jonshaft
First Post
This is my attempt at writing the background to a character I had the fortunate pleasure of playing, yet had the unfortunate pleasure of losing every crucial die roll it would seem. I guess its an homage to the ubiquitous aspect of seemingly non-random die tossery.
He approached the ring of stones cautiously, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other tightly wrapped around the small woolen bundle he bore. “Cyron, Cyron Nobble are you here?” The only reply was the howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves to the right.
“It has been a long time… Lord Batrim” the druid replied “and under what auspiciousness do you attempt to enter my grove on this sacred night?”
“Its your help I require. I know I haven’t been much of a friend to you as of late but you are the only one” at this the man who was Lord Batrim fell to his knees tears welling in his eyes as he thrust the bundle toward the surprised druid.
Unwrapping the bundle the druid looked upon the form of an infant, a newborn really. It looked sickly and blue and not long for this world. “This child is dying, there is nothing that can be done by me. Take it to a priest, they’ve more experience in matters such as these and tonight especially I cannot be wasted with such a burden. The moon is at zenith and the stones will speak later.”
Between sobs Batrim pleaded “you don’t understand, this is my heir, my only heir, I cannot take it to the priests. If I do my enemies will find out and they will see my sick child and take it as a sign of my weakness. My hold in this region is tenuous at best. I cannot hope to maintain current alliances If I do something like this.”
“What of the child’s mother, does she know of your wishes and of this journey?”
“Delarya suffered much through the birth and was administered a sleeping draught afterwards for her own safety. I was afraid she might be lost as well if she knew of the child’s difficulties.”
“I knew her always to be a strong woman; what has become of you two since we last parted ways?”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through. Starting a kingdom here was originally such a bold notion and a new adventure for the two of us. Its so hard. She needs this child more than I do, and I can’t go on without her.”
Cyron Nobble grabbed his beard and tugged, a nervous gesture he picked up while lost in thought. He realized this should not be an issue. This festival happened once a year, Dragontide it was called. It was the time when the full moon cast its silvery sheen on the first frost of the season and everything shimmered like the scales of a silver dragon. Surely the festival rights outweighed the necessity of one being. Besides it would be a corruption of the flow of nature to aid this child. His Druidic Vows taught him that. But still, Batrim was an old friend and Dalarya so much more. If his attachment to the land wasn’t so strong it might have been him with her instead. “Yes, I’ll do it” he mulled aloud as much to himself as to Batrim. “But for her, and not for you.”
Taking the child in his arms he moved toward the circle of stones. “Stay here and I will return as soon as I can. I make no promises as to what might occur as this sort of thing is not my expertise, but know that my heart is in this venture and everything that I can do will be done.” With this he seemed to dissolve into the night taking the small bundle with him leaving an exhausted and worried Batrim behind.
He placed the child on the altar at the middle of the stones and examined it in the light of the full moon. It looked frail and weak, and didn’t move at all. The difficulty of this incantation was such that the body needed a modicum of physical health for the incantation to work. This child clearly could not take the strain of breathing let alone the strain of the magic he would use. He needed a medium of some kind to impart strength to the child, luckily he had such a thing as needed for the festival tonight. It was a vial containing the blood of a copper dragon he had the pleasure of meeting some years ago. It was to be used tonight anyway so why would it matter if he used it to aid the child? He removed his holly bough and his mistletoe and set them beside the child. Next he arranged the sacred oils and unguents he would need to help power the spell and began to chant. This type of incantation took a long time and the results were always a bit unpredictable. But it was all he could do as a druid. Restoration and granting life were more the work of a priest and not a worshipper of nature. The best they could do was to reanimate the spirit into a new form. Cyron Nobble had only used this power once before and it resulted luckily in the spirit returning in a similar enough body that only cosmetic magics were needed to finish the rest. Without the help of a mage though, the result tonight would be very interesting. Halfway through the incantation the holly and mistletoe started to glow and tiny roots began to weave their way around the small body from one plant to the other. Cyron’s chanting began to heighten and a rhythm developed in his voice. The magic of the stones seemed to make the words more clear and each syllable leapt from his tongue as he raced to recite the ancient Druidic Speech before it vanished from his mind. The now bundle of twigs soon started pulsing and glowing, a living cyst of some kind, but only weakly at first. Cyron decided now was the time to add the dragon’s blood and poured it in mid-speech. The air swirled around him and an acrid odor rose from the mass, but with it an outpouring of light. Squinting to keep from being blinded Cyron could hardly look as he reached the apex of his recital. With a bright flash and a searing heat the spell was over. Cyron collapsed steam rising from his tired body and he felt older than he had for many years. He closed his eyes too weary to even rise up and see what happened.
