Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)

Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 148

The following was mostly written by PirateCat as part of his character's backstory. I've made some small additions and changes.

cue flashback

It is just over 10 years ago, and a straight rain is falling hard and cold. Mellendiel Brightmirror peeks out the window of the rickety covered wagon and watches trees and farms roll past, blurred by the downpour. Idly he rubs a swollen bruise on his face, still sore after four days. A neighborhood kid had thrown a rock at him while he was preparing to leave Tal Korum, cutting his cheek and slightly chipping one of his tusk-like lower teeth.

He thinks about the kid – an older boy of almost thirteen called Spark. Spark is considered a good lad in town, smart, helpful, always respectful of his elders. Nobody had seen him throw the rock, and no one would have believed Mellendiel had he felt like complaining. But Mellendiel had said nothing. Plenty of kids had hurled stones at him over the years, and he at them. But now he was leaving them all behind, and there was no point in continuing any feuds. He is being taken to Tal Hae, the Great Wooden City, to be made a slave of the church.

No one had ever actually used the word “slave,” but Mellendiel knows that’s what is meant. His grandfather, Cormin, has been telling him for years that someday he would be shipped to Tal Hae to be made a ward of the Church of Delioch. They’d show him. If Mellendiel thought his grandfather a harsh taskmaster, he would be in for a rude awakening in Tal Hae. The Church would be unwavering in its discipline, and would not be anywhere near as patient as his grandfather with his truancy and thieving.

Mellendiel hates his grandfather, and that hate is returned in kind. Only his kindly grandmother Sarabel has kept Cormin from administering even more severe beatings all through the years of his youth. Still, Cormin is quick to apply a healthy bit of corporal punishment for any number of misdeeds. Mellendiel often deserves it, to be sure, but that does not soften his sullen resentment. He knows the source of his grandfather’s hatred, and his own helpless role therein. Cormin has never made any secret of the tale of Mellendiel’s birth.

Mellendiel’s mother, Saramin Lightbellow, had lived in Tal Korum with her new husband Dalsmith. Only three months after their midsummer wedding the town was overrun and partially burned in an attack by the Heartcarver Tribe of orcs. By the time the Stormknights arrived or any militia was organized, the orcs had looted the town and returned to their hills. It is thought that the fairly rare attack occurred at the demand of the tribal shaman, Gruschak of the Five Eyes, who predicted that the winter would be harsh and thus the tribe would need additional food stores to survive. Ironically, the following winter was the mildest in fourteen years.

During the attack, Dalsmith was cut down by three orc soldiers while defending his forge and his wife. Saramin was discovered sometime later -- horribly abused and bleeding internally, she had survived the attack, but was lapsed into a deep sleep from which even the Healer’s apprentice (for the Healer had been slain in a single blow by the Orcish champion) could not lift her.

In the weeks that followed, Saramin’s parents were summoned, for they were worshippers of Delioch and could care for the girl. Under their care Saramin regained her consciousness but not her wits. She would slip into and out of a delirium, never truly understanding where she was or what had happened. Worse, it was soon obvious that the girl was pregnant. No one knew for sure whether it was a child of Dalsmith or of the orc raiders, but both Cormin and Sarabel Brightmirror prayed for the best while fearing the worst for their daughter.

As Saramin’s time grew near, her health worsened and her delirium grew worse. Concerned, her father Cormin left Tal Korum for the Church of Delioch in Tal Hae, in the hopes of bringing back a more experienced Woundtender than the village possessed. Cormin’s foresight was wise, but luck was not on his side, for Saramin went into labor that same night he left.
The labor was a long one, and the small wooden house often rang with screams of pain. Saramin was lucid through part of it, and despite the pain, she begged her mother to care for the child if she could not. Secretly, Cormin and Sarabel had agreed that if the child were orcish, it would be better for all concerned if the baby were left in the wilderness; Sarabel agreed to her daughter’s wishes nonetheless.

When the baby was born, it was clear that the child was not entirely human. The baby boy had a grayish-black tongue, and the shape of his face carried the hint of an orcish strain. Other than this, he was a healthy screaming child, and Sarabel was able to hold and feed him before she finally died the next day. When Cormin returned with a Healer, it was to find his daughter dead and his wife stubbornly refusing to give up the inhuman baby that had killed once already.

The child was taken to the Brightmirrors’ home under Sarabel’s protection and over Cormin’s protestations. There they named him Mellendiel, and old elvish name meaning “Unexpected”, and raised him as best they could.

Mellendiel’s childhood was not especially pleasant. Other than a neighbor’s large dog, he had no friends to speak of. The village boys all taunted him and threw rocks when they could, and gangs of boys beat him up whenever they caught him. Pieter Roofswallow, one of the worst bullies, made up the nickname “Coaltongue.” Mellendiel became a loner, sullen and angry, and spent much of his free time tormenting his pursuers with malicious pranks.

