Renfield
First Post
I recently had my first Castles and Crusades adventure and had come up with a concept for an assassin character that I really liked. The game went well and I enjoyed being a player again for the first time in a long time and decided I might write an SH based on the experiences of my character. So here we are with the story hour of Jorun's Journey.
The sky was grey. Not dark and wicked, or bright and beautiful, simply grey. At least that was what Jorun noticed as he fell down the cliff side pushed off by a strong gale of the mountain winds and hurtled, bouncing, to the rocks below. There was a crack, there were plenty of cracks however one in particular that he felt, at the base of the skull, then a warm seeping sensation as his vision blurred and became a bright white light. It cleared not long after, though he knew it had been longer than it seemed, for it was night then, the moon tried forcing its light through the clouds succeeding ever so slightly.
Jorun was thinking, dreaming, with his eyes wide open and his vision perfect. He dreamt of childhood, his mother and siblings, he knew they existed but could not quite remember where. I dreamt of a father who died but could not quite recall his name, only crying, which seemed appropriate so he did so as he lay there. He recalled a small town, or perhaps a large village, what it was called and where was blank. Somewhere near these very mountains he suspected. Then he recalled the wind and it was then that the wind spoke to him.
You will live. The wind said, and Jorun knew this to be true. You will live and do good works. Jorun thought this made sense. One near death who survives such an experience appreciates life, and death, all the more.
“I will live.” He said to the wind. He couldn’t tell if he did so in his mind or through his mouth. He still hurt too much to tell. “I am hungry.” By this time it was morning and his stomach craved food.
Then eat said the wind. Jorun heard something nearby and slowly slipped his fingers around a rock clutching it in his hand. He waited until the thing was close and then struck, bashing the rabbits skull in a swift strike he quickly gripped it with both hands and broke its neck. Sitting up straight he began to remove the skin of the rabbit with a sharp rock and soon ate.
His mouth and front stained with blood, both his own and the hares, he smiled. He was no longer hungry. His head still hurt though so he stood up slowly. He paused only for a moment upon realized he moved with ease. He had felt bones break, felt his right arm and left leg bend the wrong way as bone splintered and tore through skin. However he seemed fine at the moment. Save the back of his head.
There is a price you must pay the wind sighed. Jorun nodded and replied with a simple “I know.”
The work you do will be dark but good it explained. He had a vague idea what the wind desired. Life is precious, there are those who do not appreciate the value of life, of the freedom to live life, to flow and exist as the wind. Jorun understood completely.
“How might I help the good enjoy their lives and the wicked respect that sanctity?” Jorun asked the wind. Still not too sure if he was speaking or thinking. Either way the wind understood.
Show them their mortality.
With that Jorun followed the wind. It led him through the ravine to a place where he could climb up to the forested mountainside. These mountains were in the Southeastern corner of the Eastern province and protected his lands from the desert, however the winds were strong here and could be the end of one who was not careful, or in the case of the young lad: the beginning. He wandered throughout the day knowing he was still bleeding lightly and that his head hurt severely, still he walked, for the wind directed his movements. He would never go home again, not without necessity, for all he had of home were the haziest of memories and that was all there would ever be. He had to repay the wind, to do good deeds and fight wickedness, even if that meant doing wicked and dark deeds him self.
Soon he saw the light ahead a fire crackling in a clearing near the base of the mountain. It seemed strange one would camp here for something, an old memory or perhaps the wind, told him there were no roads near by. As he entered the clearing the clouds parted and the moon shone through. Its pale light seemed to outshine the fire for the briefest moment and Jorun knew the person here was a friend.
“Greetings.” said the man in a heavily accented trade tongue. He wore a black cloth around his head and had a short, neatly trimmed black beard, were his hair not hidden Jorun figured it was black as well. He wore strange robes, nothing like the clothing the boy wore or recalled in his memories. “Welcome moon-touched, I am Hashim”
“I am Jorun. May I share your fire?” the boy said and sat down when the man nodded. The man had what appeared to be a curved dagger at his side and his black robes were accented with blue. His eyes were piercing and so brown you could almost say they were black. “I was… I was led here.” He said, a little nervous considering how strange it sounded, the man might think he was crazy and the bad part was that Jorun was worried he’d be right.
“It is good to see you Jorun.” The man said and offered the boy some of his meat; he ate not realizing he had been so hungry.
“The wind tells me Hashim means something important.” Jorun said between bites. “That it has something to do with me and my purpose.”
“The wind you say?” the man said, his eyes were unreadable but Jorun knew he was being studied. “The wind would be correct, Hashim means ‘destroyer of evil’. All members of my order take the name, though it was my birth name before that.”
