A Warforged with a big club walks into a bar
Wandering the streets of Sharn, a group of adventurer wannabees stumbled in to each other.
A pair of Shifters, Eevo and Luna, had formed a guarded alliance with a young cleric of the Silver Flame who looked so young she might have been wearing her father's adventuring gear. They had met while tagging along with a merchant caravan on the road to Sharn, and their parallel desires to seek their fortune in Sharn, along with their mutual awe at the sight of the city of towers, bound them together, at least temporarily.
On a lift, taking them up to the inhabited levels of the city -- while craning their necks one way, then the other, they met a Warforged who had apparently been riding the lift most of the day -- up and down, up and down, talking to ther travelers that were coming and going from the city.
Luna sidled up to him, noting the large club he was leaning on. "Whatcher name?"
"Warforged," answered the warforged.
"No, really. What is it" asked Jen.
"Warforged."
Eevo walked around behind the warforged, sniffing him, tapping an adamantine-covered sholder with a long claw. "Hrf. Piece of Crap, I'd say."
The Warforged looked at Eevo and blinked. "No, Warforged."
But Luna had caught on to something. "Heh. P O C, Poc. We'll call you poc."
"But my name is Warforged. . . . "
"Hey," asked Luna, feeling the first drops of a rainshower, "Will you rust?"
"No."
"Are you suuure?"
***
Eevo walked through the city with the other three, wondering if this was how it happened -- did adventurers just meet like this? And why had the not-so-bright Warforged tagged along with them, rather than ride the lift up and down the rest of the day.
But, mostly, he thought about his newfound love. Just thinking about Berry, about the time he had spent with her, about the ink-smudged letters he had already sent to her (would they arrive? would she write to him?). Just thinking about her again, he could feel the bear bristling and rousing within, aching to be released. But this wasn't the time for the bear.
Then the rain started, and Eevo looked up at the towers above, and the grey sky between them. How high did this city go, anyway?
***
Jen walked through Sharn, marvelling at the different people, different faiths, different . . . everything. Thrane was a much more homogenous place, and she had spent so much of her time preparing at the monastery that she had not really been exposed to too much diversity before. And the road to Sharn had been interesting, but nothing can prepare you for the first time you come around the bend and see the towers ahead -- not to mention the vertigo of the ride up the side of the towers, or the experience of walking around the city, seeing so many different kinds of people. Even goblinoids -- hobgoblin tailors, goblin fruit-vendors, even a group of gnoll mercenaries drinking in an outdoor beergarden. The gnolls sat next to a table full of House Deneith mercenaries, and they weren't even giving each other the evil eye.
She could see why Father Champeon had been unhappy with her decision to head for Sharn right away. "The sins of that city are very tempting, young Jen," he had said. "You might be better served to spend some time on patrol in Thrane, a bit closer to home. If you go to Sharn and get into trouble, you may be very much on your own there. It's a dangerous place, and while there is a church there, and some faithful, you won't find them to be the sort of support you've had here. You will feel very much alone.
She had, of course, decided to travel to Sharn anyway. It might be the biggest, most dangerous city in all of Khorvaire, but it was also the best place to find ways to distinguish herself. And, Jen's desire to distinguish herself (for the greater glory of the Voice, of course!) was powerful indeed.
Champeon had not been surprised by her decision -- and, she though, not truly disappointed. He had given her his own copy of the scriptures when she left.
***
Luna slipped through the crowd, following along behind Eevo (who kept asking for directions to the Bardic College at Morgrave University) and Jen. She was also distracted by the sights and sounds of the city, but, as always, did her best to maintain a center of calm in the middle of her mind. The place from which her blade would spring forth, upon command.
Luna was fresh from her training with the Kalashtar brothers at the Dream Academy in Wroat. There she had learned to draw out the power of her own soul into a blade of psionic energy. In the training rooms of the academy she had sparred with her trainers and other students -- mostly Kalashtar -- but she had never used her mind blade in true combat.
She had been a bit of an outcast at the Adademy. She was the only shifter there at the time -- and while there had been other shifters in the history of the school, there had not been many. Most of the instructors has believed that the chaotic nature of a shifter was not suited to the rigorous discipline of any sort of psionic study. But one instructor, Margellith, told her the he believed in her, that he knew that the discipline of the mind blade was the same discipline that kept the tiger in her bloodstream from expressing itself. Margellith worked hard to counsel her, to break her of the habits she had grown up with -- of releasing the cat in her when faced with trouble, letting it all flow forth in an adreanal rush of feral fury. Instead, he taught her the power of control, and discipline. He taught her that the sharp edge of her soul was far sharper than any claw.
And, of course, she trained. And while she trained, the cat within curled up and slept around the calm core of her soul, like a tabby dozing in the sun.
Now, pacing through the city, she felt the cat's curiousity testing the controls of her training. She wanted to look at everything, smell everything, taste all the foods, to look into all of the dark corners of the city. But that would have to wait.
*****
Warforged walked along behind the group. He was quite young, even for a warforged -- less that a year old -- and he had spent that whole year in the city of Sharn itself. He had worked odd jobs for as long as he could remember -- carrying this, pushing that. Enough to keep himself in good repair.
When he wasn't working, he liked to wander, and see different things. Some days, like today, he would buy a lift ticked and spend hours riding the lift up and down, up and down, talking to anyone who would talk to him. Most were wary of him, and would only exchange a few pleasantries. Some were frightened by him. But the guards had gotten used to seeing him going up and down, up and down, and they were mostly friendly about his hobby.
Now, this group. They had given him a name -- a new name, something other than Warforged. He wasn't sure he liked the name at all -- Poc. But they had given it to him, and it seemed impolite to reject it out of hand. He would hope to find a better name soon.
"What's that", asked the shifter Luna, absently stroking the orange and black hair on her forearm. She was pointing at his club.
"It's my club."
"It's . . . nice."
"I put this nail in it last week. Do you like it?"
She nodded, but didn't say anything more. There was something up ahead, in the rain.
