EZ_Sgean
11-03-00, 02:22 PM
Some days are glorious. 'T sound of battle rings in me ears from mornin' till sundown, and beyond. 'T cries and lamentation o' our enemies mixed with the clash o' steel. 'T smell o' blood, death, an' fear upon our foes. 'T sweet taste of victory. 'T pride in me chest, when I know I'm followin' our forefathers' will!
Some days are darker, when 't battle does nae go my way. But any day filled wi' battle is good. As long as I can swing me dirks, an' stab at our foes, that day is still a good one.
Some day are filled wi' despair, when betrayers an' cowards chose nae to follow 't laws of 't gods. Yet, I still take satisfaction in knowing I did nae resort to their heathen ways, even as they defeated me.
Throughout those days, 't fire that burns in me belly -- that fire, that feeds me, is the pride of bein' a Shank, and come the next Contest o' Blood, I'll be named a blooded Shank, and become yer peer. On those days, and in those moments, I feel like a Shank. In those moments, I am a Shank. I am a Son o' the North.
And then there are those moments, when I am not a son o' the North -- but a bastard son 'o Bristlebane! Last night, was one o' those moments.
After our rampage in 't Karanas, and Highold, I continued on to 't commonlands. Wi' the clamor o' battle still ringin' in me ears, and 't blood of many pecks and pointy-ears still on me daggers, I met 't All Father. There, I watched a mighty battle, as Wotan's magic tore through the devious, scale cover skin o' a skilled lizard monk. 'T monk, many seasons the Shank's senior, managed ta escape by fleeing the realm. Just then, a blue-skinned devil appeared. Rallos had nae allowed me to do battle wi' the lizard, but this critter, him I could hit.
So, I set after 't wee bastard, and started tearin' his hide up, and good. He wuz a necromancer, and fought back wi' his mighty spells. But soon, he decided ta scamper, and I lost the filthy bugger. Then, Wotan caught eye o' him, and saw him head for Befallen. I gave chase. 'T demon met me inside, but a few jabs o' me daggers, and he was runnin' again. I followed, daggers swinging. The madman seemed ta have no regards fer his life, though. He ran through 't place like a man posessed, wi' no regards for 't evils that lurked there.
I held back, as I realized what was happenin'. The blueskin had been blessed wi' the magic of 't wolf spirit, an' felt confident he'd be able ta outrun the undead. I too, had been blessed, but my spirit being bound in Qeynos, I did nae wish ta take 't chance. So, I turned back. I stepped into 't shadows, and headed out. It was then, that 't moment came.
A door. Locked. There was no panic in me. No frantic searching for a key. No searching for a pick. Because I knew, the moment I looked that door, that I posessed neither. 'T blood-lust dissapeared, like a dwarf on tax collection day. I realized how I had failed my calling. Wanting ta save as many practice points as possible for poisons, I'd nae trained picklocking yet. I cursed me own stupidity, an' hung me head in shame. No defeat, no lost battle had e'er brought me spirits so low. I had failed.
Then, the corridor was filled wi' the strangest light. Time stopped. Me mind swinging from despair to terror, I knew nae what to think. "Ach -- wha, wha," I stuttered, and cleared me throat, "What is, who is...?" and all of a sudden -- Bristlebane himself stood before me! I screamed in fear, and threw meself to 't floor. Then, I got control of me wits, and stood up. My lord had come to destroy me, for my failure. It was fit, that it should be so. I deserved it. But I was still a Shank, and a Shank, I'd die. I kept me eyes on 't floor, just in front of me, averting me eyes from His appearance. But I stood tall. Tryin' me best to sound brave, I cleared me throat, and spoke.
"I have failed Ye. 'T disgrace I have brought upon me profession is too great, an' I do nae deserve ta live. I stand before Ye, ready ta accept yer judgement, m'lord" I can still nae believe what happened next.
Bristlebane doubled over laughing, and fell to 't floor. I ne'er heard laughter so loud, it filled Befallen, an' surely 't commonlands too. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and he pounded 't floor with his fists, crying wi' laughter. I shuffled me feet, not sure what ta do. Finally, he got to his feet, barely able to control himself, and approached me. I stood, transfixed, confused.
Bristlebane held up a hand to me face. I dared to raise my eyes, and looked into his. His index finger was pointing at me nose. I looked at it. Then I looked back at Bristlebane.
Then, three things happened, so fast, it seemed they all happened at once: Bristlebane winked at me. Then He poked me in the eye. And then, wi' an angry yell, I tried ta take a swing at Him! But I hit nothing but air -- because he was gone. I could hear the horde of undeads that was scrambeling up the stairs towards me. Then, the door swung open! As I fled for safety, I could hear 't sound of Bristlebane's laughter, in my mind. And I laughed, too.
