Angis Honack
Somewhere between Daggerford and Waterdeep
Early afternoon
Angis sipped his ale. The drink here was pretty good for the price, and it was cheap. It was no dwarven ale, but then perhaps Angis could solve a bit of that. He had a cask aging in the cellar of the Silver Flood Inn. He jotted a few notes down on a scratch of parchment, notes about a new mixture to try. He liked to brew a bit in the spare time he had between trips to Waterdeep or elsewhere in the North.
Glancing up, the gruff dwarf with mismatched eyes spotted the proprietor’s son scrambling up from the cellar. He gave the halfling lad a nod. Wilhelmina Hardcheese reminded him a bit of his own mother, Poldit. When he’d come in this morning, Wilhelmina, the unofficial postmaster of Daggerford, had handed him a scroll. Angis had read through it, mostly news from Westgate. His business mail went to the office in Waterdeep. This was his mother’s handwriting, family and clan news, including news of his older brother Rilgh and his wife Vesia, with their toddler Baern.
Angis unconsciously touched his shirt front where the handkerchief and lock of hair rested. He remembered when she had given it to him, the night she came to his rooms and gave him the news, the night before her wedding.
***
“Ye shuildnae be ‘ere, Vesia. ‘Tis no’ proper, no’ at this hour.”
“I’m wi’ child, Angis.”
“Guid,” he’d replied. “A wee early, b’fore yer weddin’, but me brudder will be ‘appy t’ ‘ave an heir.”
Vesia worried her lip. “I -- Yeh know yer brudder, Angis. ‘e’s a traditionalist.”
“Aye, like all guid dwarves,” Angis said proudly.
Vesia shifted uncomfortably. “Tha’ means we’ve...no’ been t’gether yet.”
Angis grew silent, the full import of his future sister-in-law’s words hitting him hard. He stepped back, finding it hard to breathe.
“Angis…?” Vesia’s beautiful green eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Angis scratched at the scar that ran down his face, over his green eye. He wasn’t an attractive dwarf by anyone’s measure, with craggy features and eyes of two different colors. He had gotten the scar when he had retrieved Vesia from Baldur’s Gate to marry his brother and secure an important alliance with her family. Orcs had ambushed them and he had stood over Vesia, swinging his axes, hacking away at the beasts, covered in blood, until only he was left standing.
“Ye’re sayin’--”
“‘Tis yers, Angis. I’ve been wi’ nae other.”
Angis shook his head, almost violently. “Nae,” he told her. “Tha’ is no’ possible. I’ve done me brudder dishonor enough.”
Vesia scowled at him scornfully, crossing her arms under her ample dwarven bosom. “Och, an’ wot d’ye expect me t’ dae aboot it?” she asked, that arrogant, fiery childishness of hers rearing its head. She was, after all, nearly five winters younger than him, barely of marrying age. Her bratty, spoiled attitude and his gruff, no-nonsense outlook had led to an instant dislike between the pair on first meeting, and made much of the trip back to Westgate a nightmare with her constant needling, teasing, prodding, and general annoyance.
Until the orcs had ignited a fiery passion out of the shared danger of nearly losing their lives.
“I love ye, Angis. I love yer ugly face an’ yer brave soul. I owe ye me life, I’ve given ye me body, an’ me soul.”
Angis backed away further, shaking his head almost violently. He gave his beard a rough tug of anguish. “Nae!” he snapped at Vesia. “It cannae be! Ye’re me brudder’s betrothed! Rilgh loves ye wi’ all ‘is ‘eart! Yer dowry will put our family back on its feet!”
“But I dunnae love ‘im,” Vesia sobbed. “An’ I dunnae care aboot me dowry! I love ye, Angis!”
Angis grabbed the lapels of Vesia’s nightrobe and shook the younger dwarf almost violently. “Dunnae ye unnerstand, woman?” he demanded. “Love doesnae matter! We’re dwarves, by Moradin’s hammer! Duty ‘tis all tha’ matters! Daein’ right by our clan an’ kin! Wot we want doesnae matter! It cannae be!” He gave her a push that flung her against the door with a thud.
Vesia wiped at tears, angry tears now.
Angis turned his back on Vesia, fighting back his own tears, his shoulders shaking with emotion. “I’ll be leavin’ on the morrow,” he said quietly.
“Wot?” Vesia asked, blinking against her tears.
“Father’s talked aboot sendin’ me north t’ Waterdeep t’ ‘andle the business there. I’m gaein’ t’ accept an’ leave tomorrow.”
“But...wot aboot the weddin’?” Vesia sniffed.
“I’ll stand at me brudder’s side,” Angis said. “‘Tis me duty. But then I am gone. ‘Tis f’r the best.”
“An’ the baby?”
“‘Tis me brudder’s.”
“Ye’re a ‘eartless bastard,” Vesia sniffed, picking up the dagger from the table beside the bed.
“Nae,” Angis said. “‘Tis the only way ye will learn t’ love Rilgh as much as ‘e loves ye.” He turned around and paused, noting the dagger in her hand.
Vesia stalked closer to him, fire glinting in her eyes. He didn’t back away. She grabbed him by the beard and pulled him closer, kissing her with all the passion of their torrid, months-long affair on the road home to Westgate. Angis groaned, his old, familiar desires welling up within him. He awaited the plunge of the dagger into his heart. It would be welcome compared to what would be the agony of existence without this fiery young dwarf.
Instead Vesia cut off the end of Angis’ beard as she stepped back. She pulled a ribbon from her night robe and wrapped it around the lock of hair, tucking it safely away in her bosom. Then she reached up and cut off one of her red-gold tresses, tied together with a silk ribbon. She pulled a pink silk handkerchief from her bosom as well and wrapped the lock of hair in it, handing it to Angis. It still smelled strongly of her perfume.
“Let it no’ be said I am no’ a guid dwarf,” Vesia said archly, hiding her pain behind a facade of imperiousness. “Know tha’ for wot ye did tha’ day, savin’ me from those orcs, standin’ over me an’ drippin’ wi’ blood, I will always love ye, Angis Honack.”
Angis just stared at the handkerchief in his hand, unable to look at her.
Vesia spun around and strode out of his rooms, slamming the door behind her.
“An’ I will always love ye, Vesia Aughar,” Angis sobbed, sitting on his bed and burying his face in his hand, the tears coming freely now.
***
Angis sniffed and picked up a napkin, blowing his large nose loudly. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and drained his mug.
“Whiskey!” he yelled to Wilhelmina. It was time for something harder, gods damn the early hour.
[sblock=Angis’ Actions]
Move:
Action:
Conditions:
Concentration:
Inspiration:
[/sblock]
[sblock=Mini Stats]
Initiative: +1
Perception: +4
Speed: 25
AC: 14
HP: 13/13 HD: 1/1d10
Prepared Spells:
Spell Slots Remaining/Total
[/sblock]
[sblock=Party]
Tommi - human rogue
Lionel Hardcheese - halfling rogue
Dandin - halfling bard
Snake of Trees - tabaxi sorcerer
Enseth - warforged war cleric
Angis Honack - dwarven ranger
Titus - human fighter
Drui Holderhock - dwarven cleric of Tempus
[/sblock]