tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13212736839150488002024-03-08T02:59:05.723-08:00Hi-Larios ProductionsThe only place to find a fat nerd complaining about stuff on the Internet.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-64340881721862346612012-08-16T15:03:00.000-07:002012-08-16T15:03:12.098-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Empty<br />
It’s only about three feet deep, so how can it hold everything? Canna stared at her backpack curiously as everything she would possess in the next stage of her life was so carefully arranged inside. There were few spare sets of clothes, several sunrods to help pierce the undoubtedly hideous, dark lairs of the Drow, a month’s worth of banausic trail rations, a length of rope coiled tightly, a filled waterskin, and an inconspicuous black coin purse filled with a meager salary of gold pieces tucked tightly into the corner. She was preparing to combat the strongest army the world has ever known, and yet there was still room left in her backpack? She sneered as she thought how easy it was to obtain this equipment; proving the only thing stopping someone from taking up the fight was cowardice or complacency in the face of oppression. With a sigh she sealed her pack and tied her bedroll to the top before looking over to the enormous axe which rested on her bed. She bent over and slid her hands underneath the weapon’s handle just to feel the weight of cold steel in her hands. Instinctively her fingers tightened into a grip and her muscles tensed in preparation of an attack. There was nothing to fight inside of the humble Corbett home, but it didn’t keep Canna from swinging her devastating weapon about. Each movement stretched a muscle aching to engage, and the weapon now felt like a comfortable extension of herself as she arched it down with a restrained grunt. The blade hovered just inches above the ground when a sarcastic tone interrupted Canna’s trance.<br />
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“You’re expecting to do a lot of fighting during your pilgrimage?” Jude Corbett stood at the doorway of her daughter’s room, and her glower was enough to set another miserable tone to this exchange between mother and child.<br />
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Canna shrugged as she set her weapon back on her bed. “It’s there to keep people from trying to rob me. It won’t hurt to make it look like I know how to use it,” Canna replied without an ounce of passion in her voice. In contrast to the stories she told her father and brother, Canna barely cared about humoring her mother’s concerns. However, she was also certain her mother was more agitated than concerned; a feeling she would reflect as her face bent into scowl. She turned to lean her rear on the edge of her bed; crossing her arms over her chest as she waited her mother’s response.<br />
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Jude chuckled lightly, though it was a sardonic laugh brewed from disbelief. She shook her head and forced a condescending grin that neatly fit the aging beauty’s face. “Canna, I’m not an idiot, and you can stop this charade of going on a pilgrimage with me.” Jude’s tone began deceptively tender, but became cruel as she waved aside her daughter’s faulty excuse. “I know you’re going to try and go over that wall, and if that’s true then I suppose I won’t be seeing you again after tonight.” Her daughter didn’t grasp the true intention of that statement, though she did have the decency not to continue defending her poorly veiled lie.<br />
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“I don’t plan on coming back for a while, but I’ll be back eventually,” Canna replied as she met Jude’s intimidating stare with one of her own. She expected her mother to make a condescending remark about her naivety, but instead Jude’s contempt only seemed to increase.<br />
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“No,” Jude shot back, “You will not come back eventually. If you leave this house tomorrow to go over that wall, then you will never be welcomed back.”<br />
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Canna snickered. “What, like you’re going to disown me?” her disbelief captured in arrogant grin. She wasn’t fazed by Jude’s unflinching reaction; never in her worst nightmares could she envision a world where her parents would ever turn their backs on her. That innocence was cruelly shattered.<br />
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“You were gone for a year, Canna. An entire year you spent off in that city of monsters, and we never knew why. I stayed up night after night praying that I’d hear a knock on the door and it was you, and fearing that I’d hear a knock on the door and it was someone who found your remains along the side of the road. And why did I have to go through that daily suffering?” There wasn’t a trace of the vulnerability she was recalling in her voice. Her words were vicious and absolute. “For twenty-one years you’ve fought with me on everything and I endured it because you were my child. I gave you the chance to enjoy a great life, and now you’re choosing to throw it all away just so you can be a martyr.” She paused as she took in the sight of her daughter, a woman who nearly identically mirrored herself physically, and frowned in contempt. “I’m not going to stop you from throwing your life away, but don’t expect me to waiting by the door for you to knock.”<br />
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Emotionally, Canna had just been fatally wounded. Even if she fought with her family on a near constant basis she held onto the sweet reminder that a parent’s love is unconditional. That, however, was a lesson Leon had taught her, and Jude proved herself once again to be diametrically opposed to her daughter’s inspiration. Canna’s scowl grew more intense as she mentally broke apart her mother’s argument before lashing out into her own cruel rant. “Fuck you, Mom. Two generations have passed by, and neither can ever say they know what a clear sky looks like! Trees struggle to grow, but just because you have a house you assume that means no one is suffering! We’re not safe because that wall separates us from the Drow; it makes us slaves! I’m going to change that!” Her words were intense as she fiercely stood just inches from her mother’s face. Her focus completely unwavering in the face of her mother’s cold glare. “I’m sorry I’m throwing your life away,” Canna sarcastically spat, “but maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life blasting out kids and wondering what to make for din—“<br />
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A loud crack echoed throughout the Corbett household as Canna was forced into silence. She slowly rose a hand to touch her ruddy cheek only to feel the sharp stinging pain at her fingertips. Her expression was one of utter horror as she stared at her mother’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you ever, ever speak of me like I’m a villain for choosing to have children.” Jude withdrew her hand and allowed the long, white, flowing sleeves of her gown to hide the red tint in her palm. “You keep thinking of everyone as your enemy because all you know how to do is fight. If that’s all you care about, then do it. But I won’t let you be an impression on Darek anymore. You’ll ruin him, just like that fool ruined you.”<br />
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There was no ambiguity as to who “that fool” was. Jude had indirectly referenced the late Leon Corbett in the past, but never before had she done it in a blatantly derogatory manner. However the word Canna latched onto wasn’t “fool”. No, there was a far more grievous insinuation in her mother’s speech; one Canna could not forgive. “Ruined?” she muttered as she tried not to disrespect her uncle’s memory by succumbing to violence. “He saved me! He’s the only person to ever walk this planet that told me I wasn’t wrong for being born the way I was! He went over that wall to fight for all of our sakes, and all you can do is complain that he did a better job of parenting me in five years than you could do in a century!” Her breathing was becoming faster and her arms tingled with a thirst for violence. A single punch would be all she’d need to vindicate her uncle’s legacy, but she refrained. However, her hatred had passed the point of suppression and it needed an outlet. Instead of a fist, she attacked her mother with something far more heinous. A single phrase that shattered the frail, aging mother more than any physical force could. “I wish I had been his daughter instead!”<br />
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Even Canna was stunned by the words that just escaped her lips, but she adamantly stood behind them. Her mother’s expression didn’t change, but Canna could swear that it seemed her eyes grew colder. Jude twisted away and spoke one last time. “You can spend the night here, but tomorrow you leave. And never come back to this house again.” Her words had been eroded of their vitriol, and now just felt exhausted and weighty.<br />
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A moment of clarity allowed Canna to recognize the extent of her actions, and she quickly tried to mend her damages “Mom, I lo—“ Her mother turned to face her, but Canna lost her words against horrific sight in front of her. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” she stuttered. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen, and yet there was no mistake about it. When Jude turned back to look back at her daughter, her eyes were devoid of love.<br />
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She was staring at a stranger.<br />
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<br />
I was excited to write Jude because of a large goal I had for her. She’s a condescending and absolute person which is a huge pet peeve of mine, so I wanted to write that personality as an antagonist. However, I absolutely wanted to make sure that she was not completely without merit. In fiction parents tend to hit either extreme—they’re such amazing parents that it’s absolutely crushing that they’re gone or they’re irredeemable monsters. Either extreme works, but I always feel it robs the character of a bit of their humanity. It’s my personal belief that no one is truly evil and even the worst people have a reason they are the way they are. In this example, Jude is a woman who tries to control the lives of her children, but in the same respect she also kept them well fed, sang them lullabies every night, and never beat them. She’s a woman who cares deeply about her children even if her attitude comes off as cruel. Now, don’t get me wrong; she’s not a nice person. But, even if she’s made mistakes she is still more complicated than just “what a bitch”.<br />
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In Penn Jillette’s book “<i>God, No!</i>” he speaks about the awe-inspiring value of unconditional love within a family and how it’s one of the most incredible parts of being human. Great concept, but sadly that isn’t a catholic value that all families hold in the same regard. Jude and Canna put up with years of frustration for the sake of family, but this moment was Jude’s breaking point. To her, Canna was throwing away the most precious thing she ever gave her daughter. Canna then unintentionally accused her mother of being a bad person for choosing to be a housewife, and then said she wished she had been Leon’s child instead. Now I’m not a mother, but I can imagine hearing those words would be extremely devastating—especially to a woman like Jude. Granted, Jude said some horrible things too, but I wanted both parties to come away looking awful and wounded. Jude disowning her daughter was something she never wanted to do, but it was something her pride and bitter attitude drove her to.<br />
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Welp, that’s going to do it for Change Yourself, Change the World as the next day of Canna’s life is the start of the first session, so the end of these storylines have yet to be determined. I have to say I’m glad to have written this series even if it became a frustrating experience more often than I’d like. Truth be told, I really wish I had changed Canna’s character early as she became difficult to write consistently and doesn’t always reflect the character I roleplay. If I could do it over, I would have made Canna’s family more developed, tried to incorporate Darek more, and probably eliminated a lot of the Arkhosia stuff away, but it just makes me want to improve on my next character even more.<br />
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Considering the views for individual pieces lowered significantly towards the end of this series I imagine most viewers felt the same way—or I didn’t promote enough. I can completely understand that sentiment if that is indeed true because I’m just aware of the faults as anyone else it. I’m still proud of CYCW because it brought me back to writing and I definitely feel I’ve grown as a writer from the first piece to this final installment. As always, I’m always open to criticism good or bad on what you thought. If you’re nervous about starting a negative opinion in a public venue, then hit me up via e-mail at TheRolloT@yahoo.com.<br />
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With that out of the way, I want to thank everybody who did read this series, and if you enjoyed then thank you for doing so as my only goal is to entertain (clearly my ego is too picky to be fed). This was fun to do, and I’m still kicking around the possibility of starting a fantasy novel before the end of the year. Thank you all for reading, and I’ll see you this Sunday for some more Shadowlands! Huzzah!<br />
Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-72428976242603682952012-08-11T12:03:00.003-07:002012-08-11T12:04:15.280-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Best Left Unsaid<br />
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Canna sat quietly in her room immersed in a deep
meditation. She rested on her heels; her eyes sealed as she focused on
maintaining a steady breathing pattern while going over her tenets once again.
Years had passed since the violent vixen first learned of her destiny with the
Unfettered Queen, and the angry teen was now an adult preparing for the
greatest challenge in her life. In a week’s time she would be heading north to
meet with Bryth Wyrmslayer about a scouting mission over the wall, although the
lie she told her family was that in a week’s time she would be embarking on a
pilgrimage to visit various shrines to Avandra all across the world. In the
eyes of the inconsiderate avenger, she felt everyone bought the story. Now she
would enjoy her last week at home mentally preparing for this daunting task
while trying to spend a few precious moments with her family as she knew they
could very well be her last.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A heavy knock at her door startled Canna out of her
trance. “Hello?” she muttered, a bit confused at who could be contacting her
this late in the evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s me.” Though he spoke so very rarely, Canna could
still recognize her father’s voice. The faithful follower of Avandra stood and
tucked her holy symbol back underneath her shirt as she ran to her door and
opened it with an earnest curiosity. Kaevyn was still a large man, but Canna
couldn’t help but find her views of him more modest ever since meeting the
behemoth that was Cormag. The blacksmith was now well into his forties, and the
signs of age were apparent in his features. His once boyish head of hair was
now grayed and thinning from the back, and his strong facial features were now
accented by worn wrinkles tanned from his long hours spent in the forge. He
wasn’t ancient, but he was a man with more years behind him than in front of
him anymore—not that anyone could tell given on how rarely he spoke of the
past. He stared down at his daughter with the same expressionless eyes he
always did. Canna had long since learned not to take it as an insult. She just
knew it as her father’s peculiar way of carrying himself. “Canna, I need to do
something back at the forge. Could you help me with it?” That was always the
way Kaevyn spoke; abruptly to the point as though each word cost him a silver
to say.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Canna slightly perked an eyebrow at the request. On rare
occasions he would request the aid of his daughter to help him around the
forge, though generally only for very mundane jobs like cleaning. She hadn’t
been asked along for one of these last night chores since she returned from
Arkhosia, so she assumed her younger brother had been enlisted in her stead.
The eldest daughter was about to question why her father didn’t turn to his son
for this task, but she realized this might be one of the last times she would speak
to her father for a very long time so she forced a smile, nodded lightly, and
followed behind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The walk to the forge was made in complete silence, but
that was not strange for the situation. Neither Corbett enjoyed idle chit-chat
very much, and it was something they silently appreciated about one another. Canna
occupied her mind by focusing on the sound of her father’s feet as they clapped
against the paved stone streets of Southgate. Did his footsteps always sound so
booming? Canna hadn’t really thought about it before, but her father had a very
particular way of carrying himself. His shoulders were broad and straight; his
back erect and forcing his view ever forward. Kaevyn may have been anti-social,
but he clearly wasn’t shy if he walked with such power and confidence in his
step. Canna wasn’t sure why it had taken her until now to really notice the
pride with which her father carried himself. Maybe it was because she knew she
likely wouldn’t see him again for quite some time, and she wanted to capture
every nuance of his person in her memories. She thought back to her childhood
and the few, but precious moments she shared with her father. Her daydreaming
abruptly ended once she caught sight of the inside of the forge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Canna was expecting the chamber to be covered in ash with
random bits of steel strewn about the floors and shelves. Instead the cold
cobble stone floors were neatly swept, and all of the weapons had been
organized and stored away just as usual on a standard day of business. Canna was
utterly confused, but her father pulled up a set of chairs and motioned for her
to take a seat. Canna, feeling as though she was once again a child just about
to be scolded, took a seat without speaking a word. Her father slumped into the
other chair with a relieved sigh accompanying the groan of wood underneath his
weight. For another moment the two sat in silence. Canna studied her father
waiting for any of the telltale signs of his agitation she had memorized as a
child, but her father seemed strangely at ease. Almost joyously so—although it
was sometimes difficult to interpret the very picayune details of emotion in
Kaevyn’s face. After a couple minutes had passed Kaevyn finally felt
comfortable enough in his chair to reach out onto a nearby shelf and pull out a
long wooden chest from behind a solid steel cuirass that Canna swore had always
been at the forge.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The chest was long and thick, and constructed out of a
well-polished wood. Canna stared at her father curiously as he positioned the
chest on his lap before slowly lifting the lid. Inside was a long olive tinted
bottle gently cradled by maroon silk. Kaevyn carefully lifted the bottle out of
its casing before setting the remnants of the chest to the side. He studied the
bottle carefully as Canna peered over his shoulder to examine the label. “Mountain
Heart, Dwarven Whiskey” it read. Judging from the lavish container Canna
initially presumed this was a legendary brew, but then she noticed the seal on
top had long since been broken and more than half of the liquor was missing.
Kaevyn paid no mind to his daughter’s curiosity choosing instead to grab a set
of small glasses that rested on a table beside him. He diligently poured the
whiskey into one of the glasses making sure to stop at precisely three quarters
of the way up. He then turned to give his daughter the other glass. “You can
clean it if you’d like.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There was no explanation to why he was serving drinks or
why he’d been keeping this stock of liquor secret, but if he was intent on
sharing then the former mercenary would not decline his generosity. “No, that’s
fine,” she said with a quick hand wave. The truth was she had drunk from cups far
more filthy during her year in Arkhosia, but she would deliberately leave that
detail out. In response her father poured a duplicate drink approximately
measured at three quarters of the way full and handed it to his daughter. Canna
took it with an unintentionally curt, “Thanks.” Kaevyn rested the bottle at his
feet before cracking his back against his chair and then taking a long sip of
his drink. Canna waited for any sign of emotion from her father to gauge what
this drink was all about, but Kaevyn displayed no strong emotion other than a
comforted contentment as he savored his whiskey.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Confused, but not unappreciative, Canna took a sip of
Mountain Heart. It was immensely powerful even for a drinker who favored liquor
with a punch. Canna nearly gagged at first as though she had ingested a brew
meant for Dragonborns again. However just as quickly as the kick appeared it
faded away into a vapid taste that left Canna wondering if she had just
ingested medicinal alcohol. She nearly commented on the apparently poor quality
of the drink when she suddenly sensed a very faint assortment of spices on her
tongue. As the whiskey settled in her mouth she picked up a medley of subtle
flavors that lacked a presence but, after swallowing they left the consumer in
a comforted state. In was a bizarre blend to be sure, but Canna could tell it
was one that had to be tolerated before it could truly be appreciated. She
wasn’t sure why her father favored such a strange drink, but as the slightest
curves of a smile grew on his face Canna knew that he enjoyed it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m proud of you.” Kaevyn’s single sentence broke the
silence but left his daughter speechless. He didn’t stop to gauge her reaction
or stare at her wide-eyed bewilderment, choosing to instead take another sip of
his drink as he relaxed further. Canna had to consciously keep her jaw from
dropping in response to her father’s praise. She had become used to being
berated for her attitude and her lack of discipline by her parents over the
years, and the violent vixen couldn’t even remember the last time one of her
parents complimented her in any meaningful way. Against her will her cheeks
began to blush, but internally she had no clue what she did to prompt any sort
of appreciation. She was hesitant to say anything—afraid her father may retract
his words if she inquired about the specifics. Several blissful moments passed
by before Kaevyn finally elaborated. “It’s been a long time since your mother
or I have been able to go to sleep without worrying about you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Canna’s good cheer came to a tragic end. She wouldn’t
admit it, but she secretly hoped her father was referring to her noble fight
against oppression as the reason for his pride, but it was clear he was still
deceived by the illusion of Canna’s supposed life as a pious follower of
Avandra. Canna wanted to be angry at her father for him still misunderstanding
who she was at her core, but she couldn’t bring herself to despise Kaevyn for
saying such an earnest thought. It was clear to Canna that her father was
relieved to finally be able to say those words from the rare, slight
vulnerability that was laced in his tone. She hated knowing that her father’s
reassurance was only a mirage she provided so that she could keep her real
agenda a secret. It was a cruel twist of fate that taunted her unspoken
obsession with connecting with her father, but Canna went back to scowling the
same as she normally did as she pushed those close to her further away.
“Thanks,” she mumbled with any true appreciation in her inflection. Kaevyn’s
stoic expression never changed, but Canna imagined he probably picked up on her
unsubtle insincerity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With one final sip Kaevyn finished his drink and set the
empty glass down by his feet. Canna was stunned to see the speed at which he
swallowed the whiskey; she herself had only managed to peck at her beverage in
comparison. She took the feat as an
insult to her own fortitude and responded in kind by taking a deep gulp of the
whiskey only to find herself immediately regretting that decision. The alcohol
hit her like a punch to her delicate chin, and it took all of her self-control
not to spit the contents back into the glass. Kaevyn didn’t seem to pay the
reaction any mind though as he stood up and walked slowly over towards a
collection of weapons that hung across the wall. Morningstars, glaives,
daggers, and all assortments of arms in between rested carefully on hinges that
lined the walls of the forge, but Kaevyn was focused on an enormous axe that
seemed freshly crafted in comparison to the aged steel that surrounded it. The
smith lifted his work from the wall and managed to dwarf the behemoth
instrument in his hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“You should take this on your pilgrimage. You probably
won’t be able to swing it, but seeing it should be enough to scare off
thieves.” Once again Kaevyn’s voice carried a paternal pride in it, but now
there was a concern mixed inside that Canna couldn’t ignore as he brought the
brutal weapon over and set it beside her. Canna inspected the axe from top to
bottom, and felt a tingle of intimidation run down her spine. The head of the
axe was larger than the avenger’s torso, and thick enough that it could easily
hew a well grown oak in a single swing. The handle was long, cold, and
featureless sans a single point that took the place of the pummel. It didn’t
need crude curves or elaborate decorations to command attention to its sinister
purposes, and it seemed an appropriate weapon for a holy assassin.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Satisfied, Kaevyn returned to his seat and began pouring
another glass of Mountain Heart. The drink rested casually on his knee as he
stared forward towards his life’s work. Every weapon that hung on the wall was
a mark of pride to the blacksmith; a testament towards his own self-validation.
These instruments of battle were the reason he could support his family, and
yet there was always a lonely feeling that crept up in the pit of his stomach
when he stopped to admire them. It was a cold reminder of the man who threw
away this same opportunity.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I used to share these drinks with Leon.” The mention of
her uncle’s name instantly snatched Canna’s attention as she whipped her head
to face her father. Kaevyn’s eyes had begun drifting lower, but they kept a
firm stare forward despite the lingering remorse slowly emerging in his lenses.