Jorun simply looked at him in silence as though urging him to continue. Hashim gave the lad a strange look and sighed before moving to his pack and pulling out herbs and bandages. “Here, let me help that.” He said with his strange accent and soon bound the boys head. “Leave that on until I change it.” He said and looked up to the moon and back down on the lad, he couldn’t be more than seventeen cycles old. “I am of the Sacred Brotherhood of the Moonblades’.” The man said as he put a pot onto the fire. “Your people would call as assassins, daggers in the dark and fouler things.” He said looking at Jorun as though gauging his reaction.
“Of course, people fear those who deal in death, as well as the unknown, the two combined in one would give people natural pause.” The boy said.
Hashim arched an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “So you aren’t a stupid youth then. Good.” He said and stirred whatever was in the pot. “Yes, we do deal in death and darkness, however we do not kill, like infidel assassins, for profit.” He paused “Though our order accepts donations we kill those wicked men who the righteous cannot touch.” He says with a smile “We do in the night, the dirty work of the light.”
Jorun smiled at this. “Then the wind led me to you for a reason.” He said with a smile. Hashim simply nodded.
The lad stayed with Hashim for two years. The Arthasian was far from home but seemed quite natural in the land of green trees and healthy life giving earth. He taught Jorun everything the lad could learn, stealth, tuning his senses, watching out for traps and how to properly move with stealthy grace. He also taught him how to dance with the wind, walk with the moon and to strike with the darkest night. Jorun was a fast learner and his graduation soon came upon him, for Hashim was not in the northland to teach a fledgling assassin the tricks of the trade. He was there to hunt a murdering bandit who had fled the desert when he had learned that a Moonblade had been sent after him.
Jorun was to replace Hashim in this task and did so with surprising skill. The kill was quick, but long enough for Jorun to complete tradition, for the target had been awake when Jorun took his life. Leaning in behind him as his life’s blood flowed over his katar, a punching dagger Hashim had acquired for him, he whispered into his victims’ ear as he choked out his last breaths “The wind shall carry your spirit to the moon for Judgment before the sun.”
Hashim had left the boy, who he had met at seventeen wounded and wandering through the woods at the call of the wind, a man who had made his first true kill. Jorun took this all in stride, he was doing good works and that was nice, he was making the world safer so that people could be happy, this in turn made him happy. All creatures had a purpose and he had found his.
The sky was grey. Not dark and wicked, or bright and beautiful, simply grey. At least that was what Jorun noticed as he fell down the cliff side pushed off by a strong gale of the mountain winds and hurtled, bouncing, to the rocks below. There was a crack, there were plenty of cracks however one in particular that he felt, at the base of the skull, then a warm seeping sensation as his vision blurred and became a bright white light. It cleared not long after, though he knew it had been longer than it seemed, for it was night then, the moon tried forcing its light through the clouds succeeding ever so slightly.
Jorun was thinking, dreaming, with his eyes wide open and his vision perfect. He dreamt of childhood, his mother and siblings, he knew they existed but could not quite remember where. I dreamt of a father who died but could not quite recall his name, only crying, which seemed appropriate so he did so as he lay there. He recalled a small town, or perhaps a large village, what it was called and where was blank. Somewhere near these very mountains he suspected. Then he recalled the wind and it was then that the wind spoke to him.
You will live. The wind said, and Jorun knew this to be true. You will live and do good works. Jorun thought this made sense. One near death who survives such an experience appreciates life, and death, all the more.
“I will live.” He said to the wind. He couldn’t tell if he did so in his mind or through his mouth. He still hurt too much to tell. “I am hungry.” By this time it was morning and his stomach craved food.
Then eat said the wind. Jorun heard something nearby and slowly slipped his fingers around a rock clutching it in his hand. He waited until the thing was close and then struck, bashing the rabbits skull in a swift strike he quickly gripped it with both hands and broke its neck. Sitting up straight he began to remove the skin of the rabbit with a sharp rock and soon ate.
His mouth and front stained with blood, both his own and the hares, he smiled. He was no longer hungry. His head still hurt though so he stood up slowly. He paused only for a moment upon realized he moved with ease. He had felt bones break, felt his right arm and left leg bend the wrong way as bone splintered and tore through skin. However he seemed fine at the moment. Save the back of his head.
There is a price you must pay the wind sighed. Jorun nodded and replied with a simple “I know.”
The work you do will be dark but good it explained. He had a vague idea what the wind desired. Life is precious, there are those who do not appreciate the value of life, of the freedom to live life, to flow and exist as the wind. Jorun understood completely.