“NOOOOOOOO!”
Cyron awoke at the base of the altar to a loud scream. Standing above him was Batrim with a look of absolute shock and disgust on his face. “WHAT have you done with my child? What is this creature, this monster, this thing is not my son.”
“I warned you of my limitations. The child lives and is stronger now for what has happened.” Cyron rose shakily to his feet and gazed on the altar. On it was a small child, if it could be called that. Its humanity existed in form mainly but it had decidedly orcish features, that is except for its eyes. The eyes were reptilian, draconic to be more precise, and shone with a coppery luster. The most striking feature by far was the way the eyes darted everywhere so full of life. Taking in the surroundings and drinking up the night in amazement. The child gurgled and moved with a vivacity previously unknown, but none of this seemed to appease the father.
“I cannot take this with me. This monstrosity should never have been born. I must end it here and now.” Stricken mad the lord pulled his sword from its scabbard. Over three feet of razor sharp steel met the call of his hand and it was poised to pierce the heart of the now healthy child.
“Stop!” Cyron cried desperately. “Not after what I have done. Leave now. You have your kingdom but in this grove my word is law.” With that the trees seemed to grow menacingly toward Batrim and the sound of rustling could be heard as a large shape entered the grove to dwarf even Batrim.
Answering the plea of its friend the bear stood up on its hind legs and roared a challenge at the warrior. At over twelve feet in height the awesome presence of the bear restored what little common sense Batrim had left in mind as he ran from the grove and from the presence of the hideous child.
“Enough Nibble,” Cyron told his companion and the bear reared back down to aid the still shaky druid and lend a shoulder to steady his walk. “It would appear my friend that we have a new pup to rear, and a real mutt at that. Yes I think that will do nicely say hello to your brother Mutt, Nibble.”
The bear made a low moan and lay down. Cyron grabbed the child and curled up in the warmth of his bear companion. Mutt just cooed.
He approached the ring of stones cautiously, one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other tightly wrapped around the small woolen bundle he bore. “Cyron, Cyron Nobble are you here?” The only reply was the howling of the wind and the rustling of leaves to the right.
“It has been a long time… Lord Batrim” the druid replied “and under what auspiciousness do you attempt to enter my grove on this sacred night?”
“Its your help I require. I know I haven’t been much of a friend to you as of late but you are the only one” at this the man who was Lord Batrim fell to his knees tears welling in his eyes as he thrust the bundle toward the surprised druid.
Unwrapping the bundle the druid looked upon the form of an infant, a newborn really. It looked sickly and blue and not long for this world. “This child is dying, there is nothing that can be done by me. Take it to a priest, they’ve more experience in matters such as these and tonight especially I cannot be wasted with such a burden. The moon is at zenith and the stones will speak later.”
Between sobs Batrim pleaded “you don’t understand, this is my heir, my only heir, I cannot take it to the priests. If I do my enemies will find out and they will see my sick child and take it as a sign of my weakness. My hold in this region is tenuous at best. I cannot hope to maintain current alliances If I do something like this.”
“What of the child’s mother, does she know of your wishes and of this journey?”
“Delarya suffered much through the birth and was administered a sleeping draught afterwards for her own safety. I was afraid she might be lost as well if she knew of the child’s difficulties.”
“I knew her always to be a strong woman; what has become of you two since we last parted ways?”
“You don’t understand what we’ve been through. Starting a kingdom here was originally such a bold notion and a new adventure for the two of us. Its so hard. She needs this child more than I do, and I can’t go on without her.”
Cyron Nobble grabbed his beard and tugged, a nervous gesture he picked up while lost in thought. He realized this should not be an issue. This festival happened once a year, Dragontide it was called. It was the time when the full moon cast its silvery sheen on the first frost of the season and everything shimmered like the scales of a silver dragon. Surely the festival rights outweighed the necessity of one being. Besides it would be a corruption of the flow of nature to aid this child. His Druidic Vows taught him that. But still, Batrim was an old friend and Dalarya so much more. If his attachment to the land wasn’t so strong it might have been him with her instead. “Yes, I’ll do it” he mulled aloud as much to himself as to Batrim. “But for her, and not for you.”