At home, things weren’t much better. He received distant affection from his grandmother, who tried to protect him from the worst of his grandfather’s rages. His Grandfather, however, grew progressively colder and more distant to him. His grandfather grew more and more religious, often spending hours praying while Mellendiel would do chores about the house.

Mellendiel survived in this unhappy environment until age 11. In the winter his Grandmother took ill and died within two days. The death plunged his grandfather into a black depression, and it was but two weeks after the funeral that Mellendiel found himself being taken by wagon to Tal Hae.

That was four days ago. Mellendiel’s grandfather has hardly spoken a word to him during the journey, which is a blessing to the boy. In a few hours they will arrive in Tal Hae, and he will never have to see his grandfather again.

The driver curses as the carriage becomes stuck. The dirt road is sodden, the wheel-ruts filled with mud in the heavy rain, and Mellendiel is ordered out to help push. He does so with neither complaint nor enthusiasm. Half and hour later he gets back into the carriage, drenched and dripping. His grandfather glares at him, as the wagon lumbers slowly forward.

As the hours pass and the daylight wanes behind the sheets of rain, the farms become more numerous outside and they start to pass other travelers on the road. A few minutes later Mellendiel is staring wide-eyed at the towering wooden walls of Tal Hae. He has never seen a city before – the crowds, the shops, the clusters of beggars and urchins in the streets. A few minutes later the wagon is pulling up to a large wood and brick cathedral, the Healing Hand symbol of Delioch prominent above its façade. His grandfather motions at him to get out.

A man stands outside the church, awaiting his arrival. When he sees the half-orcish boy, his lips quirk in a cruel smile. Mellendiel sees that the man’s face is covered with scars. “You’ll get yours soon enough,” his grandfather laughs. “As I’ve often told you, the Scarbearers of Delioch understand punishment. You’ll finally pay right for your behavior.”

Mellendiel gets out and stands in the rain, and the scarred cleric walks over to speak briefly with Cormin. “I am called Califax,” the man says. “This is the boy?”

Cormin nods, and pushes his grandson forward.

“See if you can’t make something of yourself, make up for all the pain you’ve caused” are the last works his Grandfather says, before he rides away from the Church’s gate in the old black wagon.

One of the first things offered to the new initiate is the chance to choose a new name, as a symbol of his new life in the church. Mellendiel immediately chooses “Dranko,” an orcish word meaning “Unwelcome.”
 

log in or register to remove this ad


Aww, that is a really sad background for Dranko. It is unfortunately too easy to picture it as a completely realistic childhood too.

Mind you, he's come on a bit, eh?
 


Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 149

With the stinkwiggles dispatched, the unpleasant cleanup effort begins. Tankersley takes charge, ordering crews of townsfolk to start gathering and burning the bodies of the creatures. He relays the important warning from the Company that they should avoid direct contact with the carcasses, which could easily transmit disease. Despite the horrid smell, many small children are out and about trying to catch of glimpse of the heroes who saved Tal Korum. They are particularly curious about the halflings and Kibi – they’ve led sheltered enough lives to have never seen halflings and dwarves before. Scree tries to offer a friendly greeting, but the animated pile of rocks scares most of the kids away. Another child makes the comment: “Those other two wizards have a monkey and a cat. How come you only got a bunch of rocks?” Kibi is not amused.

Helping coordinate things post-battle, Dranko finally gets some recognition from the townsfolk. They remember him as little Mellendiel Brightmirror, a mean little prankster, but time, to say nothing of in-your-face heroism, has a way of mellowing old memories. Dranko cringes at each utterance of his birth name, but accepts various compliments with good grace. It seems that the entire town has forgiven him his delinquent youth – with one exception.

Ernie spots Dranko’s grandfather, Cormin, helping one of the clean-up crews. He jogs over and tries to strike up a conversation about Dranko.

“Greetings sir,” he starts cheerily. “My name is Ernest, and I’m a friend of Dranko. I really think you should talk to him. He’s a much different and better person than you’re giving him credit for.”

Cormin just snorts and turns his back to the halfling. Ernie goes straight from cheerful to incensed. “Why are you being so stubborn? You won't solve anything by ignoring him!”

Dranko’s grandfather stops and turns slowly around. “Listen. You don’t realize what a blessing it’s been to be able to ignore him. Delioch knows it was impossible when he lived here. It was a good riddance to him, and it still is.” He again turns his back on Ernie, and walks away to rejoin his crew. Ernie turns red, but doesn’t pursue.

