| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| KnightErrantJR |
Posted - 05 Sep 2005 : 07:06:13
Hey all. These characters are a bunch of characters that have been running around in my head for a long time. In a weird way, I had to make them public in order to make them real, and thus allow me to get some sleep by not constantly thinking abou them and what they are doing, not doing, etc.
Take it all with a grain of salt. I'm only commiting this to some form of permanance to allow myself a vestige of mental health. |
| 1 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| KnightErrantJR |
Posted - 05 Sep 2005 : 07:07:27
It fell to Braefull to watch the camp. He didn't mind so much, getting in touch with nature and all of that. Braefull reached into his pocket and pulled out the old pair of spectacles he had found years ago, the pair that seemed to be perfectly suited to his particular visual impairment. He reached into his pack and pulled out the book that he was currently reading. ARAUNTRIL SCOURGED, the front cover of the battered book read, and Braefell looked around to make sure that his fellow adventurers were all truly fast asleep. He knew that Kodimer slept like a hill giant with a belly full of cheap mead and roasted oxen, but Braefull wanted to make sure that the dwarves and Allydeir were asleep as well. Surely they could be made to understand he was only researching this tome of its commentary on political personalities, but could he be blamed if he might let his mind drift a bit while reading the . . . more physically descriptive passages, albeit picturing the major players as being a bit more hair suite than described by the author.
Yes, Kodimer slept deeply in his tent, and despite any desire for it to be otherwise, the healer Allydier of Ilmater slept across the way in her own tent. The dwarven brothers shared a larger tent that they had brought with them in their travels from the Great Rift far to the south, and Braefull could hear them snoring rhythmically within. Ah yes, peace and quiet for the faithful sentry, the bugbear warrior thought to himself.
Just as Braefull had managed to find the page which he had carefully turned down so as to mark a particularly interesting passage (he wondered if humans really were that much more limber than bugbears), his sensitive nose caught the scent of someone nearby. Human or half-elven by the smell, not quite strong enough to be a half-orc. Relatively clean for a traveler in the wilder lands, though not a merchant or noble separated from his party, likely an adventurer that had developed a habit for bathing, a habit shared by Kodimer, who seemed to have an obsession with cleanliness, as well as a habitual need to seek out hot baths whenever he ventured into “civilization,” though Baefell rarely was allowed to follow his fellow adventurers into such settlements.
Braefull deliberately reached down to grab hold of his morning star, lying on the ground next to his leg, while he continued to read his book, apparently unconcerned with the world around him. Braefull had to admit to himself that this intruder was skillful. If he hadn't made the mistake of stalking into camp downwind, Braefull would hardly have heard the interloper's soft foot falls.
In a burst of surprising speed, Braefull swung his morning star in a powerful arc to his right side, even as he stood and turned in one fluid motion. The lithe figure near him managed to dance backwards and roll away from his swing, though in truth the bugbear only swung to force his prospective opponent to open up the space between them. As near as Braefull could tell from his newfound expertise in human anatomy, the creature in front of him was a human being in late adolescence, near adulthood. He was thin and wiry, wearing dark, close fitting clothes, and having dark brown, medium length hair. While he wore a look of surprise, he did not appear to be overly shocked at the huge bugbear standing before him.
“I should have expected goblin kin to be protecting that spincoin bastard,” the young man spat at Braefull.
“I'm quite sorry, you will have to specify which spincoin bastard you mean. Though I am not particularly certain that appellation is warranted for any of my current traveling companions,” Braefull replied.
“That cur Bellicam, the wretched excuse for a blade that calls himself a knight. I'd recognize his horse anywhere,” the young man said, as he inclined his head toward the animals tied up at the edge of the camp.
“I'm sorry but . . . wait . . . you know what Bellicam's horse looks like?”
“Of course. He paid me five gold to do a job for him, and promised the rest to be sent to my father. When I finished his bloody task, I returned home to find my father slit from groin to gullet,” the young man spat, and a look of uncertainty began to cross his face.
“I can assure you that we are no friends of Bellicam's, but my friend will certainly want to speak with you. We truly mean you no harm, and you might aid us quite a bit in what we are currently endeavoring to accomplish. Will you speak with him?”
The young man ran his gaze appraisingly over Braefull. Braefull noticed, for the first time, the dagger that the young man held in his hand, as he slowly slid it back into his belt for safekeeping.
“Who is this friend of yours?”
“Sir Kodimer of Torm, a paladin, and, if I may say so myself, a decidedly rigid and stiff one at that. Still and all, he is a good friend and a man of his word, and he has reason to know of the doings of Bellicam, as well as the man Bellicam owes his allegiance to, as well,” Braefull responded.
“Alright, I'll speak with him,” the young man consented.
Braefull hung over the face of the slumbering paladin. The bugbear knew that his breath, despite his own decidedly fastidious habits (for a bugbear at least), was not considered to be pleasant by humans. He also knew that Kodimer was notoriously hard to awaken. The bugbear supposed that Kodimer's propensity to sleep through events that would wake a man dead ten centuries dead would be one of the first traits that any good bard would excise from Kodimer's biographic ballads, but it was damned annoying to those that dealt with the man day in and day out.
“Kodimer, wake up! I swear to every bugbear god that you won't let me speak aloud that if you don't awaken in the next few seconds you'll know what its like to have Bane himself tug at your short hairs!,” the bugbear roared.