“We used to share drinks just like this. We didn’t say a lot to one another,
but it was something I always loved.” The slow cadence in his voice made
Kaevyn’s monologue sound more like a eulogy as a powerful influence of sadness
replaced his usual apathetic tone. Canna
shifted uncomfortably in her chair as her father spoke casually of his brother;
an unspoken crime in the Corbett household. Normally it was due to the
condescending nature of which Jude commonly referenced Leon causing Canna to
get enraged, but now she just felt awkward as bittersweet memories filled her
mind. She had long since passed the point where the mere mention of her uncle
could bring her to her most extreme emotion, but she found her resilience
tested more than she anticipated after hearing her father’s somber words melt
away into a painful silence. She prayed that anything would break the quiet,
and unfortunately got her wish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I wish I hadn’t let him go over that wall.” Canna’s ears
perked again, but the maturing tears in her eyes were cut short by a glare. “I
don’t know why he could never understand the impossible.” Canna’s teeth
clenched and she felt her muscles begin to tense. “He could have lived a normal
life. Had his own kids by now. And he threw that away to die for a cause no one
cared about but him.” Canna’s right hand clenched tightly into a fist before
releasing as she tried to hold back a vicious obscenity. She hated the notion
that Leon died as a fool, but she took particular umbrage to the words “his own
kids”. It seemed too personal; as if her father was actually daring to accuse
his little brother of trying to steal the love his daughter—the very thought of
which made Canna want to scream. How could a man so distant and unapproachable
dare to accuse someone else of being emotionally inappropriate? Her lips were
curling upwards, and her brows shifting into a fierce scowl as she eyed the axe
beside her with very wicked intentions. Ironically though, it was Leon’s words
that kept her from unleashing her rage. It was his first rule to Canna that she
should always appreciate the value of family, and she knew if she acted on what
her emotions told her to that she would make a decision she’d come to regret
for the rest of her life. Her father may be ignorant and vapid, but it was
Leon’s lesson that said she should always love him no matter what. She was still
struggling to understand if that sentiment was true in reverse.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kaevyn was ignorant to her daughter’s physical and mental
conflicts as he found his mind wandering in memories he oft kept tightly to
himself. He drifted back to days spent chasing his brother around Southgate
when they were children; days when the values of complacency and war didn’t
alienate the siblings from one another. A nostalgic reminder of the
unconditional camaraderie of fraternity surfaced in Kaevyn’s mind, and the
alcohol loosened his lips enough to say a set of words he otherwise would have
buried deep in himself. “I miss him,” Kaevyn uttered with a suffering stare.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Those words struck Canna on a familiar level she never
thought she’d share with her father. Canna implanted her own desperate whine
into his voice, and mimicked the same fragile cry she uttered on so many lonely
nights. Moments ago she was barely restraining herself from physically
confronting her father, but now it was all she could do not to sob. If she
hadn’t spent the better portion of the last decade mourning Leon’s passing she
probably would embrace her father, but now all she could do was sit back and
take another sip of her drink. She didn’t want to say a word. Nothing she could
say would feel appropriate, and there was little room in her heart for sympathy
at this point. Instead she sat quietly and let her father enjoy one last night
embraced in the memory of a fool with the biggest smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kaevyn is a bizarre guy to write for namely because I
tend to rely on powerful dialogue to get across character motivations. The fact
that Kaevyn barely speaks makes it so I have to get across his feelings mostly
through subtleties. In the odd point he does talk, I need that line to carry a
tremendous amount of weight without being awkward. In retrospect I wish I had
made Kaevyn’s nature just over the top sexy. Probably would have made him
easier to write.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Honestly though, Kaevyn’s distant nature is a big issue
for Canna because after losing Leon she desperately wanted a father figure.
Ironically enough, her father never was that for her. He’s always been a lunch-pail
type of guy who works, goes home, and then just sits back and tries to
appreciate his family. Unfortunately, he’s quite and emotionally stunted to the
point where he tend to let his wife express his feelings for him. Thus he
always comes off as the fly on the wall or the third wheel watching the
conflicts in his family. It’s a situation where Canna loves her father, but she’s
not close to him on any level. Of course, Kaevyn wasn’t close to Leon either
which is something he’s come to regret.<o:p></o:p></div>
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These last two parts are designed to show Canna’s
relationship with her parents. She has a slightly better relationship with her
father, although that’s mostly because there’s not much of a relationship to
speak of. The main difference however is their opinion of Leon. Jude hates the
guy and doesn’t shed a tear that he’s gone, but Kaevyn does regret his brother’s
passing. In his opinion, Leon threw away an amazing opportunity, but they were
still brothers at the core. Family is important to Kaevyn just as it was to
Leon. This is likely why Kaevyn is so quick to believe Canna’s lie about a
pilgrimage. He’s quickly latched onto the idea that his daughter isn’t making
the same mistake so that he can keep his peace of mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To Canna, her father is a good man, but a shitty father.
Still, that relationship doesn’t necessarily ruin a family. In the final piece,
Canna will have the conversation with her mother that spells an end to her
place in the Corbett family, and makes the last significant event Canna
underwent before heading north over the wall. Change Yourself, Change the World
ends next week everybody. Hope you’ll enjoy the finale.<o:p></o:p></div>Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-51991228113920266492012-08-04T07:05:00.000-07:002012-08-04T07:05:14.909-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: AvengerSeveral weeks had passed since Canna first learned of her divine patron, and the violent vixen had exhausted her miniscule resources pulling together any material on Avandra she could. The Unfettered Queen was not one of the more pronounced deities however, and her order’s nature to refrain from a uniform Church made it nearly impossible for her to find detailed recordings of Avandra’s tenants. She found several old texts that explained what any novice student of religion would know of Avandra, but the wisdom behind it was decisively missing. Canna had taken to a more peculiar method of investigation; she started asking around for a follower.<br />
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The faithful of the world still existed, though their numbers were rare enough that the general public considered them extinct. Finding a follower of the weakened gods wasn’t going to be an easy task. Especially considering the drifting natures of Lady Luck’s disciples. Still, fortune, or perhaps fate, dealt the teen a lucky hand as one of the few sources in Southgate she could trust did know of a follower of Avandra. The information on him was limited—almost as though Canna was learning about an urban legend as opposed to a person. He supposedly never stayed in any one location too long, but he was scheduled to arrive in Southgate in just a few short days. For a moderate fee, the fence could set up a meeting between the two parties. Now Canna was impatiently waiting outside of a shady tavern on the outskirts of Southgate, her fingers rapping against the bare skin on her upper arms as they crossed over her chest.<br />
<br />
She sighed as she uncomfortably leaned against the wall of the Dreary Chalice. She scoffed as she forced her attention in various directions before her feet once again felt stiff and dead beneath her. She was just about ready to force her way into the bar when a brutish guard stuck his head out from the tavern’s thick oak door and motioned for the teen to enter. She eagerly entered the building, but her escort quickly stopped her as he looked her over several times. “You really sure you want to do this?” Canna couldn’t comprehend why she wouldn’t want to meet a fellow Avandrenean. Her escort shrugged before guiding her towards a lone table deep in the back of the tavern where she caught eyes with a charming Halfling comfortably relaxed as he scanned the beautiful red head as she approached.<br />
<br />
The Halfling was handsome with an attractively messy of head soft auburn hair that turned blonde at the tips and a strong, pronounced chin. The skin on his face was slightly wrinkled and lightly tanned from years spent journeying in the wilds, but this only helped to add to his exotic presence. He was dressed in fine silks that casually emphasized his relaxed demeanor. His winsome smile took the teen by surprise as he elegantly motioned for her to take a seat with only the slightest motion of his hand. Cautious, but dumbstruck, Canna joined the Halfling as he confidentially studied her with his pale blue eyes. After a few moments of silence passed the Halfling seemed to have taken in all of the sights that he needed to and he called out to a nearby waiter. “Good sir! A glass of fine Elven wine please for myself and this enchanting young lady.” His words dripped with a suave charm as he placed a unique stressed inflection on his vowels as if drawing them out made each word more significant.<br />
<br />
Canna was momentarily mesmerized in confusion, but before the waiter could depart Canna gained control of her sense. “No wait,” she half-shouted, “I’m not drinking anything tonight.” This was an important evening for the newest follower of Avandra, and there were some things that were so important you had to do them sober.<br />
<br />
“No worries, my dear. It’s just a little Elven wine. It is to be appreciated as a fine masterpiece like a great work of art or the peerless beauty of a young woman.” The Halfling inched his hands closer until they rested on top of Canna’s hands. He examined the teen’s delicate facial features before gently massaging her palms. “There’s no need to blush. An ember haired enchantress like yourself must be used to these sorts of compliments.”<br />
<br />
In the Halfling’s mind, Canna’s peculiar expression was due to her blushing at his flattering advances, but in truth it was an awkward curiosity. Canna wasn’t being charmed; she thought she was witnessing the village fool. She brushed away his sweet words without much thought, but when she heard herself referred to as an “enchantress” she couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. The Halfling was taken aback. “Laughing? No, you’re not supposed to be laughing yet—I haven’t told a joke. Why are you laughing?” The Halfling tilted his head as he took a slightly wounded tone to his delightfully bouncy cadence.<br />
<br />
“I think they must have taken me to the wrong table. I’m supposed to meet someone called Varner.” The Halfling withdrew his hands.<br />
<br />
“I am Varner!” he shouted as his eyes widened, “What kind of admirer desperately wants to have a meeting with someone they don’t even know?” Varner’s question was unfortunately answered by the teen’s vacant expression. “You’re not an admirer are you? Oh poo…” Dejected, the Halfling quickly called out to the waiter again. “Nix the wine and just bring me a glass of whiskey.”<br />
<br />
“What happened to that nice glass of wine as dazzling as a piece of art?” Canna teased as she failed to hold back a grin.<br />
<br />
“Well one of us might as well be getting wet tonight,” Varner mumbled as he reached out for his drink. “So, you’re not here to spend the night with me, and you’re clearly not here to kill me based on the fact I’m still alive. So tell me, girl, why are you here?” Canna reached into her pocket as she examined the room. There were many patrons inside the Dreary Chalice, but they were invested in either company or drink. Still, the teen was careful to seal her hand completely as she assumed she would probably capture the attention of any onlookers if the caught a glimpse of the glowing medallion she clenched tightly in her palm. She slowly lifted her arm onto the table and extended her hand towards Varner. She just slightly opened her fist and revealed the faint glowing light emanating from the holy symbol to Avandra. She expected Varner to jump back in shock, but he rather nonchalantly absorbed the news. “Oh, that’s it?” He took a casual sip of his drink. “Ah, marvelous. Elven wine might be crushed beneath the feet of virgin elven priestesses, but this whiskey is true art—for about an eight of the price.” He savored his drink before catching a glimpse of the teen’s expecting face. “Oh don’t get upset. Yes, the whole spiel of women being masterpieces might be a bit facetious, but women, in my experience, tend to get terribly angry when you say liquor is better than they are.”<br />
<br />
“I don’t care about your fucking drink!” Canna shouted as she quickly shoved the medallion back into her pocket.<br />
<br />
“See? This is what I mean. You’re yelling at me. Whiskey never yells at me. Ergo, whiskey is a better companion.” Varner could see the veins starting to form on the teen’s forehead and realized he would need to adjust his charm slightly to ensure he didn’t end up being forced to finish his drink through a straw. “Okay, perhaps we’ll save that discussion for a later time. You came to see me because you only just recently discovered you’ve been chosen by Avandra and you needed someone to teach you about our matron, correct?”<br />
<br />
“How did you know that?” Canna eyed Varner suspiciously, but he merely stared back utterly confounded.<br />
<br />
“Because I can put two and two together—how drunk do you think I am? I assure you the rumor of Halflings being unable to hold their liquor is a vicious lie!” Varner took a deep gulp on his drink with an expression of firm satisfaction sketched onto his face. After a moment passed he remembered where he had veered off from the conversation’s natural path. “Ah, yes. I am a Cleric of Avandra. I spend most of my time traveling around the lands helping the lost find their place in the world and preaching her wisdom to those who need it. I only rarely return to cities—generally only to resupply and occasionally indulge as necessary though I suppose that’s not happening tonight.” Varner seemed particularly irritated that by that fact, but he was quick to leave it to his own thoughts. “The fact you managed to get in touch with me so quickly is very impressive. You’ve gotten very lucky.” He began pulling his drink up for another taste, but stopped right when his lips were about to meet the rim of the glass. “Although I suppose it’s not really luck now, is it?”<br />
<br />
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Canna asked as her curiosity peaked.<br />
<br />
Varner held up a finger as he swallowed his whiskey and gave the flavors a moment to dwell on his tongue. “Ah. What I mean is that you’re a follower of Avandra now, so when fortune comes your way it’s not really so much ‘luck’ as it is ‘divine guidance’. I mean we of the Unfettered Queen believe—“ Varner abruptly ended that thought. “Actually, tell me girl, what do you exactly know about Avandra?” The Halfling sat back with an expectant gaze in his eyes.<br />
<br />
“Well, I know she goes by a few different names. The Unfettered Queen, Lady Luck, Mistress of Fortune”, Canna paused as she tried to recall everything she knew, “She doesn’t have many churches. Mostly road shrines and—“ Her explanation was mercifully ended there.<br />
<br />
“Okay, so you picked up a book meant for children and remembered the bullet points. That’s what I needed to know.” Canna scowled at the Halfling, but he was apathetic, and even a bit exasperated, by the teen’s quick turn to anger. “Oh please, wipe that look off your face. I wasn’t expecting anything more, and you shouldn’t have either. Fifty years since the gods have been locked away makes it difficult to get a proper education.” The Halfling took another drink and gave the taste a moment to settle before continuing. “Well, then if you’re another faithful of Avandra then that makes you my sister, and I would look like a pretty bad brother if I left my sister in ignorance. So, I can take a reprieve from my drifting ways to give you a bit of an education for some time.”<br />
<br />
Canna was taken aback. She came expecting to find guidance, but certainly not a teacher. Especially one who agreed to this job so easily. “Why would you be so eager to teach me?” Canna asked, not sure of what answer to expect.<br />
<br />
“Because I imagine you only learned to channel Avandra’s power after seeing a dream of some kind, correct? Well I experienced the same thing a decade or so ago and I’ve been spending all my time looking for a purpose for being chosen. I imagine that purpose would be you.” Canna opened her mouth as if to ask for a greater explanation, but Varner responded before she could ask. “I already told you. I help guide the lost.” Varner flashed a genuine smile as he finished his drink and sat back. “So, let’s not waste any time then, shall we? First lesson. Avandra holds influence over three aspects of our lives; the first of which is luck. The common saying among Avandra’s faithful is that ‘luck favors the bold’. A lot of people seem to have trouble on this one though. Some tend to think this means that worshippers of Avandra can succeed at anything, but that’s not the case. Avandra helps those that help themselves—hence the ‘bold’ portion of the quote. Take risks, and Avandra’s favor will smile upon you.”<br />
<br />
Canna stared back, confused. “I don’t get it,” she muttered as she tried to process the tenet. “So Avandra wants us to always try the impossible?”<br />
<br />
“Oh absolutely not,” Varner objected as he placed his drink gently back on the table, “the phrase is ‘luck favors the bold’, not ‘luck favors the stupid’.” He sighed as he rummaged through the inside of his robes. “Allow me to describe it like this,” he explained as he pulled out a die from his pocket, “imagine if the success or failure of every single action in your life was influenced by the roll of the die. You could be quite competent at something, but there would always be a one in six change of your attempt ending in horrible failure.” Varner lightly tossed the dice onto the table where it rattled against the thick oak surface before eventually stopping with a single black dot facing upwards. “This is where Avandra comes in. If you take a chance and place fate into the hands of these dice,” Varner said as he slowly ran his hand over the die. As his hand passed over the die its’ face turned to six. “Well, then Avandra’s influence will favor you.”<br />
<br />
The teen took a moment to be amazing by the magic before her, but found herself more enchanted at the idea of a matron who could help make the impossible a reality. “Luck favors the bold,” she whispered aloud, “I like that.”<br />
<br />
“I’m glad you do,” Varner sarcastically responded as she tucked the die back into his robes. “Her second aspect is freedom. Avandra believes that every soul on this planet regardless of their race, gender, age, sexuality, and religion has an inalienable right to freedom. Everyone deserves liberty, and as followers of Avandra it is our duty to ensure that people have it. If they don’t, then we must help them get it either by convincing them to fight for it, or fighting for it on their behalf.” Varner was about to return to his drink when his eyes widened in horror and he quickly continued the lesson. “I must stress this; we are not revolutionaries. Absolutely not. People used to get the idea that followers of Avandra were anarchists who went around the world ending all forms of order. That’s absolutely not the case. We believe in law and chaos equally. Both can affect freedom positively or negatively so we only combat what we know is an attack on freedom. Can’t forget that. Zealotry rarely helps a cause, you know what I mean?”<br />
<br />
Canna nodded a bit hesitantly. “If I ever see someone suffering from oppression, I help them.” She wasn’t sure why such a simple and catholic answer needed such a broad explanation, but she wasn’t going to question her new teacher’s wisdom. Varner seemed very relieved when she answered in an appropriate manner.<br />
<br />
“Good. The last thing I need as your teacher is to hear about you inciting riots just because a few citizens couldn’t pay their taxes. I mean the anarchy alone would be bad, but it would reflect rather poorly on me in general.” Varner waited a moment before getting agitated. “That was a joke! That’s when you’re supposed to laugh! Oh forget it.” The Halfling momentarily pouted before returning to his lesson. “The final aspect is change. You see, change is inevitable. We can’t stop change—and we don’t want to. Change is evolution and the continuing progress of humanity! Trying to impede that would be like trying to stop the natural order of existence. No, our job however is to ensure that change always happens for the better.”<br />
<br />
“How do I make sure of that?” Canna asked with a lofty goal already in mind.<br />
<br />
“Well it can require patience and understanding. Not all problems have the same solution. Sometimes you can facilitate change via diplomacy and negotiation, and other times it needs a more violent approach.” Canna scoffed at that remark. She knew very well there was no diplomatic solution to her problem with the Drow, and she wasn’t hesitant to make that clear. Varner frowned as though he took that offense very personally. “There you go laughing at the wrong time again! It’s possible not to scowl every problem to death you know! Paladins are taught to use their words before their sword.”<br />
<br />
“Wait. Are you implying I’m going to be a Paladin?” Canna asked, her eyes eagerly lighting with the strong, passionate fire that her uncle always complimented.<br />
<br />
“What?” Varner was speechless. “That was meant to be a sagely piece of advice you carry on in your heart and use to warm yourself in moments of self-doubt! Are all students as difficult to teach as you are?” Varner sighed as he contemplated the merit of his pupil’s question. He studied her intently to find her physical and mental limitations. After a few moments he had an answer. “No, “ the Halfling bluntly answered, “you’re not a Paladin. Your arms are too skinny, and you don’t exactly exude charisma either. You’re too old to be taught those things now, so Paladin is definitely out of the question, and you don’t really seem like the wandering healing type either. I’m not honestly sure what you are.” Varner pressed his thumb and index finger against his lip and pondered what path Avandra intended for this violent teen. A small thought crept into his mind, but it seemed so unlikely he ignored it initially. All the while Canna had difficulty exhaling as she waited for her future to be revealed.<br />
<br />
Varner skeptically perked an eyebrow as he leaned closer to the teen. “Have you ever killed anyone before?” The Halfling expected the conversation to fall quiet, but Canna was quick to respond.<br />
<br />
“Yes.” There was no regret, fear, or hesitation in her voice. She didn’t sound proud, but it was clear that the notion of taking a life was not foreign to her. Varner simply shrugged. It wasn’t the answer he expected, but it was the answer he needed to confirm his gut feeling.<br />
<br />
“There is a sect of religious vocations that is not widely known about,” the Halfling muttered subtly as he hushed his voice. “It is said that the gods would, on rare occasion I must stress, employ less public figures to do their work. They called these agents of justice: Avengers.” Canna felt oddly comfortable hearing that word as though it were something she had always grown up hearing despite never knowing of this order of faithful until this moment. It was as though someone had been whispering that word to her in her sleep for years now. She clenched her hands as she anticipated more information, but her new teacher was brief on the subject.<br />
<br />
“If you were meant to be an Avenger, you’re going to be in some trouble. Even before being locked away they were rare. All I have on them are a few scrolls that lay out the doctrine and a few lessons. Much of the wisdom is lost and even with my help there will be a lot you’ll have to learn on your own.”<br />
<br />
Canna sat silently for a moment as she let the flavor of the moment savor. This was it. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for all her life. The power to crush her foes, change the world, and avenge those lost. The difficulty of learning this new calling in life only accentuated her anticipation of embracing it. Her smile accepted the challenge. “Good,” Varner responded as he finished his drink. “Though I should note this particular line of work does require a significantly larger weapon than the ones you’re used to using. Also you’ll probably want to stretch a bit before meeting me here tomorrow morning. To my understanding Avengers are prone to very strange movements.” Even Varner seemed confused by that sentiment, but he brushed it off all the same as he called for another drink.<br />
<br />
“Oh,” Canna replied, shuffling nervously in her seat. “I don’t think I can do tomorrow. My mom is really careful about how much time I spend out of the house recently, so she’ll probably be pretty strict on me leaving for most of the day again tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
Varner was dumbstruck. “You won’t come because you might get grounded by your mother? That is not luck, freedom, or change! You’ve been a devout follower of Avandra for only fifteen minutes and you’re already a heretic!” Varner shook his head slightly as he reminded his new student of her new tenants. “This life you’re signing up for is going to require a lot of sacrifice; physically, mentally, and emotionally. You’re going to face tests much greater than just disappointing your mother and you have to be ready to task a risk, grasp at freedom, and make a change. Can you do that?”<br />
<br />
Canna leaned back in her chair as an old, comforting voice echoed in her head. Her uncle’s voice was always such a soothing listen, but hearing him explain his first rule felt more like a stern lecture than the words of wisdom they were intended to be. The teen loved her family despite her differences with them, but this opportunity could be her only chance to do the things she dreamed of. If she had to sacrifice her relationship with her family to ensure change for the rest of the world, then she would do so. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Canna had an eager grin on her face as she felt her muscles tense and her fists clench in anticipation. However, this decision unknowingly started a schism in the Corbett family that would never be repaired.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Ahoy hoy! This was a long one guys, so I’ll be brief down here. This entry and the previous entry were placed to explain a bit more about Canna’s relationship with Avandra. Canna isn’t exactly what I imagine when I think of a Divine character. Unlike Eli or Vega, Canna isn’t a character brought into the faith early on—she’s only been considered faithful for the past 5 years. Her relationship with Avandra is weak, and Canna really considers herself more of a divine mercenary that a student of faith. That will likely change in time, though we shall see.<br />
