ooc - My first shot at fiction with Albanite, this is the story (dramatised, semi-fiction =) of how Ninra and I met. Hope you all like, post comments.
The dream last night was strange. He wondered if violence really did solve anything.
As Albanite traversed the BlackBurrow that day, he felt a mixture of feelings. What he was doing was more or less out of duty, he thought, and not any real hatred. The homelands must be defended, yes, but at what cost?
After dispatching of some gnolls, he met a fair lass on the Qeynos Hills cave entrance. Another Shank.
Her name? Ninra, she said. Albanite was reluctant to let the conversation go further. He was never a good woman’s man, tending to stay in the shadows while others made a name for themselves with the dames of Halas. But something inside him stirred, and a feeling of comfort and confidence grew. Maybe it was the surroundings, or maybe it was the nervousness of the Task ahead addling his brain, but something was different with Ninra.
“Scar… on your cheek”, he blurted. “H… How did you get that?”.
This was the turning point in Albanite’s life. Ninra lowered her head and avoided eye contact, as she launched into a tale so horrific, it was all Albanite could do to stop from yelling out with anger.
As a child in Halas, Ninra had wanted for little. Her parents owned a small tent-house in the Everfrost, sealed by the comfort of an overhanging cave. No matter how bleak the terrain became outside, how the snow battered the walls, or the wind howled like the swift banshees of the tundra, there was seemingly eternal warmth within the patchwork tent Ninra called home. It’s an oft-repeated line among the children of the less fortunate, but what the family lacked in possessions, they made up for in love. Albanite was usually a cynical chap, but the words as they came from Ninra had an undeniable aura of sincerity and love. This was the only time she raised her eyes and talked with enthusiasm in those caves, when remembering her family.
Albanite, taught to observe body language through years of observing from afar, of lurking in the darkness and the silence, was quite taken aback at how easily he understood Ninra. Usually, he saw people as complex entities, too wrapped up with complications to be concerned with. But Ninra was different.
Then, Ninra’s voice lowered again. One day, she quavered, as she was playing with her wolf Dusky in the snows, she heard an awful crack from her tent. As she turned around, instincts flared like a canine, she saw the support pole from the tent collapse, and she heard screams from within, punctuated by nasal, whining laughs. Elven laughs.
Petrified, Ninra heard her father’s voice. Normally boisterous and booming, it strained and faltered from the confusion. “NINRA!! R-run to the caves!! Stay in the shadows! You… you must run… NOW! WE lov-…”
And then all was silent. Ninra, heart beating like a wolf forced to run from a predator, headed through the gale and blizzards to the cave, always sneaking to the side, where she took stock of the situation. Surrounded by Gnolls, far too terrified to move, she heard approaching footsteps and voices.
“What you get, Tal?”, said one. It was familiar, and it sent shivers down her spine.
“Just some gold… the usual peasant stuff. Oh, and this book, too”., replied the next. The Book belonged to Ninra’s father, and it was a tome of the Tribunal, his most prized possession.
“Hey!”, whined the first. “All I got was this dagger… looks all home-made and amateur.. it’s worthless!.” Ninra heard the sound of a rough blade hitting the snow, as the stranger discarded the item.
“Yeah, well I ain’t got much to cheer about neither. This book is complete gibberish”. Ninra winced as she heard a page rip out, and the rest of the book fall into the snow.
“Teach those damn apes to mess with the Feir`Dal!”
“Yeah, let’s get back to the Druid Ring”.
It was with those lines Nirna learned of the fate of her parents. Murdered by the Feir`Dal, the Wood Elves of Faydwer. She emerged from the sidelines, picked up the book with a middle page ripped out, and the shank. She was on her own now. She knew her parents’ assassins would have a page of the Tome of the Tribunal, and ask the grief drilled into her mind and her heart, and the fervent wind tore at her skin and her ears, she started skywards, raised her arms, and emitted a mighty, earth-shattering roar.
The hairs on Albanite’s neck stood on end as Ninra described the downfall of her parents. And suddenly, the whole situation became clear. He’d been commanded by the Gods in a dream to slay a Feir`Dal… it wasn’t a coincidence. It was destiny. And as he embraced the sobbing Ninra, he felt their hearts beat in unison, as one, rhythmically in tune with the land and the living, thumping, thumping, thumping, as if creating the sound of the Six Hammers reverbrating across all Norrath.
He, and she, knew what they had to do.
[b]Albanite [Shanks] - Shaman - Vallon Zek
Mortanie [La Main Noire] - Enchanter - Vallon Zek
Jokah - Rogue - Bristlebane
