy around me. Before I noticed what was happening, I was alone... In a dark forest. The sound had disappeared. Failure was the only thing on my mind. They pain was robbing me of all my senses. I looked around, then I saw that glimmering oval. I thought it was the portal of my mother. Quickly I darted towards it, stumbling over one or two roots on the ground. I dashed through it and ended up running into a wall. What had happened? Why did everything become so warm all of a sudden? Then was it, when I realized that I was walking on cobblestone. I had entered Sigil, the City of doors.
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
After the first week of the journey, the Ace had already seen enough action. He lost about half a dozen men and more than half the ammunition was gone. Just brilliant... Even better was the fact, that an enemy projectile had found its way magically to Fargul. Now he had a giant hole in his left arm and most of the bone material was gone. Basically he spent most of the days in his Cabin, looking over the maps for Navigation, doing some calculation and every so often, flipping the ring, that Kira had given him as a gift. He smirked a bit and then looked at his arm: It was covered in bandages and one of his client's medics had begun an original process of healing. If it did work, he'd be able to use the arm without limitations... Nevertheless did it take crap load of time and it hurt even more.
He looked over his table and apart from Karde or somebody bringing in messages or other paperwork, he was mostly to himself. Damned! He looked again at the ring, frowned and turned his glance towards the small leather notebook next to him. With a frown he picked up the quill and the can of ink and continued to write:
Of course my first footsteps in Sigil were marked by confusion and cold paranoia, like any clueless... But in my wounded condition it was even more intense. I stumbled through the streets of the Hive, looking around, asking where I was. Of course everyone I saw did the worst possible to a child in this condition: They told me. So here I was, barely of age, bleeding like a stabbed pig and scared and pretty close to a nervous breakdown. After a painful two or three hours, a friendly Drow, dressed in suspiciously bright colors, who offered his services as a healer. To be honest, at this point, the Strangeness of the Cage towards a Primer, was honestly too overwhelming to aknowledge the natural suspicion of a Human towards a Dark-Skinned Knife-Ear. Nevertheless did I follow him into his decent estate. He asked me to sit down on a table and before I knew what happened, was I tied down to mentioned furniture and had a bright light in my eyes. Especially with all the blood in my right eye, it was hard to assess the situation, like I was ever so used to. Before I knew what had happened, the "Healer" turned out to be a Xaositect, with the intention of "removing" the injury... By plucking my eye out. He then proceeded "to close the scars". For matters of good taste I will leave the rest of the procedure in the mists of the past. But I know, that afterwards, I saw the Pet-Spider devouring my precious Visionary-Organ. This I could not take and in terror, I remember that image, every time I cross paths with one of those insectoid, disgusting beings of life. In my desperation, I grew unknown Strengths and freed myself of my miserable state and somehow managed to kill the pet and its master. How, I cannot remember. The next hours were again blurry. But I guess I sat down at the Doorstep, covered in the man's blood, covering the spot, from which I once saw the rest of the world.
Now this was my first impression and I must have sat there for half a day. I was thristy, hungry and prepared to kill the next best berk, that would get near me. At this point, I would like to mention, that I am anything but a religious man. The Gods do their business and I do mine, as my father always taught me. We deal with their mortal personnel, but we never attempt anything more. Hence I believe it was pure Luck, what happened shortly after my residence on that doorstep. A well-dressed woman, with the appearance of both a Throne Archeron and a Succubus alike, happened to pass that miserable toddler, that embraced a knife, like it was his newborn child. As she appraised me, she actually stopped, sat down next to me and produced a rolled smoking stick, similar to the ones, I have been enjoying ever since. For no appearant reason, I built up an immediate trust towards that woman. I won't mention her name, due to reasons of personal affairs. Either way, this most generous of women offered me that cigarette and a fixed position in her establishment. I agreed. Looking back, it might have been a spell or her natural appeal which forced me to agree. The establishment she owned, turned out to be one of the Hive's popular Brothels. At first I began work as an errand boy, discovering the landscape of the Hive and then after an incident, which involved one of the employed Ladies, a drunk customer and my experience with weapons, I took over a position in security management. 3 or 4 years had I worked in that place, which I considered my home. My employer taught me from this temporary home, everything about the Cage and the art to act completely neutral in this environment filled with extremes. Also, I learned one or two things in matters of.... Anatomy, in this most exotic of environments. I enjoyed my time, until this etablissement, like so many others, had to close down, due to reasons unknown to me. My theories though always evolve around the nature of my employer and her heritage... Or maybe it was plainly financial. Either way, was I without occupation, but qualifications and an open mindset. And a small silver box, that I inherited from my mistress, filled to the top with those smoking sticks, she offered me from time to time. I guess this was the beginning of my career and adventures on the level of the Multiverse.