<br />
I had a lot more fun writing Varner than I should have considering I only brought him up here and he’ll never show up again outside of Peter having the option to use him as an NPC. Still, I modeled Varner entirely off of Peter Dinklage as Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones and that made him entirely more entertaining than the “one-note charmer” he was originally supposed to be. Since he’s never seen again, I’ll just say that Varner taught Canna for two or three years how to be an Avenger the best he could, then left her to her own self-discipline. Also he probably purchased a hot air balloon that he used to crash into fancy dinner parties. Yeah, that’s the ticket…<br />
<br />
Only two pieces of her backstory left, and I’m currently at a loss for what to do after that. The remaining two pieces will be devoted to Canna’s parents. A piece of Kaevyn, and a final piece of Jude that will establish why Canna stands on the outs with her parents. I’m excited for these to pieces. Have been for a while now. Should be a “shit ton” of fun. Regardless, I’ll cut off here. Enjoy everybody!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-56098027256269466762012-07-27T10:31:00.003-07:002012-07-27T10:31:21.623-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Chosen OneCanna’s hands hovered over the collection of holy symbols with a growing hesitation causing her hands to quiver as it floated just above the relics. The symbols of every good or neutral aligned god rested casually on her bedroom floor as the red-haired teen sat pressed up against her bed. She withdrew her hand as she waited for her nerves to settle, but even as she held her hand up to her mouth she felt her skin tingle in fear. For the fifth time since she arranged this set up, Canna took in a deep breath with the expectation being that she’d initiate this test as soon as she finished exhaling. However, once her breath left her she found herself rushing to get it back again, and the paralysis continued.<br />
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The brazen teen was never known for her dithering attitude, but when it came to matters of the divine she was left at a disadvantage. Canna would face any challenge if she could grip her hands around a blade or into a fist—even if the odds were highly against her, but this wasn’t a problem that the wayward teen could engage in the usual manner. The lingering sensation from her dream still rested in her muscles, but Canna hadn’t experienced that same foreign presence in her dreams since that night. The image of her body heaped onto a pile of the dead had long since been washed from her mind and was replaced only with the inevitable truth that Canna could one day cross over the wall with this power. She had to know more.<br />
<br />
The wounds Cormag opened were still too sore for Canna to bear passing by the usual sights in Arkhosia. She couldn’t stomach walking the same streets she had before as though life were just the same, and thus she decided to return home and use the familiar resources of Southgate in her endeavors. The Corbett family was stunned to see the eldest child return almost a year after her initial disappearance. Keavyn had little to say on the matter, instead deferring to Jude’s relieved sobbing and bitter scolding. Canna was far more accepting towards her little brother’s pestering of her ventures in the Kingdom of Dragons, but Canna kept most of the seedier details close to her chest. For the violent teen it was a strange return to normalcy after just a few short days. Her parents kept a keener eye on her dealings to ensure she wouldn’t be leaving their eyes again, but even that attention began to wane after a few weeks. Now she had the freedom to roam Southgate without much question, and she used the last of her Grash Company funds to purchase a collection of holy symbols that now rested casually at her feet like the assorted dishes served at an aristocratic feast.<br />
<br />
All that remained was for the teen to actually clutch one of the holy symbols and see if it would shine as in the legends of virtuous paladins and saintly clerics. That task was easier said than done; in over an hour Canna hadn’t been able to so much as graze one of the artifacts. The entire process seemed so alien for a child who had never considered herself religious before. A few simple prayers filled her head—mostly ones that Leon had taught her to combat the few minor worries a child might have in life. Canna remained relatively sure that a prayer for fair weather and a good meal weren’t going to be much good in this situation, but they were all she knew. She once more stretched her hand out to pluck up the nearest symbol to her, but found her hand stuck as it approached a symbol she barely knew. “Sehanine?” Canna thought to herself, “Isn’t she supposed to help kids fall in love?” The very notion of being called to by the Goddess of Love seemed insane to Canna, and thus she retracted her arm back to her chest where it rested at her side. She likely would have caught herself into another cycle of hesitation had her uncle’s third rule reminded her why she never succumbed to hesitation before.<br />
<br />
“Change yourself, change the world.” Canna took in a slow and careful breath before turning her attention towards the assembled artifacts. She looked the assortment over once before locking onto a marble hand tightly clutching a bolt of lightning. Kord, God of War. “If anyone was asking for my help, it would have to be Kord”, Canna thought to herself as baseless pride surged through her body. She quickly snatched the symbol and tightly locked her fingers around it as she expected the natural warmth of the glow to revitalize her body and remind her of the power she felt in her dreams. She closed her eyes in preparation for the no doubt overwhelming light that would soon fill the room, but moments later she peeked just slightly to see the room just as she left it. Disappointed, she stared curiously at the relic, wondering if there was some sort of key word needed to activate the symbol. She sat there, grunting and shouting in some vague attempt to activate Kord’s power, but after several awkward moments passed she sat Kord’s symbol off to the side. “Okay, maybe it’s not Kord.” Canna realized she had perhaps set her expectations too high there; after all, Kord valued those with great strength most of all. Cormag had made it evidently clear that strength was not Canna’s forte.<br />
<br />
Canna was dejected, but not defeated. With more modest sense of self she once again scanned the relics only to have her eyes settle on the platinum coated shield emblazed with a bold blue dragon’s head. “Bahamut”, she thought, “God of Protection and Justice. It makes sense he’d be looking for a champion.” Canna carefully picked up the emblem and tightly gripped in her palm as she waited for a response from the Platinum Dragon. Several moments passed by, but the symbol was no more than a decorated rock in the teen’s hand. Canna quizzically stared at the symbol before shaking it a few times. “How the fuck do you work these things?” she wondered aloud.<br />
<br />
After a few more unsuccessful tries she placed Bahamut’s shield in her now growing pile of rejections before turning to her guessing game. After just a few moments, Canna smacked her head as the obvious answer sat right in front of her. “Duh,” she muttered as she picked up the bronze sun as she carefully placed her fingers between the finely sharpened spokes that mimicked the sun’s glorious rays. Canna shifted the symbol just slightly in her hand, dazzled by the small bit of torchlight that reflected off the relic’s well polished surface. “Every day I stare up at that shroud and reaffirm my goal. Of course it’s Pelor. The Sun God is the one who has suffered the most from this tragedy.” Canna gripped the symbol and whispered the short prayer to the sun that her uncle had taught her as a child. It wasn’t an elaborate prayer filled with dogma and infallible truths—more so just a rhyme children are taught to give praise to the Bringer of Light, but Canna figured maybe the reason Kord and Bahamut didn’t choose her was because Canna had never really prayed to them. Pelor, on the other hand, was always a constant in Canna’s life, and it was obvious he would be the one trying to speak with her. Or rather, that’s the reasoning Canna’s told herself as she continued to recite her prayer to no response.<br />
<br />
As the prayer began to wind down Canna’s grip grew tighter and tighter. The last words left her lips and the edges of Pelor’s sun began slicing into Canna’s fingers from the amount of pressure in her squeeze. Sharp pains shot through the teen’s hand, but she kept squeezing in the hopes that maybe the symbol remained static because Pelor hadn’t recognized her presence yet. It wasn’t until she felt the cold sensation of blood running down her palm that she relinquished her hold and dropped the symbol to the floor. It didn’t make sense to Canna. These were the gods most likely to need her help, so why is it that they ignored her? These thoughts raced through Canna’s mind as she studied the remaining artifacts again with the expectation of a more obvious answer. Most of the symbols were so foreign to her. Some she barely recognized, and others seemed just so unlikely she never paid them any mind. Eventually her reasoning became more desperate and her eyes fell upon the silver star of Corellon.<br />
<br />
“Corellon’s main enemy is the Drow”, Canna reasoned, “So it makes sense he’s looking for a champion. I may not be an elf, and I don’t really know anything about art, but these are desperate times.” Once again she picked up the symbol and held it in her hand, but just as before it was nothing more a meaningless weight in her palm. She didn’t gently set this symbol off to the side, instead Corellon’s star fell gracelessly her hand as the desperate teen struggled to grasp the situation. This had to be some sort of joke, right? None of the remaining gods made much sense as a patron to Canna’s cause. In desperation she snatched the mighty iron hammer of Moradin from the ground as her rationale became thin and nearly baseless.<br />
<br />
"Moradin is the God of Smiths. Dad’s a blacksmith, and maybe because of his blood…” Even she stopped listening to her own pathetic argument at that point and let her mind focus entirely on her dimming optimism. When it became evident that all that rested in her hands was a chunk of steel Canna hurled it across her room with a guttural gasp. The artifact cracked against the wall; likely only surviving due to its superb craftsmanship. The teen, on the other hand, had her foundation shattered as a surge of panic filled her head. “This can’t be happening. I know that dream meant something—I felt a power in that moment! I still do!” Her voice reeked of desperation, though not as much as her face with was quickly draining of its color. This was not a path Canna would have pursued without a good reason to, but now she had to face rejection from the gods in addition to those she held close.<br />
<br />
She swept her hand across the floor, knocking the remaining relics across the room without any regard to the sacrilege. She didn’t care about blasphemy at this point as she was fed up with being judged by beings who felt themselves too mighty to give any reasoning. Her anger got the best of her as it often did, and she drove her fist into the floor with a sickening thud. Canna heard a crack, but she couldn’t tell if it was the floor or her fingers as her hand became numb in the confusion. She sat with her first pressed against the ground and her eyes locked closed so as not to bear witness to the eyes of these disinterested gods.<br />
<br />
She withdrew into this motionless state as her emotion poured out of her through thick heaving breaths. Slowly her anger began to subside to a point where her senses began to notice the warmth being soaked up by her knuckles, and the faint light barely shielded by her sealed lenses. She opened her eyes to be welcomed by a weak white light radiating from beneath her fist. She moved her hand aside to a small silver medallion emblazoned with three winding lines of forest green. These were the winds of change; symbol of Avandra, the Goddess of Luck. The light faded away as Canna stared at the relic, but it returned it’s weak glory as Canna scooped the medallion into her hand. This light was the same light that enveloped her that evening, and she felt the same presence fill her muscles with a rejuvenating power.<br />
<br />
Canna clutched the medallion close to her chest as she stared up at the ceiling in a comforted disbelief. She didn’t know very much about Avandra, but it was clear that Avandra knew a lot about her.<br />
<br />
A quick rap on the door shocked Canna into attention as it was followed by her mother’s voice. “Canna, it’s time to start making dinner.” Jude didn’t wait at the door for a response knowing her daughter wouldn’t be brazen enough to deny this simple request so soon after returning home. Canna contemplated it though. With a satisfied smirk she slid the medallion into her pocket, and followed after her mother. She could tolerate one last night of complacency before starting her new life as a servant of Avandra.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-14009043007006255542012-07-21T13:59:00.002-07:002012-07-21T13:59:51.650-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Light<br />
Canna rested with her back pressed up against the massive oak frame that outlined the silk sheathed mattress behind her. It was but one luxury inside the lavish chamber known as the Gilded Scale Inn that Canna had called home for the past week as she recovered from her injury at the hands of her once infallible idol. Cormag had so easily shattered the bone in her leg into two, but a short prayer had enabled a cleric of Bahamut to undo the damages in mere moments. Despite the lack of pain, Canna still kept her leg tightly wrapped by bandages visible beneath clothes that had become tattered and shredded due to the teen’s frequent irrational outbursts. Her quarters bore the similar wounds as elaborate wall decorations could be found bent, shattered, or torn from their place and strewn about the floor amongst a disorganized collection of books.<br />
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Some books laid untouched while others were scavenge to the spine due to the frequent, aggressive studying of the reader. Pages of text overlapped obsolete maps and a collection of weapons that had been dropped casually to the floor once the wielder’s fingers began to bleed. The titles ranged from ancient history to reports dissecting military strategy, but so much of what was seen failed to be absorbed. Canna looked barely conscious as she stared vacantly towards the dull light at the top of her ceiling. Her eyes were shaded by thick black rings gained after days of poor sleep. Her face was pale, and her pores dripped with a steady stream of sweat that didn’t help conceal her warn appearance. By all accounts she looked hideous, but as Canna tilted her head down to stare into the mirror propped up against the wall opposite her she saw that same mocking beauty that she hated so much.<br />
<br />
She saw the same thin cheeks that elegantly blended with a winsome smile. She glared at the hereditary ruddy tresses that enchanted strangers through the same delicate auburn eyes that had been used to judge the lives of others so carelessly. The forgery of her reflection caused the teen to grip her fists in anger, but she hung her head in shame when she studied the thin arms that struggled to resist their docile nature in front of her. Canna plucked a book off the ground and forced her attention on the pages; screaming as she mentally recited the words to herself. Her hands quivered as shrill sobs broke the silence. Moments later, droplets slipped from the teen’s face before adding to the collection of tarnished tomes that her tears had ruined before she violently threw it across the room.<br />
<br />
The damning words of her former idol replayed in her head over and over again. Each cycle Cormag’s words became more vicious and damning as guilt overtook reality. Canna’s fingers crawled up the her ears as she desperately tried to block out the sound of Cormag’s condemning voice before he uttered the worst of his speech. Canna’s nails dug into her flesh as she desperately tried to deafen herself, but once again she had to endure the bitter truth. However, once again she would also ignore the advice.<br />
<br />
Canna returned to her arduous studies of the lands north of the wall and what it would take to reach there. Her eyes struggled to stay open as they scanned over ancient maps Canna couldn’t begin to comprehend. Her head tilted into her chest as her muscles let the tome slip to the floor with a gentle thud. Canna struggled to keep her focus, but days of this erratic emotional hodgepodge had drained the last of her stamina. Her eyes closed, and for the first time since Cormag left she managed to drift to sleep.<br />
<br />
<br />
The next moment her senses returned to her she was standing casually high above a bloodied battlefield, her body simply floating as though it had been plucked from the earth. The ruddy warzone beneath her wasn’t one she recognized, so she spun around as she tried to pick out a landmark only to see the goliath bulwark she so desperately desired to pass over. An excitement swelled in her heart as she turned her attention back to the battlefield to have her hopes confirmed. She saw a lone dark skinned soldier casually collecting weapons from the hands of his slain foes. She couldn’t understand how she managed to cross over the wall, but it didn’t hinder her validation any less. She grinned with anticipation as her fists clenched in hunger for a weapon. Just before she could get too eager a force compelled her eyes in a different direction.<br />
<br />
The force pulled her attention toward a stack of corpses slowly behind piled up by Drow soldiers. The bodies in the pile were all human, though most were unrecognizable due to their fatal wounds and melded together into a pile of flesh and carnage that stood as a testament to the superiority of the Drow army. Canna only saw this as a reaffirmation of her cause—until her eyes caught sight of the ruby red tresses of a young girl being tossed casually at the top of pile. Canna recognized the girl from her delicate features and the unmistakable hue of her hair; it was her. Her body was lifeless, though that was no surprise considering the thin hole in the center of her chest from where she had been skewered. The wound was clean indicating whoever made the kill was ruthlessly efficient and that the victim put up little struggle. Canna could only assume the story as she watched her body disappear beneath another set of corpses. Canna could feel a question pecking at her as she watched her funeral from afar. Will you still go over the wall?<br />
<br />
Canna didn’t know who was asking, but someone wanted to know. They asked curiously, though it seemed whoever it was expected the teen to close her eyes to the truth and shy away in the face of her inevitable death. Instead she stared solemnly at it with an unflinching focus. She was staring at her own demise, but she refused to cower away. She knew a life over the wall was going to be one without a happy ending, and she was more than willing to die over there like a dog if it could make some kind of difference. She refused to turn away even if this truth was inescapable. The anonymous questioner seemed satisfied by this response and the world around her faded away into blank ether. Canna spun around as she felt a presence appear all around her.<br />
<br />
The world was black with no sign of life to be found, but her interest was captured by a faint white light that shined above her head. Curiosity convinced the teen to reach towards it and in response the light began to expand and intensify. As it grew Canna felt a power surge through her like none she ever felt before. It was alien, but comforting as she felt her muscles surge with his foreign power. She felt this strength blend into her very being until it came to a stop, and everything became white.<br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
Thus ends the Cormag Arc, and begins the Avandra Arc. The Avandra Arc will be significantly shorter than the Cormag Arc (I’m only planning four more pieces), but they’re vital to Canna’s character. In addition there are two pieces that pertain to her family that I’m –really- looking forward to writing.<br />
<br />
This piece is shorter than most due in no small part to a complete lack of dialogue and any real action. Part of CYCW’s purpose is to challenge myself a bit as a writer, so I wanted to try a piece without a lot of action to see how it comes off. I think it flows fine, though I am curious to hear what ya’ll say.<br />
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It is a bit coincidentally that after my last piece had someone stating they hate self-evaluations through the mirror that the next pieces features one. Sorry, but it’s essential to understanding Canna. She wants to change the world, but she got fucked over genetically. Basically, when writing this I tried to take Canna’s stats into mind—namely her 13 in strength. Now mechanically I took that so she could MC into Fighter, but story wise I turned that into a plotpoint. That 13 is ultimately as high as her strength goes, and at this point in the story Canna is essentially a Fighter. A Fighter with a 13 in strength is borderline useless mechanically, so again I translated that to a narrative equivalent. For as bold and tenacious as she is, Canna could never survive over the wall—not without help. However it’s her will to try in spite of the inevitable failure that drew Avandra’s interest to her.<br />
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That’s what Canna’s “luck favors the bold” quote is all about. Avandra favors those who take fate into their own hands, and she protects those who seek to bring about change. Canna may not be a prototype soldier like Cormag, but she doesn’t lack the resolve he does. This is the first moment when Avandra speaks to Canna though it’s through a dream—Avandra can’t speak to anyone due to her limited power. Still, Canna owes a lot to Avandra. Without her, she would be nothing in this world.<br />
<br />
Well that’s all for this week. Sorry this is a bit later than usual, but it’s been hectic at work. Leave a comment if you’d be so kind, and take it easy peeps.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-70706663566338506442012-07-13T10:18:00.001-07:002012-07-13T10:18:33.061-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: CrippledOne, two, three, four. Canna proudly counted her earnings while wiping the sweat from her brow and stuffing the handful of coins into her pocket. The day’s work was over, and for the violent vixen it was time to piss part of her salary away at her daily sanctuary. She pulled her hand out from her pocket and caught sight of her palms for what felt like the first time in ages. Her skin was rough and defined alongside the slender contours of her fingers, and calluses armored her palm against the strains of her daily chores. She clenched her hand into a fist and smiled delightfully as she felt each muscle tense with power at her command. Her hands were still small and delicate as was Jude’s, but there would be no doubt that these were not the hands of a satisfied individual.<br />
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Canna started on her daily walk paying mind to every landmark she passed on her regular route. The City of Dragons had become a familiar sight to Canna after spending the past eleven months making a home in its alleys. The failing infrastructure and uninspired architecture poorly represented the proud cultural beauty that foreigners would experience inside of Arkhosia’s inner districts, but even along the slums Canna could call this place home. She casually stepped over a shallow gash on the street beneath her feet as unconsciously as she would breathe, and she had started to learn tolerance against the eternal Arkhosian humidity. She was surrounded be darkened alleyways housing criminals of all sorts, but Canna never felt more comfortable in her life. From her time in the warehouse and the occasional job for Grash Company she was starting to amass a decent sized bank, but she had yet to even briefly consider moving away from this sordid holyland.<br />
<br />
The rookie mercenary’s aspirations began and ended with the expectation of another joyous night spent inside the Dragon’s Den with the company of vagabonds, ruffians, and scoundrels, but her expectations became concerns once she felt the atmosphere around her usual hideout. The Den was quiet—an impossibility considering the thin tavern walls struggled to muffle any noise on a usual night of festivities. The air was distinctly cooler, and the roof was no longer rimmed with a winding trail of smoke billowing out through the various cracks in the Den’s rustically charming structure. Canna never felt hesitation or fear grip her as she walked by dozens of drifters preying on easy victims, but she felt a slow terror flow through her arm as she reached out to open the warm oak door. It opened without conflict; ensuring Canna that the tavern wasn’t closed for an unknown Arkhosian holiday as she hoped. Instead, it slowly swung open to reveal her refuge only to see it eerily empty sans one massive figure who sat at the back of the bar; his face darkened by the faint glow of a single lantern above his head. Though shrouded in shadows Canna could still recognize her mentor by his goliath frame and distinct cobalt hue, ye Canna felt she was staring at a stranger.<br />
<br />
The mammoth dragonborn remained silent. His powerful golden gaze was all that pierced the hush, but they said nothing. They merely watched as Canna tentatively shuffled over towards his table. She studied the scene a dozen times over trying to pinpoint the cause of this bizarre meeting, but all she could notice was the missing drink normally seen clutched tightly in her mentor’s claws by this point. “Let me guess: Garmin ran out of whiskey, so you ran him out of town?” Canna’s attempt to diffuse the situation with humor failed as Cormag took a deep breath before addressing his student.<br />
<br />
“Some issues are so important they bear you to address them sober.” Cormag’s voice was devoid of its typical charm. His face was stern and cold—it reminded Canna of her mother’s face right before one of their near-daily arguments. The reminder sent a chill up the teen’s spine. Canna had never seen a similarity between Jude and Cormag up to this point, but the cold, distant stare was unmistakable. “I want you to return home. Back to Southgate, and back to your family.”<br />
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Even in a room so empty it felt as though the world came to a stop with that statement. Canna scoffed at the request. “Nah, I’m doing really good here in Arkhosia. I’m learning a lot, I’m getting stronger… There’s not really anything back in Southgate I’m missing right now.” Canna hoped that would be the end of it, and the two drinking buddies could go back to indulging on booze and sharing stories. She knew that wasn’t going to be the case, but she kept a smile on just in case.<br />
<br />
“You can go back to your family. Lend your help to your father in the forge, or find a job in some industrial part of Southgate. You have experience now.” Cormag suggested this change so casually, as if mocking the true emotions he knew Canna held for such a notion. The teen’s smirk started fading away as she bluntly put an end to the idea of returning home.<br />
<br />
“No. I’m not fucking going back.”<br />
<br />