Shanks Initiate, and Thug of Vallon Zek
Some days are darker, when 't battle does nae go my way. But any day filled wi' battle is good. As long as I can swing me dirks, an' stab at our foes, that day is still a good one.
Some day are filled wi' despair, when betrayers an' cowards chose nae to follow 't laws of 't gods. Yet, I still take satisfaction in knowing I did nae resort to their heathen ways, even as they defeated me.
Throughout those days, 't fire that burns in me belly -- that fire, that feeds me, is the pride of bein' a Shank, and come the next Contest o' Blood, I'll be named a blooded Shank, and become yer peer. On those days, and in those moments, I feel like a Shank. In those moments, I am a Shank. I am a Son o' the North.
And then there are those moments, when I am not a son o' the North -- but a bastard son 'o Bristlebane! Last night, was one o' those moments.
After our rampage in 't Karanas, and Highold, I continued on to 't commonlands. Wi' the clamor o' battle still ringin' in me ears, and 't blood of many pecks and pointy-ears still on me daggers, I met 't All Father. There, I watched a mighty battle, as Wotan's magic tore through the devious, scale cover skin o' a skilled lizard monk. 'T monk, many seasons the Shank's senior, managed ta escape by fleeing the realm. Just then, a blue-skinned devil appeared. Rallos had nae allowed me to do battle wi' the lizard, but this critter, him I could hit.
So, I set after 't wee bastard, and started tearin' his hide up, and good. He wuz a necromancer, and fought back wi' his mighty spells. But soon, he decided ta scamper, and I lost the filthy bugger. Then, Wotan caught eye o' him, and saw him head for Befallen. I gave chase. 'T demon met me inside, but a few jabs o' me daggers, and he was runnin' again. I followed, daggers swinging. The madman seemed ta have no regards fer his life, though. He ran through 't place like a man posessed, wi' no regards for 't evils that lurked there.
I held back, as I realized what was happenin'. The blueskin had been blessed wi' the magic of 't wolf spirit, an' felt confident he'd be able ta outrun the undead. I too, had been blessed, but my spirit being bound in Qeynos, I did nae wish ta take 't chance. So, I turned back. I stepped into 't shadows, and headed out. It was then, that 't moment came.
A door. Locked. There was no panic in me. No frantic searching for a key. No searching for a pick. Because I knew, the moment I looked that door, that I posessed neither. 'T blood-lust dissapeared, like a dwarf on tax collection day. I realized how I had failed my calling. Wanting ta save as many practice points as possible for poisons, I'd nae trained picklocking yet. I cursed me own stupidity, an' hung me head in shame. No defeat, no lost battle had e'er brought me spirits so low. I had failed.
Then, the corridor was filled wi' the strangest light. Time stopped. Me mind swinging from despair to terror, I knew nae what to think. "Ach -- wha, wha," I stuttered, and cleared me throat, "What is, who is...?" and all of a sudden -- Bristlebane himself stood before me! I screamed in fear, and threw meself to 't floor. Then, I got control of me wits, and stood up. My lord had come to destroy me, for my failure. It was fit, that it should be so. I deserved it. But I was still a Shank, and a Shank, I'd die. I kept me eyes on 't floor, just in front of me, averting me eyes from His appearance. But I stood tall. Tryin' me best to sound brave, I cleared me throat, and spoke.
"I have failed Ye. 'T disgrace I have brought upon me profession is too great, an' I do nae deserve ta live. I stand before Ye, ready ta accept yer judgement, m'lord" I can still nae believe what happened next.
Bristlebane doubled over laughing, and fell to 't floor. I ne'er heard laughter so loud, it filled Befallen, an' surely 't commonlands too. There were tears rolling down his cheeks, and he pounded 't floor with his fists, crying wi' laughter. I shuffled me feet, not sure what ta do. Finally, he got to his feet, barely able to control himself, and approached me. I stood, transfixed, confused.
Bristlebane held up a hand to me face. I dared to raise my eyes, and looked into his. His index finger was pointing at me nose. I looked at it. Then I looked back at Bristlebane.
Then, three things happened, so fast, it seemed they all happened at once: Bristlebane winked at me. Then He poked me in the eye. And then, wi' an angry yell, I tried ta take a swing at Him! But I hit nothing but air -- because he was gone. I could hear the horde of undeads that was scrambeling up the stairs towards me. Then, the door swung open! As I fled for safety, I could hear 't sound of Bristlebane's laughter, in my mind. And I laughed, too.
Shanks Initiate, and Thug of Vallon Zek