He looked over his table and apart from Karde or somebody bringing in messages or other paperwork, he was mostly to himself. Damned! He looked again at the ring, frowned and turned his glance towards the small leather notebook next to him. With a frown he picked up the quill and the can of ink and continued to write:
Of course my first footsteps in Sigil were marked by confusion and cold paranoia, like any clueless... But in my wounded condition it was even more intense. I stumbled through the streets of the Hive, looking around, asking where I was. Of course everyone I saw did the worst possible to a child in this condition: They told me. So here I was, barely of age, bleeding like a stabbed pig and scared and pretty close to a nervous breakdown. After a painful two or three hours, a friendly Drow, dressed in suspiciously bright colors, who offered his services as a healer. To be honest, at this point, the Strangeness of the Cage towards a Primer, was honestly too overwhelming to aknowledge the natural suspicion of a Human towards a Dark-Skinned Knife-Ear. Nevertheless did I follow him into his decent estate. He asked me to sit down on a table and before I knew what happened, was I tied down to mentioned furniture and had a bright light in my eyes. Especially with all the blood in my right eye, it was hard to assess the situation, like I was ever so used to. Before I knew what had happened, the "Healer" turned out to be a Xaositect, with the intention of "removing" the injury... By plucking my eye out. He then proceeded "to close the scars". For matters of good taste I will leave the rest of the procedure in the mists of the past. But I know, that afterwards, I saw the Pet-Spider devouring my precious Visionary-Organ. This I could not take and in terror, I remember that image, every time I cross paths with one of those insectoid, disgusting beings of life. In my desperation, I grew unknown Strengths and freed myself of my miserable state and somehow managed to kill the pet and its master. How, I cannot remember. The next hours were again blurry. But I guess I sat down at the Doorstep, covered in the man's blood, covering the spot, from which I once saw the rest of the world.
Now this was my first impression and I must have sat there for half a day. I was thristy, hungry and prepared to kill the next best berk, that would get near me. At this point, I would like to mention, that I am anything but a religious man. The Gods do their business and I do mine, as my father always taught me. We deal with their mortal personnel, but we never attempt anything more. Hence I believe it was pure Luck, what happened shortly after my residence on that doorstep. A well-dressed woman, with the appearance of both a Throne Archeron and a Succubus alike, happened to pass that miserable toddler, that embraced a knife, like it was his newborn child. As she appraised me, she actually stopped, sat down next to me and produced a rolled smoking stick, similar to the ones, I have been enjoying ever since. For no appearant reason, I built up an immediate trust towards that woman. I won't mention her name, due to reasons of personal affairs. Either way, this most generous of women offered me that cigarette and a fixed position in her establishment. I agreed. Looking back, it might have been a spell or her natural appeal which forced me to agree. The establishment she owned, turned out to be one of the Hive's popular Brothels. At first I began work as an errand boy, discovering the landscape of the Hive and then after an incident, which involved one of the employed Ladies, a drunk customer and my experience with weapons, I took over a position in security management. 3 or 4 years had I worked in that place, which I considered my home. My employer taught me from this temporary home, everything about the Cage and the art to act completely neutral in this environment filled with extremes. Also, I learned one or two things in matters of.... Anatomy, in this most exotic of environments. I enjoyed my time, until this etablissement, like so many others, had to close down, due to reasons unknown to me. My theories though always evolve around the nature of my employer and her heritage... Or maybe it was plainly financial. Either way, was I without occupation, but qualifications and an open mindset. And a small silver box, that I inherited from my mistress, filled to the top with those smoking sticks, she offered me from time to time. I guess this was the beginning of my career and adventures on the level of the Multiverse.
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*B-Smith
- Posts: 23
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
The smell of the Hive was filling Fargul's nose. It had to be really strong, since his nose didn't function properly anymore. Due to the fact that it got broken so many times. He looked to the right, read the sign over the bar, noticed he didn't know it and simply walked in. It was dark inside. The smoke hang low over the tables. He couldn't make out how large it was. And who was inside. The attempt of a lightsource came from the bar counter. He made his way straight through and sat down. The bartender was only a rough shilouette. Fine with him. He ordered something that was on his mind and recieved the drink. It tasted like Whiskey... Or wine... Or Ale?
"Taste good still?", Fargul looked up and noticed the bartender spoke good to him.
-"I dunno. I never been 'ere before.".
The calm chuckle from the other side of the bar told him wrong.
"You were here a couple of nights ago, cutter.".
-"Cannae be. I've never seen this place 'fore. How long 'ave ye been open now?"
"This place? It's been open forever."
