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Another Bastard Child of Tolkien
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<blockquote data-quote="Paka" data-source="post: 16400" data-attributes="member: 100"><p><strong>Jinlat's Only Story</strong></p><p></p><p>You aren’t human, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t be in this part of Ladymist at this time of night if you were.</p><p></p><p>Maybe you’re a Goblin, looking for a tribe to leech off of…to serve, I mean.</p><p></p><p>Maybe a Half-Orc, sick of the sneers and mumbled curses that life outside the Orc Step deals out.</p><p></p><p>Perhaps a Troll, don’t know why you aren’t with the Bridge Guild but here you are, looking for someone who needs hired muscle.</p><p></p><p>It doesn’t matter because here you are. A wooden mug of cheap ale is thrust at you.</p><p></p><p>One of the Black Stories warriors limps up to you, hobbling from a battle wound, we can only assume. His green head is mostly shaved and he must be youngd because has only has one word written on a muscled shoulder: Uyan Gab which means Slow in Battle. He nods and then whispers:</p><p></p><p>- Jinlat is telling his story. It is the same contribution he’s been making at the fires for months now. Some stories grow in the telling but this story just seems to get more and more pathetic -</p><p></p><p>Jinlat steps to the fire and his eyes have a mad gleam in them but the energy of the story is dead. Even the children look embarrassed for him. Somewhere in the gathering a baby cries:</p><p></p><p>“I returned to the battle. Grumsh washed my weakness away and looked down on my with his great green eye. My eyes were glowing green, bathed in power.”</p><p></p><p>- No lies there. I was there with Chief Gren. A Nightfang battleaxe had done its violence on me knee. It is almost a lucky thing to get hit with heavy weapons when fighting Nightfangs. Their small weapons are covered in poison, like the crossbow bolt that killed Gren’s father. -</p><p></p><p>Realizing that few are listening except for the outsiders, the Little Men, he overcompensates with even more energy. Words are often punctuated with spit that flies when his mouth makes unfortunate contact with hard vowels:</p><p></p><p>“The first Nightfang I broken in two with my hands, lifting him over my head, the cobblestone road was my weapon. It was a good thing to see fear in my enemy’s eyes.”</p><p></p><p>- And Jinlat would know all about fear. He didn’t break anyone over the cobblestone; snapped his neck with his bare hands. No growling, no screaming, no battlecry. This next part he usually tries to pay a bill his word hoard can’t cash. -</p><p></p><p></p><p>“The next came at me. I tore his head off out of its socket. The spine dangled like a string…from a yo-yo…if you were holding the wooden part.”</p><p></p><p> - The kids love this next part. – </p><p></p><p>“Holding his spine in my hands I beat the third to death, one hit after another. By the time I’m done both of their skulls are good for nothing.”</p><p></p><p>- He’s about done now. -</p><p></p><p>The last two sentences come out like an explanation, like an whispered excuse:</p><p> “Took the Chief home. Grumsh chose me.”</p><p></p><p>- He’d better watch that kind of talk or else Gren might think stupid Jinlat is making a bid for the Chief’s seat. Gren’d kill Jinlat without breaking a sweat and wouldn’t even bother to put ink in his skin about it.</p><p></p><p>Jinlat, though, this is his big event. He’ll spend his reward on an elaborate tattoo, which is a good thing because that story, that three minutes of copper sentences and chain-linked words…that the only story he’ll ever have.</p><p></p><p>Maybe it was the will of Grumsh that made his eyes glow green. Perhaps our God did possess him but we doubt it. The Green Dragon’s little men didn’t come here to find out if Jinlat is the prophent of Grumsh. No, they came here because his magic eyes are exactly like something else, something they’ve encountered on their travels.</p><p></p><p>Let Jinlat have his story. It is the only one he’ll ever have.-</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Paka, post: 16400, member: 100"] [b]Jinlat's Only Story[/b] You aren’t human, that’s for sure. You wouldn’t be in this part of Ladymist at this time of night if you were. Maybe you’re a Goblin, looking for a tribe to leech off of…to serve, I mean. Maybe a Half-Orc, sick of the sneers and mumbled curses that life outside the Orc Step deals out. Perhaps a Troll, don’t know why you aren’t with the Bridge Guild but here you are, looking for someone who needs hired muscle. It doesn’t matter because here you are. A wooden mug of cheap ale is thrust at you. One of the Black Stories warriors limps up to you, hobbling from a battle wound, we can only assume. His green head is mostly shaved and he must be youngd because has only has one word written on a muscled shoulder: Uyan Gab which means Slow in Battle. He nods and then whispers: - Jinlat is telling his story. It is the same contribution he’s been making at the fires for months now. Some stories grow in the telling but this story just seems to get more and more pathetic - Jinlat steps to the fire and his eyes have a mad gleam in them but the energy of the story is dead. Even the children look embarrassed for him. Somewhere in the gathering a baby cries: “I returned to the battle. Grumsh washed my weakness away and looked down on my with his great green eye. My eyes were glowing green, bathed in power.” - No lies there. I was there with Chief Gren. A Nightfang battleaxe had done its violence on me knee. It is almost a lucky thing to get hit with heavy weapons when fighting Nightfangs. Their small weapons are covered in poison, like the crossbow bolt that killed Gren’s father. - Realizing that few are listening except for the outsiders, the Little Men, he overcompensates with even more energy. Words are often punctuated with spit that flies when his mouth makes unfortunate contact with hard vowels: “The first Nightfang I broken in two with my hands, lifting him over my head, the cobblestone road was my weapon. It was a good thing to see fear in my enemy’s eyes.” - And Jinlat would know all about fear. He didn’t break anyone over the cobblestone; snapped his neck with his bare hands. No growling, no screaming, no battlecry. This next part he usually tries to pay a bill his word hoard can’t cash. - “The next came at me. I tore his head off out of its socket. The spine dangled like a string…from a yo-yo…if you were holding the wooden part.” - The kids love this next part. – “Holding his spine in my hands I beat the third to death, one hit after another. By the time I’m done both of their skulls are good for nothing.” - He’s about done now. - The last two sentences come out like an explanation, like an whispered excuse: “Took the Chief home. Grumsh chose me.” - He’d better watch that kind of talk or else Gren might think stupid Jinlat is making a bid for the Chief’s seat. Gren’d kill Jinlat without breaking a sweat and wouldn’t even bother to put ink in his skin about it. Jinlat, though, this is his big event. He’ll spend his reward on an elaborate tattoo, which is a good thing because that story, that three minutes of copper sentences and chain-linked words…that the only story he’ll ever have. Maybe it was the will of Grumsh that made his eyes glow green. Perhaps our God did possess him but we doubt it. The Green Dragon’s little men didn’t come here to find out if Jinlat is the prophent of Grumsh. No, they came here because his magic eyes are exactly like something else, something they’ve encountered on their travels. Let Jinlat have his story. It is the only one he’ll ever have.- [/QUOTE]
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