mps42
First Post
Denther Mosie backstory
I grew up in a small village outside the city of Port Khemi. Just my father Ered, my mother Maala, myself and my young sister Feeli. It wasn’t much of a village but we called it home. Van Karti was a stern master and King Julah even more so, but, as long as you pay your tithes and follow The Law, you’ll be all right. My childhood, or at least what I remember of it, was happy. I would go out into my father’s fields and run amongst the waving wheat fields, chasing mice or playing at battles with the feirce crow legions.
When I reached my 15th winter, Ered said it was time for me to learn a trade. I always felt welcome in the outdoors so I chose that of a herder. I thought this would be a fairly simple life, riding a Rowahb through the lands, keeping a lazy eye on the goata or whatever needing looking after.
My trainer, Sherpas, killed that dream the first day. ”Go follow the goata,” he said, ”and find their dried droppings.” ”Why would I...” was as far as I got when I felt a blinding pain in my head. I hadn't even seen his hand move. ”The only answer you should need is ’because you were instructed to’ but, because Ered is a old friend of mine, I will answer your question this once: Dried goata droppings, properly cared for and kept dry, will burn better than the finest wood. On a cold night, it may be all that stands between you and freezing to death.” With that, he kicked me out into the goata fields.
I learned many lessons that year: How to ride, how to track the herd, how to climb the steppes on lookout and, most importantly, how to keep my mouth shut when Sherpas told me to do something. It was nearing my elevation from initiate that the defining moment in my life came.
I was getting ready to be moved to my own herd when the news came, my family had disappeared. Sherpas was nearly as devastated as I was and willingly let me leave to see to my fathers’ land. I rode for days on end to get back home. When I got there, all that was left was a smoldering husk of the house where I grew up. There were no bodies, no animals, no signs of life at all. The only thing I did find was a single right-handprint, apparently left in blood, stamped on the corner of the house. I asked everyone in the village, no one knew anything more than I and no one knew who the handprint might belong to or what it might mean. I went back to Sherpas and he told me that it was my duty to find my family and those who’d destroyed my land. At that point I couldn’t have agreed more.
He sent me to Wearda, a weaponsmaster, who trained me in the basics of swordplay with a battered arming sword he had available. I studied arduously, I wanted to be ready when I found the man or men I was looking for. At the end of the season, Wearda gave me enough money to by some basics and my own arming sword.
I told him this was more kindness than I had ever expected. Apparently Ered had had more friends than I knew. I rode all over Kartisland trying to find who or what this red right handprint might mean or who it might belong to. Everyone I spoke to said that they knew nothing. Some I suspected knew, but would not tell, even when threatened with my sword. Gradually, I moved north in to the lands of the overkingdom. I was now making my way tracking other men, while tracking my own, for local sheriffs. Tracking down men who they could not find. It paid enough to keep my belly full and gave me the opportunity to ask about the print. Still, no-one would talk. Eventually I ran low on money and began to despair for my family. I had made it all the way to Imarr, the great city.
There were more men here than I had ever seen in my life. People from lands that I had never even heard of, all different sizes and colors. But, as I was slowly starving, the street seemed paved only with sorrows.
One night, though, changed my fortunes, at least for the moment. An old man happened into the inn where I was nursing a small bowl of greul that I had bought with my last few coppers. He told me that I had a look of desperation about me and wondered if I would help him retrieve an item of his. At this point I would have agreed to rob the palace if it meant a full stomach. He gave me a small sack of coins and told him to meet him at the Meat and Gristle tavern one week from that night...
I grew up in a small village outside the city of Port Khemi. Just my father Ered, my mother Maala, myself and my young sister Feeli. It wasn’t much of a village but we called it home. Van Karti was a stern master and King Julah even more so, but, as long as you pay your tithes and follow The Law, you’ll be all right. My childhood, or at least what I remember of it, was happy. I would go out into my father’s fields and run amongst the waving wheat fields, chasing mice or playing at battles with the feirce crow legions.
When I reached my 15th winter, Ered said it was time for me to learn a trade. I always felt welcome in the outdoors so I chose that of a herder. I thought this would be a fairly simple life, riding a Rowahb through the lands, keeping a lazy eye on the goata or whatever needing looking after.
My trainer, Sherpas, killed that dream the first day. ”Go follow the goata,” he said, ”and find their dried droppings.” ”Why would I...” was as far as I got when I felt a blinding pain in my head. I hadn't even seen his hand move. ”The only answer you should need is ’because you were instructed to’ but, because Ered is a old friend of mine, I will answer your question this once: Dried goata droppings, properly cared for and kept dry, will burn better than the finest wood. On a cold night, it may be all that stands between you and freezing to death.” With that, he kicked me out into the goata fields.
I learned many lessons that year: How to ride, how to track the herd, how to climb the steppes on lookout and, most importantly, how to keep my mouth shut when Sherpas told me to do something. It was nearing my elevation from initiate that the defining moment in my life came.
I was getting ready to be moved to my own herd when the news came, my family had disappeared. Sherpas was nearly as devastated as I was and willingly let me leave to see to my fathers’ land. I rode for days on end to get back home. When I got there, all that was left was a smoldering husk of the house where I grew up. There were no bodies, no animals, no signs of life at all. The only thing I did find was a single right-handprint, apparently left in blood, stamped on the corner of the house. I asked everyone in the village, no one knew anything more than I and no one knew who the handprint might belong to or what it might mean. I went back to Sherpas and he told me that it was my duty to find my family and those who’d destroyed my land. At that point I couldn’t have agreed more.
He sent me to Wearda, a weaponsmaster, who trained me in the basics of swordplay with a battered arming sword he had available. I studied arduously, I wanted to be ready when I found the man or men I was looking for. At the end of the season, Wearda gave me enough money to by some basics and my own arming sword.
I told him this was more kindness than I had ever expected. Apparently Ered had had more friends than I knew. I rode all over Kartisland trying to find who or what this red right handprint might mean or who it might belong to. Everyone I spoke to said that they knew nothing. Some I suspected knew, but would not tell, even when threatened with my sword. Gradually, I moved north in to the lands of the overkingdom. I was now making my way tracking other men, while tracking my own, for local sheriffs. Tracking down men who they could not find. It paid enough to keep my belly full and gave me the opportunity to ask about the print. Still, no-one would talk. Eventually I ran low on money and began to despair for my family. I had made it all the way to Imarr, the great city.
There were more men here than I had ever seen in my life. People from lands that I had never even heard of, all different sizes and colors. But, as I was slowly starving, the street seemed paved only with sorrows.
One night, though, changed my fortunes, at least for the moment. An old man happened into the inn where I was nursing a small bowl of greul that I had bought with my last few coppers. He told me that I had a look of desperation about me and wondered if I would help him retrieve an item of his. At this point I would have agreed to rob the palace if it meant a full stomach. He gave me a small sack of coins and told him to meet him at the Meat and Gristle tavern one week from that night...
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