“I wasn’t asking you to go. I’m telling you.” Canna’s smile disappeared completely. She had heard those words her entire life and almost exclusively from her mother. Jude often spoke them after demanding Canna’s assistance with housework or chores that the temperamental teen would adamantly refuse. Drunken voyeurs haven’t started as many fights as those words had, and now Canna had to hear them coming from the mouth of the only person she respected anymore.<br />
<br />
During her time in Arkhosia Canna had gotten aggressive with nearly every denizen of the Dragon’s Den. She had started fights with every member of Grash Company at one point or another with the sole exception of the leader. She always treated Cormag with reverence. If he said something that got on her nerves she brushed it to the side. If he mocked her, she would laugh with him. Even when he directly insulted her, intentional or not, she never acted upon her natural inclination to be hostile due to a respect she held for a man she had started to see as a second father. That respect, however, had left with her grin.<br />
<br />
“Fuck you, Cormag. I don’t answer to you.” Canna’s eyes burned with a powerful intensity that seemingly took Cormag by surprise. The dragonborn’s head jerked to the right as though responding to a vicious haymaker, and he let out a loud guttural sigh that sounded as the low rumbling of a slighted monster. Cormag clinched his massive fangs closed to keep himself from uttering a myriad of phrases towards the arrogant teen. He restrained himself from an outburst only to find he could do nothing to break the silence. The tension sat on the duo until the stress became stagnant and Canna could return to a more moderately polite mien. “Why the fuck would you suggest something like that? You know why I don’t want to go back.”<br />
<br />
Cormag had survived for years into the dangerous world of mercenary work by approaching all situations as a realist. He cursed himself for being naïve enough to hope he could end this conversation without revealing the truth. “I received a letter from up north. Seems some of the allied armies are looking to send a scouting party over the wall, and Grash Company was recommended.” Canna’s face glowed as her mind fluttered to process this news.<br />
<br />
“This is great,” she replied, an expectant grin returning to her face. “We can finally go over the wall! Finally take our lands back and get revenge for all we’ve lost—Why the hell would you think I wouldn’t want to be a part of that?!” Canna’s anger had been replaced by a dumbfounded confusion; a friendly bewilderment as though teasing a chum for their forgetfulness. Cormag flexed his enormous arms as he forced back a surge of self-hatred. He knew what he was about to say had to be said, but he despised himself all the more for having to be the one to say those words.<br />
<br />
“Because you aren’t coming. This is a job requested to Grash Company, and you aren’t good enough to be a member of Grash Company.”<br />
<br />
“W-what?” Canna’s lip quivered as she spoke. Her face expressed more devastation than her response. Her eyes were widened in shock, her jaw slightly dropped, and her breath was plucked right from her mouth. Months of camaraderie urged Canna to treat this as an overtly severe example of one of Cormag’s usual teases, but the teen could sense the reluctantly sincerity in the dragonborn’s voice. “What do you mean? I’ve proven myself a member of Grash Company for months!” Canna’s voice cracked more than her confidence. She kept waiting for Cormag to smile and reveal the whole thing was a joke, but his forlorn, yet stern scowl never shifted in the slightest.<br />
<br />
Cormag dug a talon into the table as he tried to filter his anger through any means possible, but it failed to clear his mind. “You’re short. Your arms are too small. Your swordwork is fundamentally flawed. Your endurance is subpar. You know nothing of alchemical compounds or advanced mercenary supplies. You can’t ride a horse. You’re too easily emotionally manipulated, and you’re a weak link in the team dynamic.” Instead of calmly explaining her shortcomings, Cormag rattled off a list of various concerns he’d thought of ever since taking the teen under his tutelage. He immediately regretted his lack of tact as he watched his pupil’s thin knotted muscles tense.<br />
<br />
“Fuck you!” Canna screamed without restraint. “Don’t treat me like I’m some fucking rookie that’s off the street! I’ve fought your men week after week at <em>your</em> request! I’ve fought by your side—I’ve fucking killed for you! Don’t pin this on me just because you’re running away from me just like you did to your father!”<br />
<br />
Cormag screamed in response as he tossed the table between them to the side as he stood up. He towered over Canna, his nostrils exhaling thin wisps of smoke as embers gathered in his throat. He bore his fangs as he glared down at the unflinching teen who returned his stare with one of her own. Neither entity would yield in this standoff, but Cormag would not ignore such a personal insult. “No, it’s because you’re weak,” he responded, voice dripping in a guilty contempt. “You’re the daughter of a housewife and you will never be a mercenary with a frail body like that. It’s not your destiny to do this, so accept the impossible and go home. I’ll carry your will over that wall along with my father’s.”<br />
<br />
In the span of a single conversation Canna’s respect for Cormag had turned entirely into a vicious loathing. She couldn’t comprehend hating someone more than she hated her hero right now, and the anger took control of her body. Instinctively she stood up from her chair and straddled her legs while raising her arms up in defense. Cormag looked upon Canna with pity for the first time since meeting her. Though his veins still burned with anger, he knew the forgone conclusion was going to leave this relationship bitter and irreparable. For a moment, the pity took control of him, and he pleaded for the violent vixen to come to her senses. “Canna, you can’t win against me. Just go home before thi—“<br />
<br />
“Fuck. You.” Canna’s words were blunt, but the message was clear: she held no more respect for the leader of Grash Company. She would not yield to his requests, and she no longer cared to hear them. <br />
<br />
Comrag shook his head. How did it come to this, he thought. This girl was his student. She was his drinking buddy, his confidant, and ultimately a daughter. It made him sick to think of what he was about to do. Still, another solution never popped into his head. It would have forever killed him to leave without telling her, and worse yet she could have followed after him and this situation would ensue once more. He could write to the Corbett family, but he held too much respect for Canna to meddle in her family business against her will. The only other choice was to bring her along to fight against an enemy the world’s greatest army couldn’t conquer, and that solution was the most unthinkable of all.<br />
<br />
Tired and defeated, Cormag threw his arms up to welcome an attack. Canna reacted quickly to take advantage of the opening, but Cormag was going to mercifully end the slaughter quickly. Canna had aimed a kick right at her foe’s ribs, but Cormag easily caught the attack. He held Canna’s leg between his claws as she dangled helplessly in his grasp. He waited for some sign of forfeiture or submission in the teen’s eyes, but even in this most vulnerable state she was defiant. “I’m sorry,” Cormag uttered in a hush before slightly exerting his immense strength and breaking the teen’s leg like a twig. Canna screeched as pain shot through her body. Cormag attempted to gently drop her shattered leg, but Canna thrashed wildly in response. She rolled across the filthy tavern floors clutching her leg as she belted out profanities in between intermittent screams. Cormag had to turn away, but his daughter’s cries pierced his meager defenses. “Canna, go home to your family, and live a long, healthy life. Please.”<br />
<br />
Cormag wasn’t sure if Canna could hear him, but he uttered the sentiment regardless. It was a poor return for all of the grief he’d just created, and he knew it. He wandered towards the backroom where he met Canna the first night she stayed in Arkhosia. He opened the door and turned his attention to Garmin who gave the dragonborn mercenary a disgusted glare. Cormag accepted it without resistance; his own self-hatred already far more potent than anything the bartender could offer in a single stare. “Take care of her Garmin. Please.” Garmin shook his head as he tragically came to grips with what had just transpired. “She’s going to need medical help. Get her to Father Donato so that he can heal the leg.” His words were drained empty with barely a hint of humanity in them. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a large bag of gold before placing it in his friend’s palm. “Use this money to get her set up in a nice inn for a few nights, and… well I have to get going.”<br />
<br />
Garmin had listened to the stories of his customers for years. He knew the tragedy of every sod who opened the doors, but he never meddled in their affairs. He was not a psychologist, and he had no right to assume he knew more about other people’s problems than they did. Still, he found himself obligated to speak in the wake of this disaster. “Do you really want to end it like this?”<br />
<br />
The two fell silent as Canna’s wails echoed through the room. The two dragonborn could hear her sobs muffled by thick wads of mucus building up in her throat. Both men knew these weren’t tears in response to a physical pain, and Garmin turned to his friend expecting an explanation. Instead, the leader of Grash Company patted his old pal on the shoulder and walked off. Canna’s cries carried with him even for miles outside of Arkhosia. That night he spent hours trying to get to bed without hearing the sickening snap of her leg anymore. The sin he bore was great indeed, but he was lucky in comparison. For Canna, the pain was only just beginning.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
This was a part I’ve been looking forward to writing for a while now because of how important it is to Canna’s character. A lot about Canna can be explained in this part, and much of it is most relevant now considering what has happened in the past two sessions. The biggest reason why Canna has been so resistant of accepting her own feelings towards Zelas is because of how burned she was after Cormag. She didn’t have romantic feelings for Cormag like she does Zelas, but she did think of the dragonborn as a father. In addition this piece also serves as the first instance of Canna coming face to face with her own weakness—a theme that will be very prevalent throughout the Avandra arc.<br />
<br />
To explain it briefly though, Canna is very much like the kid in a shonen sports series who has all of the heart and one of the talent. A bit like Yukimitsu from Eyeshield 21, though I wouldn’t say he’s an inspiration. More so Canna is a bit more like Komusubi who was unfortunately cursed with his mother’s frame. Canna looks almost identical to her mother in a physical sense, and her body’s limitations are shallow compared to most others. I’ll explain this more later, but ultimately Canna is just unlucky that she was born with the body she was. She has the spirit and passion to conquer Drow armies, but genetics is the one foe who defeated her before she even had a chance.<br />
<br />
I also want to talk a bit about Cormag since this is the final piece he’s present in. Ultimately I ended up really happy with the way he turned out, and since he’s confirmed as alive in Shadowlands there’s very likely going to be a meeting between the two which will be… you know I still don’t know how Canna is going to react yet. I’m actually very eager for that moment, and very thankful Peter established his presence but still kept him far enough away that Canna won’t have to meet him until she’s ready. Anyway, Cormag for this part sort of crumbles in his integrity as he basically abuses Canna emotionally and physically for the desperate sake of protecting her. The truth is that Cormag’s feelings for her caused this to happen as Canna likely could have survived over the wall (albeit briefly), but Cormag’s desire to keep her safe made him forget that fact.<br />
<br />
Instead Cormag ends up as a bit of an anti-hero, and he’s definitely not the same inspiration that Leon was. Showing the differences between the two was something I was adamant about doing as Cormag is not Leon. Leon understood Canna because he basically was her as a child, and like Canna he had no special talents. To him, going over the wall was always a risk, so that’s why he never encouraged Canna to run away from her dreams. Cormag on the other hand is physically blessed. Stands at over seven feet tall, strong, well-respected, and clearly sharp in terms of strategy. He’s the definition of what you would expect as a hero, so he can’t help but notice the inferiorities of those around him. He’ll never understand Canna completely because he was blessed whereas she was cursed. The two could still be amazing friends, but ultimately that lack of understand is what doomed them. Once again, it will be very interesting to see what happens when Canna meets Cormag again.<br />
<br />
Now one little piece of trivia is that originally the fight at the end was going to be even more brutal as Canna was going to shout so many things at Cormag that he would get so irritated that he would break her jaw. I decided against it because I thought too much brutality would take away from the moment, and I’m glad I did because it makes the one act he does make very tragic.<br />
<br />
Finally, a few people have commented on my grammar. Trust me guys, I know my grammar sucks. Hell I still maintain my writing sucks for the most part, but I am aware I make mistakes. I don’t have editors for these pieces, and I’m five years removed from my high school days. If you catch a mistake I make, just leave a comment about it and I’ll try to fix it. I’m currently reading more books to remind myself of writing rules, but obviously there will be mistakes.<br />
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Anyway, that’s going to be all for this week. Have a good one everybody, and don’t forget to catch Shadowlands this Sunday at 6:30 eastern at Twitch.tv/MechaGM!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-32628434877183123732012-07-04T12:39:00.000-07:002012-07-04T14:12:45.937-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Paternal CyclesEvenings in Arkhosia were said to have been beautiful in the years before the Drow Curfew. The torches that hung on the outside of Arkhosia’s most noble structures mixed a warm orange glow into the dusky night sky as the streets were warmed with an ubiquitous comforting heat as though the city itself were one large fireplace for the citizens to lounge in and gaze up into the gallery of lights that painted the heavens. The legendary evenings of Arkhosia’s past were now a myth, passed down by elders who can still remember those carefree days as the connotation of sundown in Arkhosia had become one of fear and panic. Only the cruelest of criminals haunted the alleys of Arkhosia in the pitch black night waiting for those who haughtily thought themselves exempt from the dangers of these hours. No victim would be ignored—with the exception of one fiery haired teen who had proven time and time again that she was not the vulnerable fool that these vultures preyed on.<br />
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It had been months since the first time Canna had taken a life, and since then she had taken many more. The naivety in this foreigner’s eyes had been replaced by a forlorn maturity that could be read by the well trained eyes of every pickpocket and stick up artist who prowled the corridors of Arkhosia at night. Tonight was no different as she slowly strode towards the usual haunt only to catch eyes with a dragonborn whose soft grey tone was barely visible from the shadows he crept in. The two exchanged a stare before the dragonborn reluctantly shooed the teen away with a dart of his eyes before he returned to his hunt.<br />
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Canna’s time among Grash Company was transforming her more and more into a legitimate soldier worthy of the title “mercenary”. Her frame was tanned, cut, and lean. Though her limbs were still thin they were toned to an impressive extent for a woman of her frame. Her clothes were no longer the dingy rags that made her synonymous with the homeless of the slums, but rather well tailored garments worn with pride. A longsword hung from her right hip and a long knife had been tucked into the outside of her left boot. Her youth and delicate features were still apparent from a quick glance, but her body language betrayed her looks with a fierce glare, stout and stern shoulders, and a confident scowl. Her muscles were stiff for every step she made on the Arkhosian streets, but the moment she swung open the door to the Dragon’s Den the tension in her body faded away as her defenses relaxed with a deep exhale and welcomed smirk.<br />
<br />
“Canna!” The patrons had come to calling her by name to which she usually responded with an awkward wave before making her way to the bar to catch Garmin in the midst of his humble artistry.<br />
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“Hey Garmin. Usual tonight, but feel free to be generous with the ice. Gotta get up early in the morning.” Garmin’s stance barely changed, but the slightest twitch in his neck assured Canna that her order had been properly processed. She was about to walk away when the tender slid a drink down his counter and turned his full attention to the human teen.<br />
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“If you’re drinking with Cormag then tell the lazy prick to get up off his ass and get up here because I’m not going to hold this message for him all night.” There was no malice in Garmin’s tone, rather an exasperation that he begrudgingly held onto for a while longer as he poured Canna’s glass of rum before returning to his grind of catching the next order. Canna slapped a handful of silver on the counter, thankful to be rid of excess change, before settling down at her familiar table in the back with the goliath dragonborn already deep into his night of drinking.<br />
<br />
“Oy, Canna! What took you so long!?” Cormag said with a goofy grin as he looked up to the teen with glossed over eyes. Canna shook her head before sitting down and taking an appreciative, albeit brief, sip of her drink and letting the flavors dwell on her tongue before swallowing. She sighed deeply as the spice spread throughout her mouth and finally settled in the back of her throat as she greeted her mentor.<br />
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“Ah nothing really. I just spent an hour or two after work thinking.” Canna replied, sitting back and savoring her drink for the moment.<br />
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“Uh oh,” Cormag utterly sarcastically with a wide grin. “That can’t be good.”<br />
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“Fuck you,” indignantly replied the teen before elaborating. “I figured…” She paused, waiting for the right words to gain their courage. “It’s probably about time for me to send a letter to my parents.” Cormag was pleasantly taken aback, but Canna was quick not to admit defeat. “I don’t want to hear any ‘I told you so’. I’m not homesick, and I’m only writing my dad. I’m just letting them know where I am, what I’m doing, and that I’m okay. We’re not going to start playing chess by the mail or anything.”<br />
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Cormag couldn’t shake off his inebriated grin as he tilted back his drink and basked in the moment. “I’m proud of you, but why just your dad? You don’t want the entire family to know?”<br />
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“It’s not that,” Canna corrected. “It’s just… Darek’s probably busy studying, being a mage, unlocking the mysteries of the universe—that sort of thing. If he’s been able to get over the fact I’m gone then I don’t want to cause him any distractions. And for my mom… well… Fuck her we’ve been over that.”<br />
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Cormag nodded, but rolled his eyes in frustration. Many a night has their drunken exchanges devolved into a rant about Jude Corbett and her horrid personality. “We have, but you should still talk to her. Family is family, after all.” Canna shrugged as she was used to after that sentiment was brought up. Her mentor could only sigh and take solace in the fact that her letter to her dad would be a start at mending their relationship at the very least. A short silence followed the exchange until Canna spoke up again.<br />
<br />
“You know… you’ve never told me about your dad.” Cormag paused, perplexed at this notion. Had he really never explained to Canna who his father was? So much of what he saw in his dad was also in the rookie mercenary that he just assumed she knew, but he realized he had never spoken on his father to the teen. He sat back for a moment drinking deeply from his bottle before getting lost in an amalgam of emotions and memories. His inebriated grin slowly morphed into a reminiscent enjoyment, but his powerful golden eyes hung with the pang of regret to prove not all memories were so blissful.<br />
<br />
“My pa was… he was a good man. He lived on the other side of the wall before the drow attacked. He was just a pup at the time, but he and my grandparents lived out on a farm and enjoyed a relatively uneventful life despite the war. However my dad would often tell me about the day that changed.” Cormag’s eyes became distant as he himself became captured in the tragic tale. “My pa used to tell me about these two big shrines to Melora that my grandpa carved out of this enormous oak tree that fell over during a storm. Said he spent months whittling these enormous chunks of wood into these monuments to Melora and placed them up at the entrance to his farm to let everyone know that these fields; their bounty was due entirely to Melora’s blessings. Then one day, my pa woke up and said he saw those two symbols burning, and that’s how they knew the Drow were attacking.<br />
<br />
Canna gripped her drink tightly as she felt her muscles instinctively tense at the mention of their oppressors. She scowled, knowing full well where this story was already going if her impression of the Drow was true to their actual nature.<br />
<br />
“By that point, the gods must have been already locked away I guess, because I could never comprehend such wanton sacrilege otherwise. My grandpa knew what was coming, so he told his wife and my pa to take a carriage and leave. Said that he’d stay behind to cover up their trail and make sure no one would follow them. He told them about a friend who knew back in Arkhosia, gave them a bag of gold, and then kissed them good-bye. Pa never saw him again. Last thing he saw as his mother rode away from their home in tears was the farm he grew up in burning.”<br />
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Canna instinctively spit on the ground, tired of letting the foul taste in her mouth soil her drink. “Fucking Drow. How do you put up with it every day? Every morning I wake up and want to go over that wall to get back at them for what they did to Uncle Leon. Don’t you want to get them back for what they did to your grandparents?!” Canna’s words hung with desperation as though she waited for her mentor to validate her motivations.<br />
<br />
“I do, but I didn’t always. In fact, when I was your age I wanted to do everything but that, primarily because that attitude was the same thing my pa woke up with every day. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t blessed physically. He was a laborer by trade, but not a soldier. Couldn’t swing a sword worth a damn, so he wanted to fight through me, his strong, titan of a son.” The mood at the table soured as Cormag worked through bitter memories he clearly dwelled on too often.<br />
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“Wait,” Canna uttered, as she tried to comprehend what was just told to her as though Cormag had just stated the sky was a dark hue of green. “Your father wasn’t a mercenary like you? I thought… I mean I just assumed that’s why you called it Grash Company.”<br />
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“Nah, my pa was a great man in many ways, but he wasn’t blessed with a frame worthy of his heart.” Cormag’s eyes fell upon Canna’s arms and he looked at them in the same way he reminisced about his father’s arms: so strong, but so very weak. “Grash Company isn’t named as a legacy; it’s named as an apology to the man whose ideals I mocked, to the man I ran away from, and to the man who died when I wasn’t even around. I left my home seeking a life of easy money and women all carried by my physical gifts, but when I finally learned my father died I became lost in trying to understand just what it was that made him want to go over that wall so much.”<br />
<br />
“He wanted to bring about a change.” Canna confidentially replied. Cormag, reluctantly bowed to her observation, though he doubted her true comprehension of the matter.<br />
<br />
“I always assumed he wanted me to go over the wall so that I could get revenge for his pa, but eventually I realized that my pa knew what dangers were on the other side of that wall, and that he’d never send his only son over there just to end some thirty year old vendetta.” Cormag seized Canna’s attention as his golden lenses flared with a passion the teen hadn’t seen since the day her uncle left. “He knew that someone needed to bring about change even in the face of the impossible, and it pained him to realize that person was never going to be him.”<br />
<br />
Canna seemed unaffected by his words, perhaps due to her own devices keeping her from ever believing that the veteran mercenary would doubt her ability to survive on the other side of that wall. She seemed inspired by Cormag’s words instead of detracted, but the grizzled merc knew he could get through to her in time. He instead smiled and let his thoughts continue unimpeded by the filter a sober mind would impose. “That’s why I’m glad I have you. You give me a chance to repair the same rift me and my dad had…”<br />
<br />
The teen was taken aback. She initially assumed it was a teasing remark—perhaps some roundabout insult about her skill that he was setting up to. But as she watched his expression melt into a comforting stupor she realized it wasn’t a rib, and warmth she hadn’t felt since she was a child emerged in her smile. She thought it best not press her mentor for any details and instead opted to leave him in his inebriated state for the remainder of the evening. She quaffed the last of her rum and stood up to leave before a small reminder struck her as she was about to head off. “Oh, Garmin says he has something for you at the counter. I don’t know what it is, but it sounds like he’s tired of holding onto it for you. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”<br />
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It took Cormag a couple of moments to realize he was alone again at his table, and even longer before he forced himself from his chair and stumbled over to the tender. Garmin shook his head as Cormag hunched over his bar and slurred out a sentence that Garmin could barely piece together. “You’ll probably want to sober up before you read this.”<br />
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With that he handed the mercenary leader a thin envelope that smelled of a rich, earthly tone and was sealed with an authentic, royal imprint. Cormag could never grasp why something bearing an official seal would be sent to him, so he quickly sliced open the envelope and scanned the contents. Inside was a letter, signed by Dwarven nobility, with a daunting request directed at the leader of the famous “Grash Company”.