The mayor of Tal Korum, a tall woman named Larissa, walks over to the Company to inform them that, in the evening, there will be a celebratory dinner in their honor for their role in saving the town. They graciously accept her invitation to join them at the town meeting hall. Dranko thinks that might make a good place to try reconciliation with his grandfather. But as the guests arrive, mostly farmers and farmer’s wives (with the latter bringing a variety of fine-smelling platters), Cormin ends up a no-show. There is much feasting, and a short speech by the mayor followed by great applause for the Company, but three hours later, as most of the guests are going back to their homes, Dranko stands and looks around in disappointment. He turns to Morningstar.

“I guess I’m going to have to go to him,” he says. “I don’t want the others along, but I do want you… as we’re engaged to be married and everything. For one thing, he’d never believe me without evidence.”

Dranko and Morningstar walk out into the warm summer night, where a lucky breeze is blowing the stink of the stinkwiggles back into the fields and away from the town. They walk down the dirt streets, waving back to several grateful townsfolk they pass, until they arrive and Cormin’s small house.

The rest of the Company, eager to eavesdrop, send the trio of familiars to follow. And as soon as Dranko and Morningstar are out of sight, Grey Wolf and Aravis grab the mayor as she’s on her way out of the meeting hall.

“Excuse me,” Aravis says politely. “We have a favor to ask.”

“Anything, of course!” beams Larissa.

“We were wondering,” Grey Wolf says, “If you were planning on making this any sort of town holiday.”

“I had thought about it, yes.” Larissa answers. Something like “Victory Day.” I hope you could make it back every year to celebrate, since it would be in your honor, after all.”

“Actually,” says Aravis, “It was Dranko who was most responsible for us coming to save the town. And seeing as this was his hometown growing up, we thought it would be nice if you could name the holiday after him. ‘Dranko Day,’ or something like it.”

“That’s a splendid idea!” exclaims Larissa. “Though people here don’t remember him as “Dranko.” I think we should use his old name. “How does ‘Mellendiel Day’ sound?

Aravis and Grey Wolf grin. That sounds just fine.

At his grandfather’s house, Dranko knocks, but there’s no answer.

“Grandfather, it’s me! Come open the door.”

There’s no answer from inside. Dranko tries the door, but it’s locked.

“Oh, for crying out…” Dranko applies a bit of skill, and a bit of force, and the door pops open. Inside, he and Morningstar are greeted by the tang of alcohol and the sound of Cormin muttering to himself from the other room. Dranko goes to stand in the doorway, and shakes his head at the sight of his grandfather slumped over in a chair, a one-third-full bottle of cheap wine nearby on a table. The old man looks up and his face darkens. “Go away,” he slurs. (Pewter and Edghar have found windows at which to listen. Scree has poked an eye through the floor into the darkest corner of the room.)

Dranko sighs, points a finger at Cormin, and utters an Orison to quick-sober his drunken relative. Cormin sits bolt upright, grips his head, and then glares at his grandson.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he snaps. “But now that you’ve done it, get out.”

“Not until we talk about some things,” Dranko says. He notices then that his grandfather is shaking, possibly coming down with filth fever from the stink-wiggles. “You’re sick,” he points out.

“I am not. I feel fine.”

Morningstar grins in spite of herself. “I see where you get your stubbornness from.”

Dranko turns to Morningstar. “Would you cure him?”

“He has to ask me, Dranko” Morningstar reminds him.

“Dranko?” Cormin snaps. “Why are you calling him that? His name’s Mellendiel. Mellendiel Brightmirror. Though Delioch knows he’s nothing but a blight on the family name.”

“Grandfather, Dranko’s the name I’ve used since you… since I left. Now would you please ask Morningstar here to heal you? We both know you’re sick.”

“Hmph. If I do, will you promise to leave afterward?”

Dranko sighs. “Yes, I promise. If that’s what you want.”

“Fine,” answers Cormin. He turns to Morningstar. “Go ahead and heal me then, if you can. And just who are you, anyway?”

“Ah, forgive me. Grandfather, this is Morningstar. She’s a priestess of Ell, and… my fiancée.”

Cormin snorts, and then starts to chuckle. “Oh, please. Who in their right mind would agree to marry you?”

Morningstar steps forward. “I would. Sir, I don’t know what Dranko was like as a child, but this man here is one of the bravest and kindest men I have ever met. He has saved my life and the lives of others on numerous occasions, and he serves with an elite group that has defended Charagan against many threats. Including the one that just attacked your town today.”

Cormin gazes levelly at her for a moment before replying. “So, Mellendiel, how much did you have to pay her for that bit of tripe? Kind and brave? There isn’t a bone in your body that isn’t malicious and cowardly, and we both know it. That battle today, even. By all accounts your friends fought bravely to defend the town, but you were nowhere to be seen. And then you come here with some dressed up slattern claiming to be a priestess and your betrothed to boot. You never did know how to lie.”