Taking the child in his arms he moved toward the circle of stones. “Stay here and I will return as soon as I can. I make no promises as to what might occur as this sort of thing is not my expertise, but know that my heart is in this venture and everything that I can do will be done.” With this he seemed to dissolve into the night taking the small bundle with him leaving an exhausted and worried Batrim behind.
He placed the child on the altar at the middle of the stones and examined it in the light of the full moon. It looked frail and weak, and didn’t move at all. The difficulty of this incantation was such that the body needed a modicum of physical health for the incantation to work. This child clearly could not take the strain of breathing let alone the strain of the magic he would use. He needed a medium of some kind to impart strength to the child, luckily he had such a thing as needed for the festival tonight. It was a vial containing the blood of a copper dragon he had the pleasure of meeting some years ago. It was to be used tonight anyway so why would it matter if he used it to aid the child? He removed his holly bough and his mistletoe and set them beside the child. Next he arranged the sacred oils and unguents he would need to help power the spell and began to chant. This type of incantation took a long time and the results were always a bit unpredictable. But it was all he could do as a druid. Restoration and granting life were more the work of a priest and not a worshipper of nature. The best they could do was to reanimate the spirit into a new form. Cyron Nobble had only used this power once before and it resulted luckily in the spirit returning in a similar enough body that only cosmetic magics were needed to finish the rest. Without the help of a mage though, the result tonight would be very interesting. Halfway through the incantation the holly and mistletoe started to glow and tiny roots began to weave their way around the small body from one plant to the other. Cyron’s chanting began to heighten and a rhythm developed in his voice. The magic of the stones seemed to make the words more clear and each syllable leapt from his tongue as he raced to recite the ancient Druidic Speech before it vanished from his mind. The now bundle of twigs soon started pulsing and glowing, a living cyst of some kind, but only weakly at first. Cyron decided now was the time to add the dragon’s blood and poured it in mid-speech. The air swirled around him and an acrid odor rose from the mass, but with it an outpouring of light. Squinting to keep from being blinded Cyron could hardly look as he reached the apex of his recital. With a bright flash and a searing heat the spell was over. Cyron collapsed steam rising from his tired body and he felt older than he had for many years. He closed his eyes too weary to even rise up and see what happened.
“NOOOOOOOO!”
Cyron awoke at the base of the altar to a loud scream. Standing above him was Batrim with a look of absolute shock and disgust on his face. “WHAT have you done with my child? What is this creature, this monster, this thing is not my son.”
“I warned you of my limitations. The child lives and is stronger now for what has happened.” Cyron rose shakily to his feet and gazed on the altar. On it was a small child, if it could be called that. Its humanity existed in form mainly but it had decidedly orcish features, that is except for its eyes. The eyes were reptilian, draconic to be more precise, and shone with a coppery luster. The most striking feature by far was the way the eyes darted everywhere so full of life. Taking in the surroundings and drinking up the night in amazement. The child gurgled and moved with a vivacity previously unknown, but none of this seemed to appease the father.
“I cannot take this with me. This monstrosity should never have been born. I must end it here and now.” Stricken mad the lord pulled his sword from its scabbard. Over three feet of razor sharp steel met the call of his hand and it was poised to pierce the heart of the now healthy child.
“Stop!” Cyron cried desperately. “Not after what I have done. Leave now. You have your kingdom but in this grove my word is law.” With that the trees seemed to grow menacingly toward Batrim and the sound of rustling could be heard as a large shape entered the grove to dwarf even Batrim.
Answering the plea of its friend the bear stood up on its hind legs and roared a challenge at the warrior. At over twelve feet in height the awesome presence of the bear restored what little common sense Batrim had left in mind as he ran from the grove and from the presence of the hideous child.
“Enough Nibble,” Cyron told his companion and the bear reared back down to aid the still shaky druid and lend a shoulder to steady his walk. “It would appear my friend that we have a new pup to rear, and a real mutt at that. Yes I think that will do nicely say hello to your brother Mutt, Nibble.”
The bear made a low moan and lay down. Cyron grabbed the child and curled up in the warmth of his bear companion. Mutt just cooed.