<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Cormag’s relationship with Canna evolves to the point where he sees her as a daughter, but the same isn’t true in reverse until this moment. For the longest time Canna only looks at Cormag as someone she can relate to, but she never thinks to place him on the same level as Leon. When she realizes that his feelings towards her are paternal in nature, she comes to accept that she’s found someone to help mold her raw anger into something productive. That’s ultimately what Cormag has been doing. Just as he’s taught her the right way to swing a sword he’s also tried to remove the vitriol she has towards Jude, and simultaneously tries to mold her passion into something positive. Without someone to do that, Canna is borderline self-destructive with her focused hatred of the Drow. If someone can pull her back, then she can see the bigger picture. Luckily in the game Zelas may do just that, so hopefully things will start to go better for Canna.<br />
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As for Cormag, his relationship with his own dad is a bittersweet one. He essentially did the same thing Canna did where he ran away from home and decided to pursue the life he wanted. Unfortunately for him, no one was there to guide him when he reached his destination, and it took the death of his father to make him reevaluate his life. He’s ultimately a better person for it, but he’s also a tad bit arrogant in the idea he can “cure” Canna and prevent her from undergoing the same mistakes, but all of that will be told in great detail next week.<br />
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Also, I had silver pieces. Fuck them.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-66435069289411892812012-06-27T19:36:00.001-07:002012-06-27T19:36:51.886-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: InitiationThe goliath cobalt-skinned dragonborn rested against a withering oak; his claws rapping against the polished steel of his massive fullblade as it impaled the ground. The thin chime echoed only briefly beneath the warbling of the morning birds amd the soft rush of wind breezing across the wild field where Grash Company was set up. They were miles from their beloved city of Arkhosia and quite a distance from the nearest road, but they were far from lost. Instead this veteran gang was patiently waiting to ensure, without a shadow of a doubt, that they would achieve a flawless victory. Cormag’s tick was rhythmic and only served to pass the time, but the renowned mercenary was carefully absorbing his surroundings with his full attention so much so that he greeted the return of his scout even before the young dragonborn had come into view. “How’s it look, Marlow?”<br />
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From a thicket of trees slinked in a thin ruby-skinned dragonborn with long, lean limbs and a drawn, narrow face. He was small by the scale of a dragonborn—standing just beneath six feet on a good day, but his frame was certainly rare amongst dragonborn males. He was thin and his clothes clung tightly to his skin to prevent anyone from mistaking his build. He was dressed in simple tan leathers from his neck down but his equipment confirmed his profession. He wore a bandolier of knives that wrapped around his right shoulder and connected to his belt at his left hip. A quiver of well trimmed arrows hung from his back, and a set of elongated daggers rested in their scabbards at the perfect reach of his hands. Though his warm ruddy scales made him stand out amongst the fading verdant foliage around him the scout seemed to radiate a suppressive aura; as though he could escape from sight at a moment’s notice even if you were staring directly at him. Though addressed before even coming into view, Marlow calmly approached his commander and casually rested beside him. “They’re rookies all right. Didn’t even have to pick up on a trail. They pretty much stomped the earth down into a road for us to follow.”<br />
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“What are we looking at structurally?” Cormag crossed his arms and plotted as the vital information poured together into a plan.<br />
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“They’re holed up in some old fort about a quarter mile west. Probably one Arkhosia used a couple hundred years ago or so. It’s in pretty bad shape, but enough that they think it gives them a defensible position. We can surround them pretty easily. Number-wise there’s not much of a threat either. Two dozen even, but they’ve only got two lookouts up right now and neither looks particularly perceptive.” As Marlow spoke he pulled out one of daggers from his hilt and stared deeply into the dark ebon steel of his blade. “Most of the guys aren’t equipped and they don’t have any sort of defense set up. These guys are obviously new to this whole ‘bandit’ thing.”<br />
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Cormag huffed before pushing himself off his nest and clutching the hilt of his fullblade. “No shit. They were stupid enough to try to rob a noble, so I didn’t take them for some ‘back in the day’ outlaws.” Cormag stretched the restlessness out of his muscles before sheathing his blade and addressing his unit in his deep, authoritative voice. “Alright boys, this is about as easy as this kind of money comes. We’re dealing with a new pack here, but nothing with any bite to it.”<br />
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“Eh, then why’d we have to wake up so early then? I turned down a night with Elista Goulderwing for this I’ll have you know!” jokingly grumbled a well-built dragonborn from the back of the few, but elite members of Grash Company.<br />
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Cormag chucked lightly. “ Because money like this doesn’t come by every day. Besides, everyone knows Elista is the easiest lay in the district. Might as well start calling her the Dragon’s Den considering all the members of Grash Company she ends up with inside of her on any given night.” The men of Grash Company joined a hardy laugh before Cormag quickly lowered his claws to bring the group to silence. “Enough. There will be plenty of time for our usual debauchery after this is settled! Our target goes by the name of Culvern. He’s a human, early thirties, brown hair, medium build, and has a long scar on the right side of his face.” As Cormag described the distinct wound he traced a single claw down from just above his eye to below his maw. “Now since this is a noble we’re talking about he doesn’t want some rotting head dropped on his table so for proof we’ll bring back the prick’s necklace that was taken from him. Be as savage as you need to boys, but remember these scum still have families somewhere so leave something to bury.”<br />
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Grash Company began to prepare themselves for the upcoming slaughter; some gripped their weapons and basked in the thick tension in their muscles while others grew an eager grin as they prepared for the bloodshed. Cormag looked over his troops with approval before delivering his final statement. “These poor idiots were the walking dead the moment we were hired to do them in! Grash Company, move out and savor victory!” The company cheered once in agreement before falling completely silent and slowly spreading out as they swarmed the ravaged, retired fort like hounds circling their prey. Lines of warriors marched with a flawless efficiency; blending together all manners of orc and dragonborn into one elite unit. The only oddity among the usual motions was the tiny human teenager trying to keep pace from the rear of the group. Canna tightly clutched the polished longsword in her right hand while simultaneously wiping her brow with the leather sleeve of her armor and mentally confirming every command she had been given earlier by her mentor.<br />
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<i>“I’m on watch. My only job is to catch anyone who might try to escape. That’s easy.”</i> The mission was indeed a relatively easy task, but it was also one Canna had to reassure herself she was capable of. In this scenario she couldn’t lose and just suffer a headache and a few bruises as a consequence—lives hung in the balance of this contest. The sweat from her palms soaked into the inside of her tanned leather gauntlets and caused Canna’s grip to loosen just slightly on her weapon even though she held her sword as though it were the lifeline keeping her from plummeting off of a precipice. Her breathing was tense and short; though she would be quick to blame it on what the restrictive armor she was wearing which wrapped tightly around her skin in a thick cocoon. Her joints ached as she tried to move with her usual agility and freedom only to be restrained by hardy leather bands that held her uniform together. It was her first time in this sort of attire, and she made it very evident as she proceeded without a faint caution to her visibility. Minutes later she could see the intended entrance to the dilapidated fortress and stood awkwardly along the artificial road into the abandoned stronghold as she waited for the raid to begin.<br />
<br />
Marlow crept towards the a natural backdoor to the fortress and scanned the interior one last time as he mentally compared this image to the one had seen fifteen minutes ago. When he confirmed that everything was kosher he turned to Cormag who gave the veteran scout a nod. Marlow tilted his head back up and spit a plume of fire straight into the air and the signal to begin the attack was initiated. Five different teams simultaneously charged into the makeshift den and began their slaughter with a refined rage. The scene was filled with curtailed screams and thick clouds of smoke that filtered through the ruined roof and wreathed the building in a grey halo.<br />
<br />
Away from this carnage was a thin, blonde-haired outlaw with long arms, a pointed chin, narrow eyes, and a white bandana wrapped tightly around his right sleeve. After finishing relieving himself he pulled up his trousers and reconnected his belt of knives before walking back towards Culvern’s base of operations. This man was one of Culvern’s outlaws, a bandit by the name of Riley who’s filled bladder had spared him the misfortune of being inside the camp once Grash Company began their attack. Riley shuffled back towards his hideout until his normally unobservant gaze happened upon the boldly colored tresses of the teenage girl standing alone with a sword clutched in her hands and her attention focused entirely on the entrance to the old fort.<br />
<br />
Riley froze in place and paused he tried to comprehend the situation in spite of his exhausted state. At first it seemed like a fantasy, or worse, a trap, but as Riley examined this rookie teen his hands quivered in excitement of Canna’s palpable fear. Riley couldn’t believe his luck; his sinister gaze saw only the profit he get from robbing and selling this lone woman. Riley slid his tongue between his teeth to halt the eager chattering of his jaw as he subtly drew a dagger from his belt and snuck up behind his victim. He bit down on his lower lip as he carefully approached on the tips of his toes ensuring that not even the slightest sound could be heard until the opportunistic outlaw had a blade wrapped around his target’s throat. He was nearly in range when Marlow’s signaling flame was ignited and the ravaging began. The proceeding ubiquitous grunts of charging warriors startled the on-edge thief and he let slip a frantic exhale which drew Canna’s attention. She spun on her heels only to find herself momentarily paralyzed by the looming figure staring back at her with a panicked fear imprinted in his person.<br />
<br />
Riley’s logic suddenly came crashing down to reality as he realized this girl was only part of something much larger. His first instinct was to run away from the clatter of steel, but a moment’s hesitation caused that thought to become replaced with a terrified bravado that just maybe Riley could still come out of this situation a richer man. All he needed to do was subdue this girl and use her as a hostage should the situation call for it. The overconfident brigand still saw his target as a meek child locked down by her own horror so all he needed was to put this bring this rookie to his mercy. Riley dropped his dagger and instead lunged forward with his arms spread out to wrap his victim up and bring her to the ground.<br />
<br />
Canna backed away from the tackle, but felt a powerful pressure bind her ankle. She looked down to see her attacker tightly clutching her leg, and with one mighty tug he forced Canna off balance and brought her tumbling to the ground. Canna hit the dirt and felt the wind rush out of her lungs. The lithe brawler tried to hurry back to her feet, but she couldn’t pull her legs away from her foe. She tossed and thrashed in the ground but her struggles were to not avail as her opponent began to control more and more of her person. A deep terror began to swell up in the pit Canna’s stomach as she felt Riley’s leg press down on her abdomen to hold her place. She suddenly felt staked to the floor and a rush of abject fright poured over the teen. She had been used to fighting grapplers before in her days of sparring, but she had always managed to counter those foes by using her spryness and agility to slide out of submission attempts and that refined movement was not available to her as she rested trapped inside this restrictive cocoon.<br />
<br />
Canna squirmed underneath the outlaw’s weight but found no give from beneath him. She scanned her surroundings looking for anything to advantage of and found her longsword resting just inches from her reach. She extended her left arm as far as it would go, but the tips of her fingers could only fondle the edge of the hilt. She groaned as she tried to exert just a bit more of herself into this desperate attempt, but her opponent quickly foiled her attempt at a counterattack by smacking the weapon away and clutching her now vulnerable arm and wrapping it around into a painful lock that prevented the teen from moving it in any direction. Canna let out a sharp cry as her remaining arm wildly swung around trying to push her attacker away. Riley however, was now in far too dominant position to be removed be the futile struggles of a weakened child.<br />
<br />
He tossed Canna onto her chest and locked her bound arm behind her back before forcing his arms around her neck and squeezing. Canna gasped for air as she desperately wriggled in Riley’s grasp trying to find a flaw in his hold, but her efforts were to no avail as she could already feel her focus fading away. “Not like this…” Canna whined as dreams of freedom became distant strands her consciousness couldn’t hold onto if she submitted now. <i>“I won’t die like this!”</i> Canna gritted her teeth as her right hand scanned the floor around her in some final attempt at safety. Her movements were slowing to a weak stirring though, and she knew her time left conscious was going to be very brief if she didn’t find a miracle. Lucky for her however, her opponent had dropped on just moments earlier, and finally her fingers were able to find it and grip in her weak clutch.<br />
<br />
Riley’s dagger limply hung in her hand for a moment before it was plunged into the exposed ribs of its owner. Riley let out a gasp as his weapon dug into his flesh and began chaotically stirring his innards. He instinctively withdrew his arms to guard his vulnerability, and by doing so he released Canna from her seemingly inevitable fate. She gagged and tenderly clutched her throat leaving a dark red imprint on her neck as she quickly absorbed as much oxygen as she could. She crawled to her knees before turning her attention back to the wounded bandit who was screaming as he pulled the bloodied dagger from his abdomen.<br />
<br />
A strange, foreign instinct took over Canna as she realized she couldn’t give her opponent time to recover. She dove on top of the bandit and wrestled the dagger from his grasp before holding it high over him. Riley looked up to see a mad fury slowly spreading through his victim’s eyes. He wanted to beg for his life but as he stared into the face of his executioner he felt a disturbing emptiness in her person. There was neither joy nor fear in her expression as she stabbed the dagger into Riley’s heart and pressed it into his chest. As the blade rested in its visceral sheath Canna’s hands began to quiver and retreat. Riley twitched and gasped as his final moments became nothing more than muscle spasms and nervous reactions before eventually settling into a quiet still. Canna kneeled above the corpse; her body stricken in shock.<br />
<br />
Juvenile horror washed over Canna as she looked into her foe’s motionless gaze and imagined the life he lived. Panic started to set it once her attention turned to her crimson soaked gloves. Her breath was stolen as she ripped off the gauntlets only to see the ruddy mess had soaked through to her once innocent hands. The blood was still freshly dripping from her hands as she clutched Riley’s bandana and attempted to clean away her crime. She scrubbed away at her palms until she felt the skin began to peel, but when she stopped she could still see the smeared blood crusting in the crevasses of her hand. She reached to wipe away the reminder once more but stopped once she realized her rag was now toned a dark red. Canna tossed it to the side before staring at her hands at disbelief until her stressful breathing slowed to an ordinary pace and a strange realization began to take over. This felt right.<br />
<br />
Inside the fortress the slaughter had ended and now the diminutive legion of Grash Company spent time salvaging corpses for a pittance of gold to add to their wallets. Cormag stood triumphantly over Culvern’s corpse, marveling at the tawdry amethyst necklace he had just plucked from the body of his target. He was immensely satisfied at the efficiency of his unit and was prepared to return to the capital holding his head high after a flawless victory when Marlow stared perplexedly at the carnage. “Twenty-two… twenty-three… Someone is missing. I count twenty-four before.” Cormag casually huffed at the sentiment.<br />
<br />
“No one got out if that’s what you’re worried about.”<br />
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“No, but someone may have left between when I first scouted and when we attacked. There’s definitely someone missing,” Marlow hissed.<br />
<br />
“So? One dimwitted mercenary isn’t going to be able to do anything to us—“ Cormag’s thought was abruptly ended as he realized he had left Canna alone to cover the entrance. He stormed through bloodied corridors and leaped over piles of the dead before catching sight of his student statically staring into her own hands. “Canna!” he roared, running to Canna’s side and examining her for any wounds. Cormag hunched over and looked into Canna’s eyes while he shouted for her attention. “Canna!” Still no answer. The teen seemed to be trapped in a mental prison; her vision was distant and unfocused even as she peered into the thin layer of encrusted blood smothered on her palms. Cormag scowled as he dug his talons deep into the teen’s arms; a decade of nails shooting a surge of pain through Canna’s body until she instinctively screamed and found her attention snared by the powerful golden lenses of her mentor. “Canna! What happened!?”<br />
<br />
Canna took a moment to reaffirm her surroundings before turning her head towards the corpse that laid beneath her. Her eyes now held a fresh maturity as they clinically viewed the carnage. “Nothing. I just made sure no one got away.” Her response was cold, yet Cormag heard a faint whisper of pride in her words. The massive dragonborn stood up and gritted his teeth as he bit back a plethora of violent curses he wanted to shout. He studied Riley’s corpse and could only marvel at the ruthless efficiency of the kill; two decisive wounds delivered directly to vital areas. It was excellent work, especially for someone who had never been truly tested in martial combat before, but Cormag couldn’t admire the potential. In the back of his mind his paternal instincts wept as he realized Canna had now started herself down a path she could never diverge from. A vital piece of her innocence was now lost for good, and the blood that flowed down her arms had baptized her into the violent world of the mercenary.<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
The first time a character kills another human being in a role playing game is a pretty big deal. Fantasy or not, taking a life has very real effects on a person, and it’s interesting (albeit a bit morbid) to explore those results. For Canna, her first kill was done in a feat of survival. She didn’t want to kill someone, but it was kill or be killed and she managed to do it with stunning accuracy. Five years later Canna has taken probably dozens of lives and been indirectly responsible for even more, so killing has become banal to her. It’s something she just knows how to do really well, and it’s the only real “talent” she knows of. Sure, she has knowledge of other things, but nothing she managed to cultivate into a skill, and thus Canna sees killing as her only lot in life—though we’ll get to that more when I reach Avandra.<br />
<br />
Neochick asked if I plan on addressing Canna’s relationship with her family, and rest assured there absolutely will be closure between Canna and her parents—in fact those two piece might be the ones I’m most eager to write. For now I need to finish up on Canna’s time Arkhosia which should come to a close in three more parts, so hopefully I’ll reach the “Avandra Arc” by August. For now though I need to finish telling the story of Canna and Cormag which I hope you are all enjoying thus far. That’s all I have for this week, so I hope you all enjoyed, and if you have any questions leave a comment below. Until next time my peeps! Peace!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-76584003147482553262012-06-19T09:57:00.001-07:002012-06-19T09:57:39.975-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Growing Wounds<em>“…and all I want is another cup!”</em> The patrons of the Dragon’s Den were joined in an inebriated harmony; singing a treasured Arkhosian drinking song as the faint evening sun faded away to cast the City of Dragons in an ebon shade. The citizens of Arkhosia called these hours the “Drow Curfew” after the near pitch black darkness that the city became enveloped in once the sun’s meager rays disappeared. The pale moonlight could barely pierce the perpetual shroud that filtered the dawn into a fraction of its once reaching influence, and thus the City of Dragons became a chaotic playground for thieves, criminals, and vagabonds to hunt the streets looking for unfortunate prey. For the regulars of the Dragon’s Den they ushered in this sinister event with a pride filled chorus to celebrate the next few hours of drinking. After all, once the Drow Curfew began it was easy to justify settling in with a tall bottle to keep you company.<br />