Kodimer growled incoherently, then began to roll over. Braefull managed to snag the paladin's braided hair at the back of his head, and lifted him up to his feet by it. Kodimer let out a feral yell of protest, dropped into a fighting stance, and blinked furiously trying to open his eyes.
“Braefull?”
“No, sir knight, 'tis your other faithful bugbear servant, come to change your linens. Of course its Braefull you catatonic ninny,” the bugbear said in reply.
“What is going on. Something go wrong during the watch?”
Kodimer was still blinking furiously, though he seemed to be gaining coherence with each blink. Soon he was standing in an almost exaggerated pose, shoulders back, eyes held open exceptionally wide. Despite his legendary ability to sleep through a Tarrasque eating dragon during a thunderstorm personally stoked by Talos, Kodimer had never, ever, fallen asleep during a watch, nor did he rest until he had accomplished every task he set before himself on a given day. Kodimer was famous at his abbey for staying awake for nearly four days without any ill effect, only to take his day of leisure almost entirely in sleep.
“This young man,” Braefull inclined his head toward the young man near the entrance to the tent, “recognized Bellicam's horse, and apparently thought to sneak into camp to settle a score.”
“If you seek to settle with Bellicam, you have come too late. Two days past I killed him in single combat. The horse I took to replace the one of mine he killed,” Kodimer told the young man. The paladin now suddenly looked every inch the holy warrior, alert and vigilant, with the calm bearing of a professional soldier.
“What is your name, young jack?,” Kodimer asked the younger man.
“Saelin. My father was Angruin the Apothecary. Bellicam killed him.”
“Your father trafficked in poisons, did he not?,” the paladin asked in an even tone.
“Does that mean he can be slaughtered like game animal?,” the boy replied, his hand dropping to the hilt of his dagger.
“No, it does not. But unless I miss my guess, that is the particular reason that Bellicam would be interested in him, and likewise why he would have killed him,” Kodimer reasoned.
“Yes . . . and no. I was to deliver a poison for him. My father didn't want me to carry it, but he had no choice, since our usual currier was missing. I was careful when I traveled to the address that I was given, but when I listened at the door, I heard that they had no intention of paying my father, and that they intended to kill him. When I returned home . . . I found him . . . ,” the young man trailed off.
“Saelin, Bellicam works for a man, a very dangerous man name Rhestiloer. I have been charged with bringing Rhestiloer to back to my superiors for trial, if I can, and to make sure he causes no more evil, if I cannot. Whoever these associates of Bellicam's were, they may know what Rhestiloer is doing and where he is. Would you be willing to lead me to this same dwelling that you were supposed to deliver the poison to?”
Saelin was silent.
“I promise that I will do all I can to keep you safe from harm,” the paladin offered.
“Its not safety I want. Bellicam is dead. I don't know what I want now, or if what you offer can give it to me,” Saelin replied.
“I know you and I are not bound by the same strictures. I cannot ask you to act for not reward if you are not moved to. All I can say is that vengeance without justice can be a very hollow thing. In the grand scheme of things, Bellicam's death does little to better the lot of folk in the Heartlands unless the man pulling his strings is dealt with.”
Saelin nodded.
“You want me to lead you back into Llorkh.”
“Yes, so we know what Rhestiloer is going to do. He is a Banite, and I thought that he had ties to the Zhentarim, but yet he is hiding himself from the masters of the city. I need to know what he is doing, and why,” Kodimer explained.
Braefull then spoke, “I'll get the others up. It'll be a damn site easier than dealing with you, Sir Kodimer of Golden Pillow, Grand Master of Dreams.” The bugbear sketched a deep bow and swept out the tent flaps into the camp.
Kodimer and Allydier worked together to ready their horses, as the dwarven brothers broke camp and burried the cooking fire. Braefull was keeping Saelin company as they walked his scrawny horse, hidden just a few paces away from the side trail leading to the camp, back towards the others.
“What is their story? I've never seen dwarves that carry no axes, nor hammers on their persons, and go about without armor as well,” Saelin asked the bugbear.
“Cairn and Pyre are from the Great Rift. They are gold dwarves, twins, and have been traveling for a while. They are both fairly talented sorcerers, a rare gift for the bearded folk, and for now, they have thrown in with us,” the bugbear said. He seemed almost ready to say more, then caught his breath.
Saelin noticed this, and nodded toward Kodimer and Allydier. “Are they together. They seem very close, and I'd imagine a healer of Ilmater and a paladin of Torm would make a good match,” Saelin said, though his admiration for the healer was quite obvious.
“Together and apart, and indeed, they make a painfully good match. Sir Kodimer of the Eternal Rest has taken a vow of chastity. Its not required for the service of Torm, but some of the Valiant Ones paladin's do take the vow, so that no other attachments distract them from their duty. Allydier is a healer pledged to the God of Suffering, and she seems to have decided to do her penance by pining eternally after our dear somnambulant champion. Perfectly suited for one another, and both perfectly frustrating in their denial of the obvious,” the bugbear answered.
“Then that just leaves you. You are as much a word smith as any street corner bard, and as much a gossip as an old farm wife. I've seen few of your race, but I'll still bet that you aren't exactly an average bugbear,” Saelin said.
“I, my dear boy, am a vicious bugbear barbarian warrior, a violent bundle of unbridled fury in battle,” Braefull recited, as if from a written play or poem.
“I'll grant that you are strong and more agile than I would have assumed, but I don't picture you as a frothing, battle mad barbarian warrior.”
“Just don't get me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.”
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