KL: Here is the history in rough draft. I hope it is okay, but if there is anything you want me to take out, just let me know and I will pull it.
[sblock]Among the hobgoblins which make their homes in the Northern Reaches, there is one thread that binds them all together; solidarity. It has allowed the hobgoblins to survive and prosper, and it has also earned them the respect of the other races. However, from time to time there are individuals who can not grasp the doctrine that the clans of the Northern Reach live by, and when it does occur, it becomes a battle of wills. The will of the many against the will of the one…
<Two Years Ago>
Xandri and Irdnax watched as Grisham’s body finally came to rest at the bottom of the ravine and shook their heads at the loss of one of their own. Braxtus, the clan’s shaman had spoken of this winter being a severe one and it would not be made any easier with the loss of one of their hunters. However, Braxtus had also spoken of Grisham’s blood rages leading to a great tragedy for the clan and that only those who shared Grisham’s blood could stop him. Approaching their cousin with the gourd of spirits Braxtus had prepared for them, the twin hobgoblins had watched as Grisham’s powerful frame began to spasm, as the poison ravaged him from the inside after he had taken but a single drink. The brothers had wrapped Grisham in the thick cloak of his father, and as the yeti’s empty eyed stare settled on them both, a chill that had nothing to do with the winter’s wind went through them both, but neither was willing to question Braxtus’ visions as without them, their clan would have long since been consumed by either the elements or by any of the countless dangers of the Reach.
As the snow began to cover Grisham’s inert form, both hunters prayed that the spirits were right about what they had just been forced to do, and hoped that they would soon be free of Grisham’s pained face, and the grim stare of the yeti skull. So intent were they on their own thoughts as they turned to leave, both missed the sudden spasm of Grisham’s body and the rapid clenching and releasing of his hands in the snow.
Grisham felt as if his insides were made of fire and glass, and whatever part of him was not burning itself up surely must be getting cut into hundreds of pieces. He wanted to scream out in pain, but in the dark instinctual part of his mind he knew that would have been the wrong thing to do. Instead, he bit the thick inner lining of his cloak and savored the sweaty leathery taste that filled his mouth and allowed him to stay silent while the waves of pain slowly began to pass. When he finally dared to open his eyes, the stars shone brightly above him as if mocking his pain with their joyous light.
Although his body would not respond to his demands, his thoughts were intact, but none of them made any sense to him. His pack brothers had tried to kill him, but why? What had he done to earn their wrath? Had they learned of the star shower valley he had found and spoke to Braxtus about? The shaman had warned him to speak to no one of it, as the tears of the gods were not to be seen by those who unprepared to deal with their dangers. If he could find the shaman, Braxtus would know the answers and perhaps have the means to save his cousins.
Trying to stand nearly drained Grisham of all the strength he had left, and climbing up the slope of the ravine forced him to stop several times, but slowly he reached the top and staggered his way as quietly as he could towards Braxtus’ hut.
<One Year ago>
The crowd cheered as Grisham’s gauntleted fist shattered the few remaining teeth his challenger had, but as the battle fever consumed him Grisham heard none of it. He did not see the barely conscious man who thought he could take the Broken Anvil’s latest champion. He did not see Ferrix nodding his head in satisfaction as once again the almost feral hobgoblin would earn him a good take this night. All Grisham did see was Braxtus’ sacrificial knife plunging into the hearts of his people and being unable to get the accursed dream out of his head. The dreams were slowly driving him mad and neither drink nor drugs would ease the pain, but here in this piss and blood stained ring, Grisham could find release.
Reaching out, Grisham grabbed his unlucky opponent by his throat and lifted him off of the ground. The man’s last grip on consciousness left him and he hung limply in Grisham’s vice-like grip. Throwing his head back, Grisham bellowed a feral cry as the fever surged its strongest, sending his fingers through the skin of the neck and crushing the man’s throat. The crowd erupted in a frenzy of its own and Ferrix wondered how much longer he could have a wild animal under his roof, but then the bulging purse came his way, and all dark thoughts were washed away.
<Today>
The innkeeper looked over at the brooding figure by the fire and wondered what would bring one of the Chasm’s children this far south. The fire put a glow in the red orbs that were embedded in the sockets of the yeti hide cloak the hobgoblin wore, and he although he knew it was a trick of the light, the innkeeper swore he saw the same red glow in the eyes of the scarred hobgoblin as well.
Taking him his meal, the innkeeper tried to keep his hands from shaking, but when the hobgoblin sniffed the air as the man neared him, his resolve faltered somewhat.
“Will..will there be anything else…sir?”
The hobgoblin raised its flat eyes towards him and nodded his head slowly.
“I will be meeting some others soon, but this will be sufficient for me.”
Wiping his head as he walked away, the innkeeper could only guess at what manner of people would keep company with this savage, and hope that his inn survived the night.
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