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Laborers, mercenaries, and grunts of all kinds made the Dragon’s Den their late night sanctuary, but among the pedestrian patrons was a massive, cobalt-skinned dragonborn with one arm hanging on the shoulder of a comrade, and the other clutching tightly onto a filled flagon full of mead. A wide grin was stretched across Cormag’s face as the song came to a close with each customer violently jerking their drink into the air and grunting a shout of approval. Cormag, with his battle-scarred, argent armor and polished fullblade, was always an anomaly inside the dingy dive. He sat to the back the bar, his towering height marking as a monument even behind the droves of bulky orcs and dragonborn who regularly made the Den their nightly pit stop. From this position he could monitor the entire bar and draw his attention towards any conversation that caught his interest, but in recent evenings the veteran merc had his golden eyes locked onto the door until a special customer entered the tavern. He sat with solemn eagerness and a well hidden tension in his chest as the door remained motionless for the better part of an hour until it finally swung open, and the red-headed brawler strolled into the bar.<br />
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It had been four months since Canna first arrived in Arkhosia, and she had already begun her metamorphosis from a naïve teenage traveler to a denizen of the city’s slums. She dressed in simple, loose fitting clothing covered in stains, burn marks, and the occasional hole, but despite the shabby attire she looked far better than when she arrived. She was leaner, but much of the weight that was lost had been replaced by muscle. She still maintained a very fragile and delicate beauty, but those who drew close enough for a close inspection could see the focused form of a fighter appearing. Even her long fiery mane had been cut to a concise bob she carried well, but most impressive was the greetings she received as patrons of the bar turned and shouted out her name with approving nods and waves. <br />
<br />
The violent vixen quickly made her way towards Cormag’s table before falling into her chair with a grunt. She gave a deep sigh while wiping her brow and turning her attention to Garmin, the Den’s tenured barkeep. Canna grumbled an order to the tender in broken Draconic before leaning her head back and letting her eyes get lost in the weak yellow light radiating from the dimly lit lanterns that hung from the ceiling. Her focus wrapped tightly around the weak glow; her mind releasing a day’s worth of pent up stress and aggression by momentarily forgetting the world around her existed until the low, rumbling voice of her idol called her back into the present. “Your Dragonic is getting better” Cormag approvingly said with a nod and a smile. Canna pulled her head back into view of the cobalt dragonborn and exhaled deeply before clutching the short glass of rum that Garmin had subtly set beside her.<br />
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“Yeah well, it’s not too hard to pick it up when you hear it everywhere. Besides, I need to learn it so I can know when the guys are talking behind my back. By the way, I’m assuming ‘ggreshtok’ means ‘bitch’?” Her question was genuine, but it wasn’t without a little self-aware charm.<br />
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“Something similar.” Cormag responded with a laugh before deeply chugging his mead.<br />
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Canna quickly peeled off her top and tugged at the neck of the white, sweat-soaked tanktop she wore underneath. “Fuck, this city is always hot.” She grumbled as she took a quick shot of her drink so as to enjoy the undiluted taste before the tavern’s encapsulated heat melted the meager amount of ice inside. Cormag slammed his drink into the table and wiped his chin before his eyes were drawn to a thin red gash on the teen’s right arm. He pointed to it and prepared to speak before a rush of gas flooded to the surface and he let out an ember-filled, echoing belch instead. Canna shook her head in a gleeful embarrassment before clinching her nose closed. “Damn, you know how much that shit stinks. Smells like I’m back in my dad’s forge again when you do that!”<br />
<br />
“Pardon me. I wasn’t aware we were sharing royalty at the table this evening. Please accept my apologies Queen Ggreshtok Canna.” Cormag responded with a grin. Canna lifted her middle finger to the dragonborn as she took another drink, and the two exchanged a light chuckle afterwards. It died down quickly however once Cormag returned to his earlier focus. “What’s that on your arm? Did you get cut?”<br />
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Canna looked at the wound with a stunning realization marked on her face. She pressed her hand up against the cut and examined the lack of a reaction before shrugging. “Some guy tried to hold me up on the way here. Probably just saw a girl walking alone and assumed she wouldn’t put up a fight. I didn’t even think he caught me with that swing, but rest assured he made out a lot worse than I did.” Canna nonchalantly passed off the attack, but as a long time resident of Arkhosia Cormag knew that the Drow Curfew wasn’t something to be lightly ignored.<br />
<br />
“You can’t keep walking the streets at night. It’s bad enough you’ve settled on some hole in an alleyway to sleep in, but if you keep getting targeted by those stick ups you’ll get burned eventually.” Cormag spoke with a paternal authority in his tone and legitimate concern hidden behind the odorous wafts of whiskey drenched breaths. Canna brushed the concern aside as she kicked one foot up on the table and took a sip of her drink before explaining her situation.<br />
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“It’s the warehouse. The dragonborn and orcs can push more cargo than I can, so I stay late to keep my numbers up—keep the manager from rethinking his decision to hire me. I’d love to get out before the Drow Curfew, but I need the coin and you’re still paying me shit to beat up your boys.” Canna complained, but there was a sense of satisfaction in her voice. Her life was hard and dangerous, but she seem to enjoy the struggle of surviving. She may complain about the heat and the ugly locals, but deep down Canna knew she loved Arkhosia. “So,” she said, taking another swig, “who am I fighting tonight? Marlow? Haven’t sparred with him in a bit.”<br />
<br />
“Nah, nobody tonight.” Cormag said as he stretched out a sore in his neck. “I’ve got to take the boys out for a job tomorrow morning, and I don’t need any of them nursing wounds.” The two sat back and took a synchronized drink.<br />
<br />
“How’s work going for you guys? Anything exciting?” Canna asked; the effects of inebriation now starting to take hold. <br />
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“Nothing too out of the ordinary. Group of outlaws harassing the local farms and shaking down travelers. Had the poor misfortune of trying to stick up a noble, so the slighted bastard is paying us big money to wipe them out. We’ll be hitting their base up tomorrow, but they don’t know we’re coming so it’ll be a quick slaughter.” Cormag took a gulp of his drink before continuing. “Oh, Skandor is leaving the company. Finally decided to settle down with the girl he’s been sweet on for a while now so he’ll be joining up the guard instead. Guess he’s decided he wants more honest work, but I know that grunt will go insane dealing with the motions of being a soldier. Then again… might be worth it to have a woman waiting for your at home to wash your scales.” Cormag smiled warmly as he drifted back into a comforting memory.<br />
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Canna perked an eyebrow. “Washing your scales? Is that really all a girl has to do win your heart, Cormag? Are dragonborn that cheap of a date?” The teen teased, but beneath the mischievous façade that was an earnest foreigner curiosity.<br />
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“You knock it, but once you get to be my age a good washing becomes more valuable than gold. That’s good advice now—you should probably be taking that down.” Cormag rapped his claw into the table to emphasize his faux wisdom with a sheepish grin barely contained against the teen’s smirking skepticism.<br />
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“Yeah” Canna replied with a roll of her eyes, “I’ll give that a try the next time I see a guy I like. I’ll just get real close and whisper real seductively in his ear ‘I give great baths’. No, really Cormag, it’s great advice. It just looks like I’m not giving a fuck.” The two laughed, but an interesting realization did pop into the young teen’s head. She had seen Cormag in the Dragon’s Den nearly every night for the past four months, but she had never heard the renown sellsword even talk about a woman. Curiosity influenced her next words like a younger sibling ribbing their elder about a crush. “I never see you talking about a special someone, Cormag. There ever been a Mrs. Cormag?”<br />
<br />
In most situations this line of questions could be taken as a slight, and at the very least would be considered rude, but between these two no subject was considered taboo. Canna made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t going to hold back about her feelings and Cormag did the same whenever Canna pushed in a potentially sensitive direction. Cormag took a swig of mead and savored on the flavor before giving the teen a restless stare. “No… no Mrs. Cormag. When you live a life like mine you never really feel like it’d be fair to force someone to wait for you. Then you see what I see on a daily basis and you realize you just can’t go home to a woman who’s big worry was what’s going to be for dinner that night.” Canna’s fingers wrapped tightly around her glass as she stared into an older reflection of herself lost in a russet pool.<br />
<br />
“But what about kids? You always joke with the guys at the bar they could be one of your bastards, but did you ever really want kids?” By now Canna’s drink was a watered down concoction with that lacked any bite or spice, but the young brawled still sucked from it just the same; her senses focused on absorbing the words coming from her idol’s mouth.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, I always wanted a kid. Try to connect to them more than my dad did with me. I think that’s why everyone wants to be a parent; so we can try to show up our folks by raising them ‘right’, but it just never happened.” Cormag’s claws tapped on the outside of his flagon before he quaffed the last of his brew and called for another round with just the slightest motions of his fingers.<br />
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“Why?” Canna bluntly asked.<br />
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“Remember that fight against an Elven bandit convey I told you about? The one where I decapitated the leader of the convey after taking an arrow through the testicle?” Canna nodded to show acknowledgement before her eyes widened after the gruesome realization. “Yep” Cormag grumbled with a distant gaze in his eyes, but a juvenile grin on his face. “It’s probably for the best. Knowing me, I’d probably leave my kids as a bigger mess than they showed up as. What about you? Thinking about becoming a mother one day?”<br />
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“Phf.” Canna’s curt response was reactionary, yet genuinely revealing of her attitude. “I’ll pass. I don’t think I’m cut out for motherhood. Too much patience required, y’know? If one of these goobers get on my bad side I just give them a stiff one to the jaw, but if a kid gets on your bad side you have to talk it out.” Canna fell silent as her thoughts drifted back towards her own mother, and the memories floating to the surface weren’t of the nights spent screaming over ideological differences but rather the long evenings spent having her wounds diligently dressed or the nostalgic hum her mother used to sing as she tucked her children to bed. Canna didn’t want to dwell on these thoughts, instead quickly tugging on the neck of her tank top again and wiping the sweat from her brow. “Seriously, how the fuck do you guys deal with this heat?”<br />
<br />
A long night of drinking was starting to get to Cormag as Canna’s question went completely unaccounted; the dragonborn’s focus was locked entirely on the thin red cut on the teen’s arm and the small crimson trails growing from the edges. From watching Canna fight for the past few months Cormag had become an expert on her bizarre amalgam of fighting styles, and as he stared at the wound a thousand worse scenarios played out in his mind. Every thought was about an exploitable flaw that he could fix to prevent the grave disasters his mind ran over in a grim loop. Finally, it became too much and he slammed his fist into the table taking out a chunk of wood along with it. The Dragon’s Den fell quiet as every patron slowly turned their stares towards the massive dragonborn.<br />
<br />
Cormag stared out across the tavern looking at all manners of thugs and sellswords with a scowl. A wall of doubt looked for one last reinforcement to secure it for good, but Cormag’s eyes fell upon Trindle, a copper-skinned dragonborn with only one arm left. Cormag knew Trindle’s story all too well, an upstart mercenary who was struck with misfortune when a rival merc cut off his arm over a dispute. He looked at Trindle’s stub with a bitter anger before turning back to Canna. His eyes narrowed in on her wound and tried to apply a convincing argument to justify the scar. “She’s stronger than that. She’s not as naïve as Trindle. She can hold her own—“ Cormag’s self-deceit was abruptly cut short as he Canna’s arm disappeared into a bloody stump leaking an unhindered crimson downpour to the warm tavern floor. The dragonborn’s eyes widened as he lurched his neck back and forced his senses back into control. When his right state of mind returned, Canna was as whole as she always was, but she did possess a very perplexed expression on her face.<br />
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“Cormag, are you alright?” she asked, starting to rise from her seat.<br />
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“Yeah” Cormag quickly responded, “I’m fine.” There was an awkward pause as the tavern nervously returned back to its normally rowdy nature leaving the teacher and his student alone amidst the cacophony of drunken banter. “Canna, how about you join us tomorrow? Since Skandor left we’re short an arm. You’ll get a full payment as a member of Grash Company, and you can get used the feeling of fighting with a good piece of steel in your hand.” Cormag abruptly put on a good front—he didn’t let it slip in his tone or his body language that this was not an offer he wanted to make.<br />
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Canna grinned from ear to ear as she swallowed the last remnants of her drink without puckering at its watered down blend. “I’d be honored to be in Grash Company” Canna replied, thinking back to the bold proclamation she had made just a few months earlier.<br />
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“Eh you’re not official Grash Company.” Cormag replied, his jovial disposition returning as his nerves lowered back to a pacified stupor. “I’m just tired of seeing your ugly face in the same piss stained slacks every week, so I figure you could use a little charity.” Canna flipped her middle finger to the veteran merc once more before shouting out another order to Garmin in her novice Draconic. Cormag laughed just the same, but a terrible feeling started brewing in the pit of his stomach. A concern was starting to mount over whether this was the right thing to do for the runaway teen, but it was an emotion that the dragonborn would see drowned in ale.<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
Another entry into the Cormag saga, and this was another piece I contemplated cutting but ultimately decided I wanted as it gets quite a few points across. Probably the biggest is the multiple relationships that Canna and Cormag share. There’s the obvious role of student/teacher as well as the growing daughter/father relation. The other one I find particular important though is that when it comes down to it, the two are drinking buddies. Though the patrons of the Dragon’s Den often go there to lose themselves in some shitty ale they more often go there for a good time; to share stories of conquests of varying natures and join in some old fashioned drinking songs. For Canna, the Dragon’s Den is the closest she has ever come to a social life partially due to inebriation helping her get past her self-constructed walls of aggression. Ultimately one of Canna’s biggest problems is that’s she’s incredibly lonely largely due to her own anti-social nature, but when she can drink her defenses away she’s a bit more approachable. It’s a crutch, but poor Canna never had friends to confide in, so she expresses herself openly to Cormag, and personally by relating to bar rats and drunken messes. In that same token though, this place keeps her human, because outside of the bar she can only see herself as a killer.<br />
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I made a not-too-subtle hint again that I somewhat base Cormag off Liam Neeson in regards to the bandit convoy story. Anyone who’s watched Kingdom of Heaven knows that Liam Neeson has a great line where he brags about fighting for three days with an arrow through his testicle, so I wanted to reference that because it was easier to work in over having Cormag slap Canna on his deathbed before saying “that’s so you remember it”. Oh out of context references, you so silly.<br />
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The growing father/daughter relationship is big in this part and overall for Canna as she desperately seeks a parental figure in her life that can understand her. It’s just unfortunate that the two she finds ultimately end up leaving her behind, but we’ll get to that in time. Just understand that Cormag sees Canna as a daughter which is what ultimately makes him so conflicted about inviting her to become a mercenary. On one hand he knows that if he does nothing to teach her then she will continue on this path regardless and could end crippled or worse. However by teaching her, he’s encouraging her to enter into this dark, dangerous world that has reduced him to drinking in a bar every night. Lose/lose, but in the same situation what would you do?<br />
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Finally I wanted to address a question Slatefield had last entry regarding the “violent vixen” moniker that I often use in describing Canna. He wondered if I use the term “vixen” to refer to Canna’s looks, attitude, or both. The truth is that it’s related almost solely to her attitude, though it could loosely apply to her looks however that’s not the descriptor I’d want to use too often. To me, vixen is the term you’d use to describe a visually sexual woman, and that’s not how I think of Canna. She’s attractive, but it’s a delicate beauty she inherited from her mother as opposed to an unfiltered sex appeal. Canna’s looks are something I hope to address in a future part as they’re a rather symbolic aspect of her character. The term violent vixen though? Really just related to the fact she’s kind of a bitch and I love alliteration. If you guys ever have any questions, comments, or critiques regarding these entries, drop a line and I’ll try to get to them in a future installment. Until next time fools.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-4111006818662120332012-06-13T10:22:00.001-07:002012-06-13T10:22:20.911-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Chaser BluesThe faint red glow of the twilight sun cast Arkhosia in a ruddy shade to bring another day of life in the City of Dragons to an end. However as these final hours were drawing to a close the Dragon’s Den was only now opening its door for the rush of patrons and vagabonds crawling out from their holes and alleyways to celebrate, once again, another successful day spent staying alive in the slums of this mighty capital. Thin trails of smoke slipped through the cracks of the tavern’s weathered windowpanes as regulars shared stories of their turmoil or caught themselves deep in a reminiscing isolation with only a pale tan reflection staring back at them in their solace. It was by all accounts a normal day in this Arkhosian dive, save for the red haired human teen seen sitting alone near the back of the bar clad in nothing but a dingy white t-shirt that hung loosely from her shoulders and stretched down near her knees.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>She was a peculiar sight among the middle-aged dragonborn who spewed soot into the air with their deep chuckles or the titanic orcs whose low, rumbling voices echoed throughout the frail tavern walls. Still, the regulars knew her as that poor unfortunate rookie who picked a fight with the wrong orc the previous evening and as such they paid her no mind so long as their loyal source of liquor didn’t seem bothered by her presence. The barkeep, Garmin, was well-aware of the human teen lingering in his business as he had used the young girl for free labor in return for a few cheap meals, an old shirt, and permission to sleep off her lingering wounds in his stockroom for a couple nights. By all accounts it was an exchange that favored the old, wily merchant, but it was one he would not have been bothered to offer if Cormag had not asked him to do it as a personal favor.<br />
<br />
