EZ_Sgean
10-04-00, 05:16 PM
The shouts of hatred still echoed through the young barbarian's mind, as he entered Blackburrow. Hatred towards his race, towards him, and most of all, towards his clan -- the Shanks.
He was obviously nervous, hiding in dark corners, constantly peering over his shoulder. He'd learned not to trust anyone, at an early age.
A barbarian yelled out that there were elves in the burrow, elves that needed killing! The air was soon filled with taunts from the mongrels -- and even worse, with the voices of betrayers; the voices of those bluebloods so wicked, they'd join the elves' side.
Hiding in the dark, damp cavern, the memories of many a death passed through Sgean's mind. Honorable deaths, every one of them. Once, a wood elf druid many seasons his senior, binding his feet to the ground. Sgean's flesh scorching from magic bursts of fire -- and dying without ever swinging his dagger. All he had looked for, was a fire beetle, so he could see better in the dark. The last thing he heard, was the words "Damn Shanks!" But of all the deaths, the one that stood out the most, was the spoiled, rich, little woodelf who cut him down, while being healed by a barbarian shaman.
Death, defeat, and betrayal. His hatred had grown strong, but so had his doubts. And so had his fears. Was he strong enough to be a Shank? Had the cold winds of Everfrost lit the fire within him? His doubts did little to aid him. He hated his doubts. And he hated his fear. But most of all, he hated the voices that echoed through the burrow.
Steadying his guts with a quick sip of ale, he recalled a saying by his elders, "The wolf does nae regard 't barking dog!" Then, he turned into a shadow, and snuck out from the cave. Pausing briefly to make sure he was unseen, he braced himself, and let himself drop into the waters below.
The shadow emerged slowly, and started moving towards the bridge. He crossed it, pausing occasionally to observe those around him, to ensure he had not been seen. Balancing on narrow walkways, he finally arrived on a ledge occupied by a high elf, a human, and a halfling. The human was one of the yappering mutts. So was the halfling.
Sgean cursed under his breath, and withdrew carefully. His luck held, and the three did not spot him.
Dejected and resentful, he snuck into the deeper parts of the burrow. Never staying in one place for long, he started slaying gnolls and snakes, to strengthen himself, and improve his fighting skills. Every so often, a snake would drop a venom sack, which he greedily collected, hoping that one day, the poison would flow through the veins of his enemies. The giant snake fangs would fetch a pretty penny too, and he hoped to one day be able to buy himself some of that fancy banded armor he'd seen around.
After a long while of fighting, his fears and doubts were all but gone. Sgean felt the loot in his bags weigh him down, and decided it was time to make for Halas. With his head held high, he started making his way back towards the bridge. The sound of battle hit him when he approached, making him stop dead in his tracks. Instinctively, he hid himself, and snuck closer. The fighters were bluebloods, though, in a battle with gnolls. They were winning. Sgean nodded approvingly, and snuck past them.
Just then, a memory hit him. The three cretins on the ledge. The traitor human, the highelf, and the beady-eyed little peck. His doubts and fears boiled up once more, making him fume with anger. Slowly, his mind was filled with hatred, and he made for the ledge once more.
"Sgean, yer the worst kinda fool!" a voice said. "Ye enter a fray like ye're a shiney paladin, or a warrior! Ye got no patience, me lad! D'ye reckon the wolf would throw himself at a pack of well rested warriors? Nae, he'd stalk 'em. Wait. And watch. Ye'll ne'er learn the way o' the rogue, yer skull's as thick as a mammoth!"
His mind was like a snowstorm, as he approached the ledge. Feelings of doubts, anger, fear and resentment flew around like snowflakes in a blizzard. The ledge seemed empty. Yet he could hear the sound of battle.
It was the halfling! Alone, engaged in vicious fight, with a gnoll.
Sgean's mind raced. "Get off my land, ye filthy peck!" he mumbled to himself. The halfling was nearly dead. So was the gnoll.
Suddenly, the blizzard was gone. The silence shook him, and his mind cleared up, like a blue sky in Everfrost. A quiet, icy wind blew through it. He could feel a fire burning within him. All doubts were gone.
The halfling fell to the ground mortally wonded, just as Sgean stepped out of the shadows. His arms blurred with motion, and there was a quick flash of steel. The gnoll yalped, and toppled to the ground, dead.
The halfling wimpered weakly, while trying to get to his feet. "Thank you..." he croaked. For a second, there was silence. Then, another flash of steel. The halfing's face froze, and lay still.