“How might I help the good enjoy their lives and the wicked respect that sanctity?” Jorun asked the wind. Still not too sure if he was speaking or thinking. Either way the wind understood.
Show them their mortality.
With that Jorun followed the wind. It led him through the ravine to a place where he could climb up to the forested mountainside. These mountains were in the Southeastern corner of the Eastern province and protected his lands from the desert, however the winds were strong here and could be the end of one who was not careful, or in the case of the young lad: the beginning. He wandered throughout the day knowing he was still bleeding lightly and that his head hurt severely, still he walked, for the wind directed his movements. He would never go home again, not without necessity, for all he had of home were the haziest of memories and that was all there would ever be. He had to repay the wind, to do good deeds and fight wickedness, even if that meant doing wicked and dark deeds him self.
Soon he saw the light ahead a fire crackling in a clearing near the base of the mountain. It seemed strange one would camp here for something, an old memory or perhaps the wind, told him there were no roads near by. As he entered the clearing the clouds parted and the moon shone through. Its pale light seemed to outshine the fire for the briefest moment and Jorun knew the person here was a friend.
“Greetings.” said the man in a heavily accented trade tongue. He wore a black cloth around his head and had a short, neatly trimmed black beard, were his hair not hidden Jorun figured it was black as well. He wore strange robes, nothing like the clothing the boy wore or recalled in his memories. “Welcome moon-touched, I am Hashim”
“I am Jorun. May I share your fire?” the boy said and sat down when the man nodded. The man had what appeared to be a curved dagger at his side and his black robes were accented with blue. His eyes were piercing and so brown you could almost say they were black. “I was… I was led here.” He said, a little nervous considering how strange it sounded, the man might think he was crazy and the bad part was that Jorun was worried he’d be right.
“It is good to see you Jorun.” The man said and offered the boy some of his meat; he ate not realizing he had been so hungry.
“The wind tells me Hashim means something important.” Jorun said between bites. “That it has something to do with me and my purpose.”
“The wind you say?” the man said, his eyes were unreadable but Jorun knew he was being studied. “The wind would be correct, Hashim means ‘destroyer of evil’. All members of my order take the name, though it was my birth name before that.”
Jorun simply looked at him in silence as though urging him to continue. Hashim gave the lad a strange look and sighed before moving to his pack and pulling out herbs and bandages. “Here, let me help that.” He said with his strange accent and soon bound the boys head. “Leave that on until I change it.” He said and looked up to the moon and back down on the lad, he couldn’t be more than seventeen cycles old. “I am of the Sacred Brotherhood of the Moonblades’.” The man said as he put a pot onto the fire. “Your people would call as assassins, daggers in the dark and fouler things.” He said looking at Jorun as though gauging his reaction.
“Of course, people fear those who deal in death, as well as the unknown, the two combined in one would give people natural pause.” The boy said.
Hashim arched an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “So you aren’t a stupid youth then. Good.” He said and stirred whatever was in the pot. “Yes, we do deal in death and darkness, however we do not kill, like infidel assassins, for profit.” He paused “Though our order accepts donations we kill those wicked men who the righteous cannot touch.” He says with a smile “We do in the night, the dirty work of the light.”
Jorun smiled at this. “Then the wind led me to you for a reason.” He said with a smile. Hashim simply nodded.
The lad stayed with Hashim for two years. The Arthasian was far from home but seemed quite natural in the land of green trees and healthy life giving earth. He taught Jorun everything the lad could learn, stealth, tuning his senses, watching out for traps and how to properly move with stealthy grace. He also taught him how to dance with the wind, walk with the moon and to strike with the darkest night. Jorun was a fast learner and his graduation soon came upon him, for Hashim was not in the northland to teach a fledgling assassin the tricks of the trade. He was there to hunt a murdering bandit who had fled the desert when he had learned that a Moonblade had been sent after him.
Jorun was to replace Hashim in this task and did so with surprising skill. The kill was quick, but long enough for Jorun to complete tradition, for the target had been awake when Jorun took his life. Leaning in behind him as his life’s blood flowed over his katar, a punching dagger Hashim had acquired for him, he whispered into his victims’ ear as he choked out his last breaths “The wind shall carry your spirit to the moon for Judgment before the sun.”
Hashim had left the boy, who he had met at seventeen wounded and wandering through the woods at the call of the wind, a man who had made his first true kill. Jorun took this all in stride, he was doing good works and that was nice, he was making the world safer so that people could be happy, this in turn made him happy. All creatures had a purpose and he had found his.
*******