Canna leered into a small cup of ale she’d been nursing over the past hour and sighed. The roars of these half-dragons had turned the temperature of the bar into a sweltering lockbox and thus her brew was now a disgusting lukewarm mixture that she begrudgingly sipped on if only to help pass the time. She tugged at the collar of her makeshift gown as thick beads of sweat rolled down her face and neck to add more color to her grimy garb. Her fingers ran through her hair trying to pick out knots or any other annoying junk that had gotten caught in her tresses as she watched the door to the tavern with a wavering enthusiasm. She had no motivation holding her to any one location in Arkhosia, but intrigue alone kept her interested in hearing what the jovial cobalt dragonborn had to say. Her patience however, didn’t have as much of a desire to wait. She was already broke and no longer even had the shirt on her back to her name. Her sword had been likely stolen from her while she was unconscious, and worse than that she couldn’t understand half of the conversations going around her as hardy dragonborn laborers spoke in the powerful language of their ancestors. She expected that she would suffer hardships and setbacks as she tried to carve a place for herself in this city, but right now she felt like she was wasting her time on the promise of a stranger. She was just about ready to stand up and leave when the door swung open and the tavern erupted into a synchronized greeting.<br />
<br />
“Cormag!” the drinkers shouted as the gigantic warrior strolled into the Dragon’s Den with a smile on his face and a sharpened fullblade clutched tightly in his right claw. He lowered his hands to settle the patrons and he sheathed his blade as he quickly called out an order to Garmin in a tongue Canna couldn’t comprehend. The violent vixen sunk back into her seat and took another unsatisfying swig of her beer as she watched the titanic cobalt merc stomp over to her table. He pulled back his chair before falling into it; the wood giving a yielding whine before settling beneath the dragonborn’s immense weight. Cormag smiled a toothy grin at the teen before reaching over and digging his talons into her hair and ruffling her already unruly mane with a laugh.<br />
<br />
“Looks like you had quite the night there, child!” Cormag roared in his growling tone. Canna pulled her head out of his grasp with an irritated grimace acting as her only response. Cormag pulled his arm back before looking the teen over and realizing her ill-fitting and demeaning attire and throwing his head back in laughter. “You’re kidding me! That’s all he gave you!? Don’t tell me you don’t have anything else to wear underneath or did you really only come to Arkhosia with just the rags you were wearing last night!?”<br />
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A faint red tint appeared in the teen’s cheeks, but more telling was her fists which were quickly curling into balls. “Of course not. Did you see a travel bag? Besides, your bartender friend didn’t have a lot of clothes to fit a girl who’s literally half his size!” Cormag was caught in a fit of laughter; his right claw slamming into the table over and over again as his uproarious hysterics.<br />
<br />
“So let me get this straight. You came all the way to Arkhosia with only the clothes on your back, and after one night you’re homeless, coinless, and as naked as the day your mother brought you into this world? Girl, you’re a riot!” Canna would probably have futilely swung a fist into the dragonborn’s jaw were it not for the tone Canna picked up in his mockery. She didn’t get the impression he was being condescending to her, but that rather that there was a mild respect laced in his laughter as though the teen’s sheer naivety was admirable. Cormag’s chuckling trailed to an end as Garmin subtly arrived on the scene with a fat, opaque, brown bottle labeled in foreign lettering. The cobalt colored dragonborn thanked the bartender in his ancient tongue before uncorking the bottle and holding it up to his nostrils. Cormag inhaled deeply, his head slowly leaning back as he became enraptured by the pleasurable scent, but Canna’s nose could only pick up on an overbearing stench of alcohol.<br />
<br />
“What the hell is that?” Canna said, her curiosity now starting to get the better of her.<br />
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Cormag looked up from the bottle and towards the teen who was staring intently at his drink. “This?” Cormag responded, slightly confused at the inquiry. “It’s Dragonborn Whiskey. Nothing too fancy if that’s what you’re getting at.”<br />
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“Let me try some.” Canna sternly said as she bitterly chugged down the last of her lukewarm brew and pointed her empty cup to the dragonborn. Cormag chuckled and gave the teen a skeptical look that he hoped would shake her to a less naïve state of mind, but her defiant gaze didn’t back down. He shook his head, laughing lightly as he poured a mere thimble’s worth of the odorous liquor into her mug. “That’s all?” Canna replied as stared into the russet liquid with a perked eyebrow.<br />
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Cormag chuckled to himself, ever astonished by this human’s boldness. “Yeah it’s a only little for two reasons. First, I hate wasting liquor I pay for, and second, anymore would probably kill you.”<br />
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“Please.” Canna said as she lifted the flagon to her lips before shooting the dragonborn a challenging glare. “I haven’t met a drink strong enough that I couldn’t handle it.” With that daring proclamation she quaffed the shot only to immediately regret her decision. The undiluted alcohol assaulted her tastebuds sending them into a frenzy as her throat muscles convulsed in protest of ingesting the insidious concoction. She quickly spat out the paltry contents before doubling over to the floor, coughing and gagging as she tried to spit the remnants of the poison from her mouth. Several thin strands of saliva dripped from her lips as her eyes focused in the heinous amber puddle that lingered beneath her. The teen half expected the liquor to start burning through the floor like the acid she assumed it was, but once her senses returned to a controllable state of mind she could once again hear the dragon’s incessant laughter.<br />
<br />
“Listen, girl, don’t you know anything about dragonborns? Since we breath fire our throats are at a much higher temperature meaning that when we burn most of the alcohol away when we drink your common brands. That’s why it’s called Dragonborn Whiskey! It’s proof is probably three times that of the swill you’re used to drinking!” Canna scowled as she wiped the hanging threads of saliva from her lips with the sleeve of her makeshift gown before returning to the chair with her head hung in embarrassment. She didn’t know what to expect when this dragonborn asked to speak with her, but since it happened she had only served to make herself look like a fool. Canna wanted to get enraged and release her tension with a fight but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this dragonborn wasn’t trying belittle her when her laughed at her naivety. It legitimately seemed like the cobalt mercenary was impressed with the violent vixen’s attitude which left Canna lost for how to proceed.<br />
<br />
“You um…” she paused, fumbling for words, “… said you want—well you’d like to speak to me. Or that you wanted to talk. With me that is and—“<br />
<br />
Cormag interrupted her with a smile on his face. “Calm down, girl! You act like you’ve never talked to another person before! Just settle down and let’s have a chat.” Cormag leaned his neck back and hung the bottle up to his lips; chugging the whiskey effortlessly as Canna watched on in utter astonishment. She knew the Dragonborn were strong, but the aura that Cormag gave off set him apart from every other warrior Canna come across up until this point. Even Garrius, the mighty orc brawler, seemed insignificant compared to this fighter’s presence. After a couple of seconds Cormag slammed the bottle onto the table with an echoing thud before momentarily basking in the flavor of his shoddy whiskey. “Ah…” he bellowed before wiping his chin and staring into the awe filled eyes of the rookie teen. “Okay, so I suppose better introductions are in order. My name’s Cormag Ragner, son of Grash Ragner. I’m a mercenary, and leader of Grash Company. Now I already know your name is Canna, but I’m very curious to know what would bring a young one like yourself all the way down south with nothing to your name but some rags and a pocket full of coin.”<br />
<br />
Canna felt a tension in her chest she had never experience before. Normally she found her bitter attitude overwhelming, but before someone of such strength it was completely vacant. “M-my name is Canna Corbett…” Canna was utterly stunned by the sound of her voice when there wasn’t any aggression fueling it. It felt strange and wrong, and yet sounded oddly genuine. “I’m um from Southgate. I want to be a mercenary, so I decided to travel south to Arkhosia so that I could learn from the best.” Cormag sat back and grinned as he gently clutched his bottle of liquor in his massive talon. <br />
<br />
“A mercenary? Why would you want to do that? It’s not a good line of work. The hours suck, the pay’s inconsistent, your coworkers are good-for-nothing freeloading thieves, and there’s not really much of a retirement plan involved.” He tilted back the neck of the whiskey bottle and enjoyed another hearty swig of his drink while he waited for the teen’s answer. However, it was to his amazement that she didn’t need time to contemplate this answer as he instantaneously replied.<br />
<br />
“Because you get to be free.” It was such a short and simple statement, but one that left the veteran sellsword speechless as the teen’s amber lenses were no longer cased in an intimidated naivety, but rather a resolute passion that reminded Cormag of his own late father. The dragonborn set his drink back on the table as he examined the teen’s eyes looking for even a hint of insecurity, but it seemed this young girl had no doubt about this decision. Once again Cormag found himself shaking his head at her immaturity, but still feeling impressed that she possessed a willpower this absolute at such a young age.<br />
<br />
“Freedom is nice, but it doesn’t mean a whole lot if you don’t decide to do something with it. What is there to do that you can’t do already?” Cormag didn’t know what to expect Canna’s answer to be, but he certainly didn’t expect to hear what he did.<br />
<br />
“I’m going to go over the wall, defeat the Drow, and take our lands back.” Once again, Cormag studied her eyes looking for a subtle doubt buried behind bravado but found nothing. He couldn’t comprehend how a child could have such drive, but the renowned fighter had to recognize her fervor even if was raw and perhaps misguided.<br />
<br />
“That’s a pretty daunting goal to be aiming for. To defeat the strongest army in the world you’d need to be one of the greatest warriors to ever take up the fight—not somebody losing to a shitfaced orc who wasn’t even good enough to stay in the military.” With a single statement Canna’s self-esteem deflated and her head hung in shame. Normally Canna was defiant and aggressive in the face of opposition, but in front of this dragonborn she felt so vulnerable and his every word was a decisive truth she couldn’t disregard. And still, beyond that, she couldn’t shake this feeling that he was supporting her in his criticism—that he said these critiques not to belittle, but rather to support. She felt like she was a child being scolded by her parent, but ever since Leon left her life Canna never hung her head in shame when her mother accused her of being wrong. Canna hadn’t yet realized the truth, but she already carried an immense respect for this dragonborn. “Then again, it takes someone with massive fangs to pick a fight with someone twice your size without backing down. Er… what’s the human version of that go? Having balls? I guess that doesn’t apply. Eh… I’m trying to say you’re tough.”<br />
<br />
Cormag chuckled as his compliment fell to pieces, and even Canna let slip a small smirk to break her scowling streak. The teen lifted her head again and met the dragonborn’s vibrant golden eyes. It seemed strange to Canna that a massive dragonborn covered in battle scarred armor who had massive, muscular arms and sharp deadly claws would also have such a soft gaze. Her idea of strength always seemed so simple, but this mercenary complicated her perception in a way that made her start thinking of reevaluating her ideals. “So that orc from yesterday… was he in your mercenary group?”<br />
<br />
“Who? Garrius?” Cormag seemed legitimately stunned by the question. “Nah. Grash Company doesn’t fit his kind. That chump doesn’t have the discipline necessary to fall in line with a commander which is what got him booted from the military. He does simple bodyguard work nowadays, then he takes his pittance of coin here to drink the cheapest piss Garmin has the heart to sell and mumble about how the world is unfair to him. There are a lot of fools like him in this place…” Cormag stopped and looked over the bar, mentally recalling the sad tale to every blushing face he surveyed. “At the Dragon’s Den, there aren’t a lot of success stories. Just a whole lot of wretched sacks of flesh and scales who begrudgingly put their lives on the line every day just so they can come here every evening and weep about how unfortunate they all are.”<br />
<br />
“And you’re here too.” Canna replied leaving the dragonborn momentarily speechless before he started earnestly laughing at the remark.<br />
<br />
“You’re right! Hate to admit it, but I’m not all that different from the other bums that come to this tavern looking to drink away their issues. Place like this doesn’t seem too fitting for a young girl with aspirations of changing the entire world.”Once again the bottle tipped upwards and its contents freely flowed down the dragonborn’s throat without resistance or pause.<br />
<br />
“No, I like these places too. They feel… right.” Canna leaned back in her chair while letting her gaze drift to the missing contents of her mug. Cormag slammed his empty bottle onto the table before wiping his chin and giving a small, sympathetic grin to the teen. Canna’s hands slid up and down the mug; her palms slowly scanning over every minor imperfection while still being grateful for the feeling. “These places are full of people who feel incomplete and unfulfilled… I like it here. Like I belong.” Canna’s eyes had already become red and glossy as inebriation started taking over from the traces of the supremely potent liquor she partially ingested. Her gaze drifted back to the omnipresent smile of her uncle and the touching words he imparted onto her that day. <em>“Thank you for being born into this world.”</em> A premature tear was quickly removed from Canna’s eye as she realized what an awkward state she was in, and she scrambled to hide her vulnerability.<br />
<br />
Cormag averted his gaze when he saw the teen’s eyes water to help protect her pride, but her statements struck the dragonborn in a peculiar manner. Identifying with broken down drunkards was not something a teenager should be doing. “Canna, do you have a family?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah, I suppose.” Canna responded, nonchalantly fiddling with the rim of her mug. She gazed upwards to the see the quizzical expression of the dragonborn and realized that she would need to elaborate. “I don’t get along with my mom. She doesn’t get who I am and keeps trying to make me into her. She thinks being a housewife is the greatest accomplishment I will be able to make in my life just because it was the biggest one she made in hers.” Canna’s words stung with a drunken, adolescent bitterness. “My dad… he’s barely a fucking person. Doesn’t bother keeping his own opinions and only seems to care about what I do when it’s going to piss Mom off. Otherwise, I’m an afterthought. Got a kid brother who’s got a talent for magic, so my folks are only interested in cultivating his talents. And hey, I get it, he’s a fucking genius, but it sucks to know your parents only see you as a consistent disappointment. And more annoying than that is how they act like the only fucking person in the world who was actually interested in me as an individual was some kind of bad guy. Just fuck them. Fuck my condescending bitch of a mother and my do-nothing father.”<br />
<br />
Cormag’s smile faded away and his eyes narrowed on the teen. His rumbling voice lost its hint of joviality as he asked a very serious question. “When you left… did you even tell them where you were going?”<br />
<br />
“No.” Canna bluntly replied. “No reason to. Parents didn’t know I was sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night to beg broken down old soldiers for sword lessons even though it happened for years, so why would this phase them? Shit, since I won’t be around to embarrass them they might not even know I’m gone.” Canna chuckled to herself, but Cormag could hear that latent depression in her voice. Cormag reached into his pockets and pulled out a grimy leather bag tied tightly closed with a thin length of silver string and threw it in front of the homeless teen. The coin purse hit the table with a loud clatter drawing Canna’s attention, but she stared at it in confusion. “What did you do that for?”<br />
<br />
“It’s for you.” Cormag stoically responded. “You’ll need some money for clothes, food, and a place to stay, so just consider it—“<br />
<br />
“No.” Canna quickly interrupted, her passionate, defiant eyes returning with a scowl. “I don’t want your charity. I didn’t come all the way here just to get some handout from an asshole who thinks he’s doing me a favor. I came here so I could become strong enough to go over the wall, and that’s not going to happen if you try to cast some safety net beneath me. I’m strong enough to survive this city, even if I have to sleep on the street and live off of scraps!” Canna’s aggressive body language had returned with tightly clenched fists, a curled upper lip, and her muscles tensed as if she were prepared to pounce at any moment. Cormag’s grin grew back before he burst out into laughter; snatching his purse up as he did so.<br />
<br />
“Alright Canna, I hear ya! Well, then how about a job offer? I could always use something to help keep my men on their toes so how about I bring my boys in here every so often and you spar with them? That way you can get some experience fighting against trained soldiers, and my boys learn to not get lax. The pay won’t be all that great, but—“<br />
<br />
“I’ll do it.” Canna eagerly replied, extending her hand.<br />
<br />
“You don’t want to hear the whole deal?” Cormag asked, perking an eyebrow.<br />
<br />
“I heard all I needed. You’re giving me permission to fight, and that’s all I needed. I’ll spar with your boys, show you what I can do, and before long you’ll be asking me to join your mercenary group.” To Canna, that idea wasn’t even slightly outlandish, and once again her bluntly naïve nature was pure entertainment to the Arkhosian native. He let out more uproarious laughter while clutching Canna’s hand with his own.<br />
<br />
"Alright Canna Corbett, consider yourself employed by Grash Company!” Cormag’s hearty chuckles continued on throughout the night, and for Canna Corbett this was one more night spent sleeping above a safety net. However, she knew that starting tomorrow that security was going to be gone, and it would up to her to survive on the unforgiving streets of the Arkhosian slums.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Usually when I write or record something I end up hating the final product because I’m irrationally self-critical (it’s a Catholic thing). However I ended up pretty generally pretty satisfied with this piece, so perhaps I’m maturing as a critic and learning to love what I create. Or it sucks and I’m just learning to love the smell of my own shit. Regardless, I liked this piece, and I hope you guys do too (cheap comment plug).<br />
<br />
The Dragon’s Den will be a big piece of Canna’s backstory as it is essentially functions as her home for this part of her life. A lot of memories, good and bad, happened within that shabby little dive, and as such Canna feels more comfortable inside of a tavern. It’s relatable to her—a sanctuary for her to feel grounded before she steps outside and only thinks of herself as an assassin with a holy agenda. Of course being surrounded by alcohol all the time has made her a bit of an addict, but it’s not as simple as “Canna is an alcoholic because Rollo T wants to drink on Sundays”. It’s not just liquor though. Bar fights, drugs, sex, tattoos, drinking songs… all of these are things Canna has encountered inside of the Dragon’s Den, and to her that’s as nostalgic as a home-cooked meal or her mother’s sweet lullabies. Hmm… that last one sounded kinda dirty…<br />
<br />
I still have a little trouble not writing Cormag to be Scottish, but thankfully that habit seems to have been kicked for the most part. Writing for Cormag has made me rethink Canna’s attitude towards Black Jhaan for the better, and I’m looking forward to the next time the two of them share a scene together. Ultimately I’m more excited for what will happen should the party run into Cormag again as Peter’s already confirmed he’s alive, and their meeting might happen sooner than you think.<br />
<br />
Probably the hardest hurdle I’ve tried to overcome in writing thus far is writing alcohol because there’s not a lot a whole lot of ways to say “whiskey” before you start repeating yourself. Sadly liquor works extremely well as a prop in these stories so it’s a challenge I’m going to have to live with.<br />
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Seems like that will be all for this entry, but a new one will be along soon enough. Will things get better for our young heroine? Will Cormag gain a Scottish accent? Will Garmin ever get his own spin-off series!? Tune in next time to find out! (spoilers: no, no, and no)Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-75370101048550260712012-06-05T14:58:00.000-07:002012-06-05T14:58:43.138-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Arkhosian DisciplineThe Dragon’s Den. It was a small tavern deep in the Arkhosian slums that not many knew about, and that didn’t care about attracting newcomers. From the outside it was unimpressive lot accented by smoke damaged windows and a sign that only read in Draconic. Though the thick scent of sulfur always hung in the air in Arkhosia it smelled particularly putrid around this establishment as the noxious fumes blended with the odor of cheap liquor to form a truly heinous stench. The company seen hanging around the bar were no more inviting either as shifty dealers and vagabonds passed by looking for any unfortunate mark to catch their eye. It was this low down den that Canna found herself drawn to having decided that she should dive head first into the belly of the Arkhosian beast. The meager coin she entered the city with was almost at an end, and before long she’d be sleeping on the streets though the prospect of that outcome only served to excite the wild eyed idealist. She wanted things to be challenging so there would she could claim no regrets after crossing over the wall, but now was the time for one last luxury.