Sgean listened to the wind.
Shanks Initiate, and Thug of Vallon Zek
He was obviously nervous, hiding in dark corners, constantly peering over his shoulder. He'd learned not to trust anyone, at an early age.
A barbarian yelled out that there were elves in the burrow, elves that needed killing! The air was soon filled with taunts from the mongrels -- and even worse, with the voices of betrayers; the voices of those bluebloods so wicked, they'd join the elves' side.
Hiding in the dark, damp cavern, the memories of many a death passed through Sgean's mind. Honorable deaths, every one of them. Once, a wood elf druid many seasons his senior, binding his feet to the ground. Sgean's flesh scorching from magic bursts of fire -- and dying without ever swinging his dagger. All he had looked for, was a fire beetle, so he could see better in the dark. The last thing he heard, was the words "Damn Shanks!" But of all the deaths, the one that stood out the most, was the spoiled, rich, little woodelf who cut him down, while being healed by a barbarian shaman.
Death, defeat, and betrayal. His hatred had grown strong, but so had his doubts. And so had his fears. Was he strong enough to be a Shank? Had the cold winds of Everfrost lit the fire within him? His doubts did little to aid him. He hated his doubts. And he hated his fear. But most of all, he hated the voices that echoed through the burrow.
Steadying his guts with a quick sip of ale, he recalled a saying by his elders, "The wolf does nae regard 't barking dog!" Then, he turned into a shadow, and snuck out from the cave. Pausing briefly to make sure he was unseen, he braced himself, and let himself drop into the waters below.
The shadow emerged slowly, and started moving towards the bridge. He crossed it, pausing occasionally to observe those around him, to ensure he had not been seen. Balancing on narrow walkways, he finally arrived on a ledge occupied by a high elf, a human, and a halfling. The human was one of the yappering mutts. So was the halfling.
Sgean cursed under his breath, and withdrew carefully. His luck held, and the three did not spot him.
Dejected and resentful, he snuck into the deeper parts of the burrow. Never staying in one place for long, he started slaying gnolls and snakes, to strengthen himself, and improve his fighting skills. Every so often, a snake would drop a venom sack, which he greedily collected, hoping that one day, the poison would flow through the veins of his enemies. The giant snake fangs would fetch a pretty penny too, and he hoped to one day be able to buy himself some of that fancy banded armor he'd seen around.
After a long while of fighting, his fears and doubts were all but gone. Sgean felt the loot in his bags weigh him down, and decided it was time to make for Halas. With his head held high, he started making his way back towards the bridge. The sound of battle hit him when he approached, making him stop dead in his tracks. Instinctively, he hid himself, and snuck closer. The fighters were bluebloods, though, in a battle with gnolls. They were winning. Sgean nodded approvingly, and snuck past them.
Just then, a memory hit him. The three cretins on the ledge. The traitor human, the highelf, and the beady-eyed little peck. His doubts and fears boiled up once more, making him fume with anger. Slowly, his mind was filled with hatred, and he made for the ledge once more.
"Sgean, yer the worst kinda fool!" a voice said. "Ye enter a fray like ye're a shiney paladin, or a warrior! Ye got no patience, me lad! D'ye reckon the wolf would throw himself at a pack of well rested warriors? Nae, he'd stalk 'em. Wait. And watch. Ye'll ne'er learn the way o' the rogue, yer skull's as thick as a mammoth!"
His mind was like a snowstorm, as he approached the ledge. Feelings of doubts, anger, fear and resentment flew around like snowflakes in a blizzard. The ledge seemed empty. Yet he could hear the sound of battle.
It was the halfling! Alone, engaged in vicious fight, with a gnoll.
Sgean's mind raced. "Get off my land, ye filthy peck!" he mumbled to himself. The halfling was nearly dead. So was the gnoll.
Suddenly, the blizzard was gone. The silence shook him, and his mind cleared up, like a blue sky in Everfrost. A quiet, icy wind blew through it. He could feel a fire burning within him. All doubts were gone.
The halfling fell to the ground mortally wonded, just as Sgean stepped out of the shadows. His arms blurred with motion, and there was a quick flash of steel. The gnoll yalped, and toppled to the ground, dead.
The halfling wimpered weakly, while trying to get to his feet. "Thank you..." he croaked. For a second, there was silence. Then, another flash of steel. The halfing's face froze, and lay still.
Sgean listened to the wind.
Shanks Initiate, and Thug of Vallon Zek