-"I tell you, it's the first time that I've been here!"
The shilouette shrugged and continued to polish glasses. This was certainly peculiar. Maybe he forgot that he has been here once. Maybe it was one of those typical Sigil moments. Maybe one of those other Dimensional figures was still around. Or maybe he simply didn't care anymore. All of a sudden he heard someone move from behind. Another shilouette moved next to him, sat down and ordered something mumbled. From the corner of his eye, he saw the figure turned towards Fargul.
"How's life Fargul?"
-"Cannae complain 'nuff, mate."
"Dun'look like it tae me. Why duncha tell me, wha's wrong."
-"'S nuffin'. Jus' a couple o' things on ma mind."
"Sumbody like ya kin have those state o' minds? Never imagined that. Why duncha start tellin' yer ol' buddy 'ere?"
Fargul pondered a moment. He didn't know that guy. But something told him, it was alright. He noticed a longer beard and grey rough hair. Also the eyepatch was greyish in color. In the belt he could spot a single Katana.
-"Ye think, it'd be easy nowadays tae live simple? Sumtimes I wonder if I kin still call sum folks actual friends. But y'know, I'm kinda stuck between ma own failures at th' moment. Me girlfiend keeps on tellin' me it's alright... But still. I dunno if I wanna throw everythin' away n' spend th' rest o' ma life wit fightin' or if I wanna stay n' try summin' new... Or if I wanna keep on goin'."
"Sounds tae me like a proper crisis... But y'know wha'? Tha's all bull! Yer a man after all. So stop fockin' whinin' n' act like un!"
Fargul looked his conversation partner up and down. He had a whiskey and his skin was a bit pale.
-"Screw it yer roit. I'll jus' see n' wait, wha' happens... 'n ye know why?"
"Why?"
-"Because men do nah sob, men do nah pout, men strike ya in th' fockin' jaw and say 'Thanks fer comin' out!'"
"Tha's th' spirit son!"
And with these words, the man next to him lit a cigarette and slendered outside with his hands in his pockets. Fargul sat there for another 2 hours, drank quietly to himself, paid and left aswell. He really did like this bar. It was cozy. The next few nights he tried to find it again, but never did...
"Taste good still?", Fargul looked up and noticed the bartender spoke good to him.
-"I dunno. I never been 'ere before.".
The calm chuckle from the other side of the bar told him wrong.
"You were here a couple of nights ago, cutter.".
-"Cannae be. I've never seen this place 'fore. How long 'ave ye been open now?"
"This place? It's been open forever."
-"I tell you, it's the first time that I've been here!"
The shilouette shrugged and continued to polish glasses. This was certainly peculiar. Maybe he forgot that he has been here once. Maybe it was one of those typical Sigil moments. Maybe one of those other Dimensional figures was still around. Or maybe he simply didn't care anymore. All of a sudden he heard someone move from behind. Another shilouette moved next to him, sat down and ordered something mumbled. From the corner of his eye, he saw the figure turned towards Fargul.
"How's life Fargul?"
-"Cannae complain 'nuff, mate."
"Dun'look like it tae me. Why duncha tell me, wha's wrong."
-"'S nuffin'. Jus' a couple o' things on ma mind."
"Sumbody like ya kin have those state o' minds? Never imagined that. Why duncha start tellin' yer ol' buddy 'ere?"
Fargul pondered a moment. He didn't know that guy. But something told him, it was alright. He noticed a longer beard and grey rough hair. Also the eyepatch was greyish in color. In the belt he could spot a single Katana.
-"Ye think, it'd be easy nowadays tae live simple? Sumtimes I wonder if I kin still call sum folks actual friends. But y'know, I'm kinda stuck between ma own failures at th' moment. Me girlfiend keeps on tellin' me it's alright... But still. I dunno if I wanna throw everythin' away n' spend th' rest o' ma life wit fightin' or if I wanna stay n' try summin' new... Or if I wanna keep on goin'."
"Sounds tae me like a proper crisis... But y'know wha'? Tha's all bull! Yer a man after all. So stop fockin' whinin' n' act like un!"
Fargul looked his conversation partner up and down. He had a whiskey and his skin was a bit pale.
-"Screw it yer roit. I'll jus' see n' wait, wha' happens... 'n ye know why?"
"Why?"
-"Because men do nah sob, men do nah pout, men strike ya in th' fockin' jaw and say 'Thanks fer comin' out!'"
"Tha's th' spirit son!"
And with these words, the man next to him lit a cigarette and slendered outside with his hands in his pockets. Fargul sat there for another 2 hours, drank quietly to himself, paid and left aswell. He really did like this bar. It was cozy. The next few nights he tried to find it again, but never did...