Dranko opens his mouth, not sure whether to explain about invisibility magic and how it helps his fighting style, or to defend the honor of his fiancee. He doesn’t get the chance to do either. Morningstar stands tall, and calls a personal darkness around her; the room becomes immersed in dark shadow, with Morningstar’s form a black silhouette against the twilight gray. “I do not lie about my religion,” she says sternly. “I am a Priestess of Ell, just as Dranko is an honored cleric of Delioch. You do us both a disservice with your stubbornness. Here…”

She casts a prayer, and Cormin’s tremors slowly cease.

Cormin’s lips quiver, and a conflicted look crosses his face. But when he finds his tongue again, he sneers, “So you’re a priestess, then. And my grandson is a priest. Good for you both. Mellendiel, I hope it’s given you the opportunity to make up for all that you put me through, though I doubt it.”

“It has,” Dranko says. “Look, I won’t pretend that I wasn’t a horrible little sh*t. I was an outcast, and I didn’t handle it well. I know I put you through a lot, and I’m sorry. But… well, mostly I wanted you to meet the woman I’m going to marry. And, I guess, to see if we couldn’t patch things up. We’re family.”

“Family?” Cormin whispers harshly. “You didn’t even keep your family name. What does ‘Dranko’ mean, anyway?”

“It’s orcish,” Dranko says. When his grandfather glowers, Dranko continues, “I looked it up when I got to the church, the very first day. They make you take a new name there, and I knew the name I wanted. Dranko means ‘unloved.’

Cormin looks up, wide-eyed. Suddenly his face contorts, and his body becomes racked with sobs. Through his tears he says, “By Delioch’s healing hands, there’s not a day that’s passed in the last 15 years that I haven’t though about my daughter, and the monsters who killed her. And poor Dalsmith, who died protecting her. He was such a good man. I loved them both, so much…”

He looks at Dranko with puffy eyes. “Dranko, I look at you, and all I can see are those… those beasts who… who attacked… who killed my daughter. I’m sorry… I know it’s not fair…”

Cormin lapses into uncontrolled sobbing for a few minutes. Dranko puts his hand on the old man’s shoulder, and Cormin does not flinch. (The three familiars decide it’s time to stop watching now, and slink away…)

“Grandfather, forgiveness is a tough thing. It took me a long time to forgive you for shipping me off to Tal Hae. But I did it. Let it go.”

A minute goes by and Cormin says nothing, but when he looks up again, something in his face has changed. The corners of his mouth turn up in an unfamiliar smile.

“Morningstar,” he says, “you do realize what you’re getting yourself into, don’t you? I never thought there’d be a woman on this earth with enough patience to spend an afternoon with Mellendiel, let alone marry him. Gods, did he ever tell you about what he did to the Roofswallow’s barn? Or the bucket of tar he rigged to fall on old man Cartwright, that nearly suffocated him? Or the frogs? Mellendiel, where in Delioch’s name did you find so many frogs? You never told me. You never even admitted it.”

“I… uh…” Dranko stammers, looking guilty. “I found where they were breeding, down by the stream. I saved them up. It was just supposed to be a joke.”

Cormin turns to Morningstar. “Those frogs got into the food stores that were supposed to last us through the winter. We had to burn most of them. The extra hours we had to work that year just to stay fed would have pushed anyone to distraction. And in the end there still wasn’t enough; we had to beg food from our neighbors on many a night that year.”

Morningstar laughs. “Dranko has changed, but he still has some of that old streak in him. I’ll be able to handle him.”

“Good, good.” Cormin smiles again, and his face is clearly unaccustomed to the expression. Several more moments pass in silence, as if neither Dranko nor his grandfather wants to risk breaking their emerging truce. Then Cormin yawns. “I think I need to be getting to bed. Mellendiel, it’s… it’s not all going to heal overnight. I’ll need some time to think things over. I’ve been feeding these feelings for a long time.”

“I understand,” Dranko says. “We have to leave in the morning, but we’ll come back and visit you from time to time, I promise. And I’ll look into getting you some help, someone to do chores and look after the place. I owe you that much, for… er… past transgressions.”

Dranko and Morningstar turn to go. As they reach the doorway, Cormin says quietly, “Thanks for forcing your way in.” Dranko looks sheepishly at the busted latch on the front door.

“I’ll get that fixed tomorrow before we go, I promise. I’ll make sure that…”

“Mellendiel. I didn’t mean the door. Good night.”

…to be continued…
 


That . . .

*teary eyed*

I wanna give Dranko a hug, so he'll change his name to somethin' happier. I mean, sure . . . in the grand scheme of literature, it might not be much, but it still did make me choke up. Good job, Sagiro.

That's it, Kevin, I'm giving you a hug at next GenCon. :*)

":*)" means a smiley face with a tear coming from one eye.
 



Getting choked up is the last thing I expect when I log in to the story hour forum. I'm impressed, Sagiro. Same to PC for the great backstory that made it possible.
 

Remove ads

Top