Ferret
Explorer
The back ground
Your life was tough in the slums, had you been normal you might still be there, although it was a filthy place, with more rats then people. However, you had survived their all your life their. You grandmother had been an adventurer, tells told of fights on other planes of existence. Yet she had been captured, or so everyone thought, no one had seen her, although by know she would be too old to adventure any more.
It started 10 years back when the crowd came, merchants, hadn’t liked the way you begged around their stalls, or the way you looked different, they wouldn’t had cared if you were dieing in a burning house, all they would wish to save would be their money and their lives. A night later, they arrived, you stopped them, maybe it was your attitude the way you stood against the odds, or the way you had had light the stick you mused about using if this happened. Nevertheless, they left, as astounded as you at your innate powers. Though that did not wipe minds of what you had done, which was confirmed their fears.
A week later, the local mage was secretly paid to search everyone, see if any were different if any had divine blood; he found you he inform them, eager to get extra pay. A week later, the same greedy mage advised them to kill you, to be done; he probed their minds and played on their fears, finally agreeing he set about the preparation, keen to get the next sack of shining gold.
It was a horror, that stormy night would have been almost as treacherous with our without the mages help, great lightning bolts raced across the sky, and meteors struck near and around you. The house burned all night long, you saw the burned carcasses, dripping with blood and skin, some had simply turned to a charcoal black, past the melting stage too fast for them to notice their death. You can still remember with terrifying vividness, jumping out of the house, rolling on the floor to extinguish the flames that surely licked your body, but none of that searing heat had touched you.
You had been pushed farther into the darkness of Hule, the only reason you were no longer hunted was that they believed you would never survive that hellhole, self-defence was far more important here, no longer did you fight for scraps, thrown on the floor, in here you had to fight for you life. Even though it wasn’t as enjoyable as on the main streets, it was a lot easier, none of the gangs had the power of the merchants, and few had ever seen a cantrip, let alone the power that corrupted mage had seen. You learned much their, opting to run rather then fight, you never missed a fight you weren’t in though, you knew hardly any self-defence, and was amazed at all the feints these children knew, more then once a child, half your age, had tripped you up, or distracted you with a well practiced, feint.
A year or two had you nearly to the top of the food chain; that was when you tried resurfacing from the pool of nauseating, corruption. They had been shocked, your mere visage acting like some death symbol, and quick were they to remove you of their city, it amazed you the fear they had, the fear that grasped at their money-pouches.
You had far less luck outside the town; villages rarely let you rest, preferring to keep you out of their towns. It was not the warm fire of a kind cleric, or the quick death from a bandit that gave you solace, A kindly traveller met you, mistaking you for a bandit. He lunged in with a deft unarmed strike, and another both going wide. The next moment you were on you back, rolling back, purely out of instinct. However, by now you realised the old monk’s tactics and could avoid his blows. You started disarming attacks, and rapidly the tides had turned, he was pinned to the floor,
“Why do you attack me?” You said, “Why do you attack when I have fewer possessions then you?”
“You are not a bandit?” He said, rolling over and getting up in a jump. “Then truly it my apology I must hand over, not a sack of coins!” Said the monk merrily, and you both laughed, the sound off, your laughter filling your heart with joy. It was late that evening that he invited you back to his house, far back, near one of the villages you had, been in before,
“I shall give you a bed for the night,” The monk said, as soon as you had stepped inside.
“I thank you, but…” You started of afraid to sound silly or rude, “Could you teach me how to fight like you did? It would be a great boon as I have no money to buy weapons.”
It was a sad day when you departed, even though the sun shone brightly , it did not penetrate the depression you felt, now; but you had to strengthen your resolve. It was half way down the path to the road you remembered your grandmother…
Your life was tough in the slums, had you been normal you might still be there, although it was a filthy place, with more rats then people. However, you had survived their all your life their. You grandmother had been an adventurer, tells told of fights on other planes of existence. Yet she had been captured, or so everyone thought, no one had seen her, although by know she would be too old to adventure any more.
It started 10 years back when the crowd came, merchants, hadn’t liked the way you begged around their stalls, or the way you looked different, they wouldn’t had cared if you were dieing in a burning house, all they would wish to save would be their money and their lives. A night later, they arrived, you stopped them, maybe it was your attitude the way you stood against the odds, or the way you had had light the stick you mused about using if this happened. Nevertheless, they left, as astounded as you at your innate powers. Though that did not wipe minds of what you had done, which was confirmed their fears.
A week later, the local mage was secretly paid to search everyone, see if any were different if any had divine blood; he found you he inform them, eager to get extra pay. A week later, the same greedy mage advised them to kill you, to be done; he probed their minds and played on their fears, finally agreeing he set about the preparation, keen to get the next sack of shining gold.
It was a horror, that stormy night would have been almost as treacherous with our without the mages help, great lightning bolts raced across the sky, and meteors struck near and around you. The house burned all night long, you saw the burned carcasses, dripping with blood and skin, some had simply turned to a charcoal black, past the melting stage too fast for them to notice their death. You can still remember with terrifying vividness, jumping out of the house, rolling on the floor to extinguish the flames that surely licked your body, but none of that searing heat had touched you.
You had been pushed farther into the darkness of Hule, the only reason you were no longer hunted was that they believed you would never survive that hellhole, self-defence was far more important here, no longer did you fight for scraps, thrown on the floor, in here you had to fight for you life. Even though it wasn’t as enjoyable as on the main streets, it was a lot easier, none of the gangs had the power of the merchants, and few had ever seen a cantrip, let alone the power that corrupted mage had seen. You learned much their, opting to run rather then fight, you never missed a fight you weren’t in though, you knew hardly any self-defence, and was amazed at all the feints these children knew, more then once a child, half your age, had tripped you up, or distracted you with a well practiced, feint.
A year or two had you nearly to the top of the food chain; that was when you tried resurfacing from the pool of nauseating, corruption. They had been shocked, your mere visage acting like some death symbol, and quick were they to remove you of their city, it amazed you the fear they had, the fear that grasped at their money-pouches.
You had far less luck outside the town; villages rarely let you rest, preferring to keep you out of their towns. It was not the warm fire of a kind cleric, or the quick death from a bandit that gave you solace, A kindly traveller met you, mistaking you for a bandit. He lunged in with a deft unarmed strike, and another both going wide. The next moment you were on you back, rolling back, purely out of instinct. However, by now you realised the old monk’s tactics and could avoid his blows. You started disarming attacks, and rapidly the tides had turned, he was pinned to the floor,
“Why do you attack me?” You said, “Why do you attack when I have fewer possessions then you?”
“You are not a bandit?” He said, rolling over and getting up in a jump. “Then truly it my apology I must hand over, not a sack of coins!” Said the monk merrily, and you both laughed, the sound off, your laughter filling your heart with joy. It was late that evening that he invited you back to his house, far back, near one of the villages you had, been in before,
“I shall give you a bed for the night,” The monk said, as soon as you had stepped inside.
“I thank you, but…” You started of afraid to sound silly or rude, “Could you teach me how to fight like you did? It would be a great boon as I have no money to buy weapons.”
It was a sad day when you departed, even though the sun shone brightly , it did not penetrate the depression you felt, now; but you had to strengthen your resolve. It was half way down the path to the road you remembered your grandmother…