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Canna boldly stepped into the tavern without any reservations as to whether she belonged there or not. A few patrons turned their attention the fiery haired new comer and a few snickered about the young human girl who must have gotten herself lost, but Canna paid those detractors no mind. She marched straight up to the counter where a hunched topaz-skinned dragonborn was pouring a drink from a half-empty bottle of “Dwarven Gut Crusher”. As the attractive young woman approached the bar the tender scoffed and grumbled under his breath. “We don’t serve any wine here, Miss.” The tender gave this strange new customer an intimidating glare in an attempt to scare her early, but Canna paid his attitude little mind once she reached the counter.<br />
<br />
“Give me a glass of Stonecrag Whiskey, no rocks, and don’t make it a bitch.” Her order was concise if not revealing as the bartender flashed a jagged, toothy grin at her before shaking his head and attending to the drink. After a few moments he returned with a small glass of whiskey finely crafted to specifications, although the glassware left a lot to be desired in cleanliness. It didn’t matter much to Canna though as she slapped what remained of her funds on the table and took a swig of her brew. The Stonecrag Whiskey was a drink with a vicious punch that could level any unsuspecting drinker if they aren’t prepared. Even long time enjoyers like Canna still had their lips quiver just briefly when the proof hit their tongues, but it was only for a moment before the intensity leveled and the whiskey’s spicy blend left its impressions. It was a unique drink to enjoy, and probably one Canna never would have discovered were it not for it being forced upon her by old drunkards she paid for the simplest lessons of the sword. It was an oddly nostalgic drink for her as it pulled her back into those desperate memories of nights spend begging former mercenaries to show her how to lunge. In the moment those evening were miserable as she had to spend hours endearing herself to weak willed losers who’ve lost their way in the world, but she drew a strange comfort from being in a bar surrounded by strangers and knowing that in this room there were just as many people who probably felt as alone as she felt.<br />
<br />
Beside her Canna sat an orc—the first she had ever seen. He was a tall, muscular fellow with a dim gray skin tone and thick black brows. His arms were knotted trunks restrained barely by leather bracers wrapped around his wrists and his broad chest clung tightly to the thin green vest he wore. His bulky digits were wrapped tightly around a mug of ale and from the vacant expression in his narrow eyes you could see he was already deep into his evening. Periodically he’d grumble something under his breath but he seemed to be relatively stable. However after a couple minutes passed his attention seemed drawn to a particular smell. His head tilted into the air and he began to sniff his surroundings through the narrow slits in his flat nose. He grunted with each passing second and the putrid fumes grew stronger until his focus turned to Canna. He paused on her, inhaling and grunting a few time before speaking in his inebriated bass.<br />
<br />
“Human…” He let his voice--drenched in contempt--trail off for a moment. “Human, you reek. All humans smell like garbage. You stink of weakness.” He muttered, his breath filled with the distinct odor of dragonborn ale. Canna returned the glare back towards the mighty orc as her right hand started to clench.<br />
<br />
“Yeah? Well you smell like a mixture of caked urine, cheap liquor, and failure but you don’t see me judging you.” A few patrons found themselves quieted as the situation started to escalate. No one expected a human to come to this bar, much less engage in a fight with one of the biggest men in the room. For these regulars it had been too long since they watched a dimwitted newcomer get bounced out on their ass, and there were looking forward to seeing it happen again. One lanky Dragonborn even encouraged the encounter shouting “Don’t take that from her, Gallius!”<br />
<br />
The orc, Gallius, huffed as he processed the response. He had enough sense to stay true to his sense of honor otherwise this mouthy rookie would have already taken a stiff punch to the jaw, but gender aside he would not allow himself to be insulted so freely. “Watch your tongue, human, or I’ll rip it out and you’ll have to crying back to your mother’s teat mumbling like the dumb.” Even with his eyes glassed over Canna could still pick up on the orc’s hostility, but she hadn’t traveled all the way to Arkhosia just to be sent home by some lummox who can’t handle his high. The lithe bruiser placed her whiskey down on the table and rose from her chair. She clenched her right hand into a fist and puckered her lips without losing eye contact with the brute. She was going to make it very clear that if he wanted a fight, he would get one.<br />
<br />
Gallius, however, didn’t desire beating up a woman even if she was too lippy for her own good. “I don’t fight little girls” he said, turning his attention back to his drink. Canna had heard that argument before, but she never let her gender get in the way of a good fight even if her common sense told her to avoid the encounter for her own sake. She gritted her teeth before stomping up behind him. The tavern fell on deaf ears as Canna reached out and grabbed the back of Gallius’ vest before pulling it down. Her strength was enough to tip the bullish orc off his balance and he fell backwards to the floor crushing his chair beneath him, and spilling his drink on top of him. Gallius grunted in pain as she slowly staggered to his feet, but soon that anger was placed by rage and it quickly didn’t matter was sex his opponent was—he was going to teach her a very painful lesson.<br />
<br />
A few tables away from this incident sat an enormous dragonborn with cobalt scales. He was a giant even among his peers standing an inch over seven feet, though he was most unique among the other customers by his stunning silver scale mail. It wasn’t so pristine that it shimmered in protest under the dim tavern lights, but it was impressive enough to be apparent among a sea of tattered cloth stained in the previous evening’s endeavors. He eyed the fight closely with an odd curiosity while his compatriots surrounding him egged on the fight just like everyone else. Cheers starting erupting from all sides of the Dragon’s Den as the bartender quickly snatched all of the glassware from his counter before the melee ensued.<br />
<br />
Garrius may be one of the more intimidating figures in the bar, but it was clear from his sloppy footwork and poor form that his long night of drinking was affecting him. Canna, a spry, nimble target, effortlessly dodged his blows before waiting for the ideal moment to strike. When the orc’s guard was broken just slightly Canna did not hesitate to deliver a punch right to his sternum. Unfortunately, her punch did nothing to pierce the thick wall of flesh that was Garrius’ chest. The enraged, drunken brute tried to take this opportunity to grapple the frail fighter and effectively end this contest but Canna had just enough wherewithal to roll backwards and avoid the grab. The mental damage, however was already done as Canna started to contemplate how she could possibly take down an opponent who outsized and outmuscled her in just about every way. Beads of sweat formed on her brow as she narrowed her plan of attack to the three vulnerable areas she knew of: the head, the groin, and the kidneys. She ran through multiple scenarios of how to get behind the bulky bully, but she remained still for too long.<br />
<br />
Garrius threw a clumsy right hook that Canna was slow in avoiding. Though his fist didn’t connect with anything but hair it did leave the violent vixen in his range meaning she had to take a risk. Rather than chance rolling away from another grapple Canna decided to press further in. She knew if she could slip passed his guard she could give a few strong body shots to the orc’s kidneys, but as she stepped in to attempt this maneuver she walked right into Garrius’ clothesline. His beefy, shielded forearm connected right into Canna’s neck; the force of which lifted her from the ground and caused her to flip in the air before landing painfully face down on the grimy tavern floor. Garrius smirked as his pathetic opponent tried to scramble back to her feet, but the orc placed one large foot on his foe’s back. With the nimble combatant pinned, Garrius took a moment to gloat and revel in his victory before posing to his fellow regulars.<br />
<br />
The blue skinned dragonborn shook his head in shame before standing up and confronting the jubilant drunk. With an effortless shove he forced Garrius back, freeing the human. “It’s over Garrius. Go back to drinking your piss.” The dragonborn knelt down and lifted the young woman up to her knees with legitimate concern lacing his low roaring voice. “You alright, child? Can you feel your legs?<br />
<br />
Canna couldn’t speak well through her heavy heaves, but she made her attitude very clear. “I didn’t… didn’t ask… for you to… for you to stop this match.” The wandering beauty’s lip was severely cut from the impact with the floor and her eyes spun around the room still trying to synchronize what they were seeing. The dragonborn grabbed Canna by her shoulders and held her still, forcing her focus on him.<br />
<br />
“Don’t be stupid, child. He may be piss drunk right now, but Garrius will still put you back on the ground. You aren’t going to beat him. Just be on your way and cut your losses.”<br />
<br />
“Hell no.” Canna said, pushing herself out of the dragonborn’s grasp and standing up under her own willpower. Though she had returned to her feet she still looked like a wreck after just one shot. Her hair was in disarray as it chaotically clung around her neck, and her vest was now drenched in spilled beer and decorated with droplets of blood that had trickled down from her chin. Still, despite looking like the loser, Canna’s eyes were fueled with a passion unbecoming of her appearance. “I don’t give up on fights just because they’re hopeless. You can’t change the world by accepting defeat before it happens.” The dragonborn smirked at that statement before shaking his head. He was impressed with this human’s attitude even if her maturity left something to be desired. He stood up, towering over the bloodied bruiser before heading back to his seat.<br />
<br />
Hours later Canna woke up with a stiff pain all over her body. Her eyes fluttered open to a stining yellow light hovering over her face.. She tried to move but a sharp tension all over her body kept her muscles from responding, and instead she had to lay there, basking in the throbbing aches. “You’re up now? Took you long enough.” The voice was a low rumbling one, but Canna couldn’t twist her neck to find the source. Lucky for her however the speaker made himself clear as he bent over the battered beauty with a empathetic, yet embarrassed grin on his face. Canna tried to place a face to a name but came up blank as she let out an anguished groan.<br />
<br />
“What happened?” Canna asked, trying to piece together memories.<br />
<br />
“You got the piss beaten out of you” laughed the cobalt-skinned dragonborn as he took a sip from his pint. “You went back in to fight Garrius and he pummeled you harder than the first time. I’ll give you credit for staying conscious as long as you did, though your body is probably going to blame you for that tomorrow.” Canna ‘s nerves flashed as she tried to recall the fight relieving only very brief, painful seconds of a much more embarrassing story probably better left forgotten. She frowned at the realization that she had been beaten so soundly on just her first day in Arkhosia, but suddenly she became distracted by a powerful odor that swept over her body.<br />
<br />
“What is that smell?” she said, wincing and squeezing her face.<br />
<br />
“That smell? Probably some cheap ale. Some of the regulars tried waking you up by spilling their drink on you, but nobody wanted to waste any of the good stuff on you, so well… let’s just say you’re probably going to want to throw away those clothes.” The dragonborn laughed as Canna sighed in frustration. Slowly her senses seemed to gain more control and she surveyed her surroundings. She was enclosed in a room filled with casks, bookcases stacked high with various liquors, and thick wooden mahogany walls that wrapped around to trap the faint flickering light from the creaky lantern hanging from the ceiling. Canna didn’t know where she ended up, and see how she couldn’t move she figured it was best to figure that out now.<br />
<br />
“So where am I?”<br />
<br />
“Well, it seemed pretty cruel to just throw a nice looking girl like yourself onto the streets alone, so I asked ol’ Garmin to let you sleep in his stockroom tonight. It’s not a cozy nest at all, but considering what you just went through you could probably sleep on a bed of dove feathers and still wake up feeling like the dead tomorrow. Ah speaking of which, I got the impression you’re not from around these parts.” Canna painfully nodded her once with a groan. “Seeing as you’ve got nowhere to go, how about you meet me here tomorrow evening. I want to chat with you about a couple things.”<br />
<br />
“Sure.” Canna muttered with a not too subtle hint of sarcasm in her voice. “Why not?”<br />
<br />
“Excellent!” the dragonborn exclaimed with a laugh. “The name is Cormag.”<br />
<br />
“Canna. Canna Corbett” the wounded war maiden replied as another surge of ache rushed over her tender nerves.<br />
<br />
“Canna, eh? Well then Canna, welcome to Arkhosia!” Cormag said with a laugh before blowing out the tiny embers inside the lantern and leaving the injured teen to sleep her pains away in the dark.<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
I ultimately decided on skipping over Canna’s childhood and jumped right from Leon leaving to her teenage years thereby eliminating two parts. One entry was going to focus on Canna returned home after losing another fight and her mother’s reaction to it, and although I’ve ultimately decided to skip over that entry for the sake of brevity, I wanted to stress a byproduct of that story: Canna lost more fights than she won when she was growing up. The reason for this will be explored in much more detail at the end of this arc and into the next, but basically you should note that although Canna starts these fights she more often than not loses. If you were to tally up her wins and losses she would be a “loser”, and that was a big thing for me when writing her. I want it to be clear that although Canna acts like a badass and tries to present herself as though she’s superior to everyone else, deep down she’s vulnerable and she knows it.<br />
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In addition this is the first appearance of Cormag! As noted in the D&D stream this past Sunday, I had to rewrite Cormag’s dialogue because I wrote him as though he had a Scottish accent just because the other dragonborn in Shadowlands, Black Jhaan, also has one. I kept adding words like “yer” or “lass” then realizing those didn’t fit with the idea I had for Cormag. I didn’t want to do the entire story writing in a fucking Scottish accent. Now a Jamaican one? I can dig it. “OH ‘ello der Canna, how yo doing todaaaa~AAAAAAY?! … bombaclot” As I’ll get into with the next few entries, Cormag is a very different character than Leon, but shares a similar place in Canna’s life though the way they leave is drastically different. I will say this “arc” looks to be a bit longer as I have a lot of different things I want to cover over in this year in Arkhosia.<br />
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I do have to say that naming themes are always inconsistent for me and seem absolutely subject to my momentary whims. For example, Canna is a rewritten version of Kana from 20th Century Boys who is one of my favorite manga characters. Garrius however? No fucking idea. It’s not a reference to Garrus from Mass Effect if that’s what anyone was thinking. I just got to the portion of the entry where I needed to name him and wrote Garrius. Hell, I didn’t even know how to pronounce the name until halfway through the article. It’s a weird thing I have where I read a name and recognize it, but I never speak it so when I try to remember it or pronounce it I blank. Anyone who watches Weekly Manga Recap knows that I’m awful at pronouncing names, and that’s part of the reason: I never think of how its pronounced until it’s time to say it. It’s a very strange habit I should get out of.<br />
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Anyway, I’m weird with names. Often times my names are a reference to something—usually something inspirational to me, but sometimes I just completely blank, type letters together, and decide that Warsham will be a name. What does Warsham mean? I dunno. Can you even pronounce it? Fuck if I know, but it’s the letters I wrote in succession and it looks cool, so there we go. Strangely enough I like this naming convention though. I’ve always felt uncomfortable using a name like Skye or some real life name for a character just because it’s old Latin translation means “Grand Warrior” or something. I mean, in this fantasy world those same language laws don’t apply, so presumably the parents are already naming their kids nonsense words anyway. If I want meaning in the name, I’ll put it there, but I never lose sleep thinking of a great name. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad trait to have as a writer.<br />
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That’s all from me this time. Peace!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-46601460160540857122012-06-01T06:38:00.000-07:002012-06-01T06:38:43.782-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Violent Meetings<em>“If you want to keep living in this house you need to understand that I know what’s best for you.”</em> Those were the last words that Jude Corbett told her teenage daughter on that calamitous evening, and as far as Canna was concerned it would be the last thing ever said in their relationship. It was now approaching noon on the day after, and Canna was already miles away from her simple home in Southgate. She walked the long road to Arkhosia alone with nothing but the ragged clothes on her back, a handful of gold in her pocket, and a rusted old sword hanging from her hip. It was a meager inventory to be sure, but Canna wanted to make this trip without the temptation of luxury or the comfort of a safety net beneath her. It was a huge step forward for a girl who had spent the past few years learning the fundamentals of swordsmanship from the drunken vagabonds or ex-soldiers for whatever meager coin she could offer for their next drink. She was no longer a child who needed to hide her ambitions, and now she felt her chance to find her own future was before her—not that one could tell by looking at her.<br />
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The violent vixen had her usual grim scowl plastered onto her face, and her passionate eyes were drawn to a narrow state as though she were shooting daggers at everything she happened upon. Travelers of all sorts found themselves turning their attention away from the unruly teenager as they passed by, and not a soul paid her any mind. At least that’s how it was for the majority of her journey, but one unfortunate merchant sought to chance his luck with the dour dame.<br />
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His name was Borlin, and he called himself the “Caterer to the Elite”. Though it was a rather debasing title on principle it was one he would eagerly announce so as to endear himself the noble clientele he adored so much. He was a skinny man of unimpressive stature with an unoffending yet unimpressive face that seemed to have been molded by Sehahine herself to be as finely trimmed as possible so that no hair was unnecessary. His brows were thin and curved around to wreath the outside of his beady, optimistic eyes. The narrow mustache parted just beneath his nose were curved into his wide grin, and he dressed himself in simple robes garnished with tawdry jewelry. He sat atop a wooden wagon being driven by a single horse while two men in cheap armor flanked the carriage from opposite sides. These two men were obviously paid protection, but clearly not the best as one man was gaunt and unimposing while the other was brutish but clearly dimwitted as his armor poorly fit his bulky form and yet he still carried himself as though he were guarding royalty.<br />
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Borlin was grinning from ear to ear, but in truth he was in a foul mood after finding no one in Arkhosia who was interested in his wares. He left the city not a gold richer than he came in, and now he was looking for any way to turn this trip into a profit. That’s why the glitter of coin flashed in his eyes when he happened upon the lone traveling teen; if there was anyone who Borlin could peddle his goods to it was young human women. He pulled on his horse’s reigns slowing the caravan to a stop before hoping down from his perch and rushing towards his potential buyer. His bodyguards seemed uneasy after taking one look at the fiery haired voyager’s grimace, but Borlin was used to catching the eyes of snobby elitist nobles. A sour mood would not prevent him from a sale.<br />
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“Greetings my dear! My name is Borlin, Caterer to the Elite, and may I say that I am humbled to be in awe of your angelic beauty?” Borlin bowed as though paying tribute to an Earl, but Canna continued walking as though the silver-tongued swindler hadn’t spoken to her. Though subconsciously she kept stock of this new annoyance, she didn’t have the desire to focus on him instead opting to continue lingering in the enraging memories of the night before. The merchant, however, was not easy to ignore as many of the aristocrats in Southgate would attest to. “Are you on your way to Arkhosia? If so, I imagine those Dragonborn will be just as enchanted with you as I am, but if you truly want to steal the fire right out of their breaths then you could use some accessories to really leave them awestruck.”<br />
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“Fuck off.” Canna was quick and curt in her responses when she found her limited patience tested. She didn’t enjoy brooding over her “bitch of a mother”, but it was certainly preferable to being treated like vulnerable sucker who could be swayed by the well-rehearsed compliments of a low tier salesman. Borlin was understandably stunned when he heard the young beauty’s vulgar response, but he didn’t mind going for the hard sale if he still ended up just a little bit wealthier by the end.<br />
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“Ah, my dear I hope I didn’t offend. I only stopped my carriage because when I saw your pure features hidden behind such shabby clothing my heart broke.” Canna stopped dead in her tracks and turned her attention to the beady-eyed merchant.<br />
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“Are you saying my clothes are shitty?” Already the fiery haired bruiser could feel the muscles in her arm tensing.<br />
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“No, well…” Borlin found himself sorely tempted to comment honestly on the dirty, bland vest this young woman wore, but bite his tongue to continue his pitch. “Not at all. I only wish to further compliment your awe-inspiring visage with some of my own, humble wares. Perhaps a fine gown, or a sterling silver necklace to hang from your beautiful, thin neck. Yes, those would be magnificent on you! You would truly be an angel!” These were the same words that Borlin would use to seduce any young woman into purchasing his trinkets and silks, but for Canna Corbett is was a rage invoking reminder of her mother’s attitude.<br />
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The previous evening was one defined by anger and bitterness—one of the few common traits shared between the Corbett women. Jude had finally discovered the truth about Canna’s mysterious late night escapades and forbid her daughter from dealing with those dangerous sorts. When Canna asked if she could receive proper learning in the art of the sword her mother scoffed at the very idea, and the two began to argue over the future of the fiery haired ruffian. Ultimately, to Jude her daughter’s opinion was immature and misguided; a woman possessing her beautiful features should be worried about making herself an appealing wife and not how to abruptly shorten her life in some misguided attempt to follow in a fool’s footsteps. Though Leon’s name was never brought up between the two it was clear Jude still only thought of her brother-in-law as a doofus idealist who wasn’t content dragging just his own life into a pit of misery and misfortune, however to Canna he was the only inspiration worth believing in. Learning how to fight was going to be essential in her goal of crossing over the wall, but Jude was not going to lose a daughter to that same hopeless notion. The final statement Jude uttered was a promise: if you want to live here, you need to accept that your mother knows what’s best for you.<br />
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Canna saw her worth as miniscule at best—at least in comparison to her little brother, Darek, whose immense talents were just waiting to be cultivated for immeasurable profit. The only thing Canna assumed her mother valued in her eldest daughter was her looks which in almost every way mirrored Jude’s own, but Canna had grown to see her delicate features as a cruel mockery of her actual feeling and attitude. She hated looking like a frail beauty when she only saw herself as a soldier, and as Borlin continued to compliment her appearance as though she was some exotic enchantress just brought those frustrations back to the surface. Her right hand had started to clench into a fist; curling and uncurling as if to temper out her rage but the reality was her frustration only grew with every moment that passed by. Borlin continued trying to employ his charming words to make a sale, but he made one fatal mistake when he reached up to touch the cheek of misleadingly innocent damsel.<br />
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“My dear, with looks like yours complimented with my majestic wares you could leave the entire Arkhosian aristocracy with their mouths agape!” As he said those words he gently reached his hand up to pull back the teen’s thick crimson tresses so that he could better envision the jewelry he’d accent her features with, but just as their skin touched he felt an overwhelming pressure coming from his wrist where the vulgar teen had just locked her grip. Borlin’s immediate reaction was to let out a pathetic whine, but the stubborn merchant was desperate to make some sort of profit off this venture.<br />
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“Okay, so we can skip the pitch. How about a discount then? I will give you twenty percent off ev—“ The unfortunate merchant’s plea was cut short as Canna threatened him through gritted teeth.<br />
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“Don’t touch me, and don’t try to peddle me any of your crap. I don’t want some fucking gown sown from the pubic hair of some harpy or whatever tall tale bullshit you’re trying to sell me on. I don’t want it, and I definitely don’t want to deal with some third-rate merchant and his goober bodyguards.” Canna’s venom soaked words wounded Borlin who always considered himself an honest merchant. Pushy, perhaps, but fraudulent? He took offense to this woman’s words and intended to defend his honor and pride using the tools of his craft. He gave a quick hand motion to halt the advance of his bodyguards before attempting to counter this stranger’s bold, slanderous claims.<br />
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“I assure you my dear that Borlin, Caterer to the Elite, is not in the market of selling fables as products! I am a legitimate businessman looking to shop my fine stock to only those worthy of such magnificent merchandise! I am not a cheat, I am not a crook, and I am not a scoundrel my dear, and I take offense at the very notion!”<br />
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Canna had given him a way out even if she didn’t deliberately make that clear. Had the verbose charmer simply ceased his speaking and left the violent vixen alone then they could have gone their separate ways without incident, but Borlin had wasted the last bits of her patience defending his name. Canna could think of only one reasonable reaction to this offense, and that was to pull her left fist back before launching it into the unprotected face of the pesky salesman.<br />
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Borlin had never been in a physical confrontation before in his life, and never was that more evident than how quickly he dropped after just a single shot to his frail, narrow nose. The sickening crack of bone filled the air as Borlin fell like a sack of flour (followed with an appropriate thud). His two escorts were quick to jump into action following this brutal display, but the ruffian teen was more than ready to brawl with two bargain-rate bodyguards. The thinner sellsword jumped into the fray first attempting a quick knockout punch of his own, but even at her maturing age Canna had still been in enough melees to know how to avoid an obviously telegraphed fist. She leaned just gently enough to avoid the blow, but she would ensure his foolish error would not go unpunished. With his arm stretched out he had no way to defend the nimble scraper from grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt and using it to pull herself in closer. This extra bit of momentum helped make her next punch even more devastating. The lanky guardsman dropped to his knees clutching his now bleeding lip while trying to keep the most remote sense of balance. The ground spun beneath him as he tried to gather his bearings, but one errant movement later he found himself face down on the dirt road trying to recover his perception.<br />
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Canna was two-for-two and relished in the accomplishment until the lumbering brute delivered a punch to the back of her head. Canna dropped to all fours as her senses flared and scrambled to gather control. A sharp ring echoed in her ears as her eyes slowly focused two identical pebbles into the original image. Her hands clenched at the dirt in her fingers before reflex and instinct told her to roll out of harm’s way. That quick reaction prevented the bulky guards man from subduing her before she could recover, and now Canna was tasked with unleashing her fury on one more misfortunate grunt. This thug, though dim, was a physical specimen to behold. He had over a half foot advantage on Canna, and his measurables continued to impress after that. He was burly with big heavy paws and a sizable gut that made body blows ineffectual annoyances. If one got the impression that this man could rub two sticks together and make a spark he’d likely be more sought after as a guardsman, but even with his intellectual limitations it was clear he was a threat against an unprepared opponent. Squaring off against most opponents his size would be a frightening hurdle to surmount, but Canna had faced men his size before and come out on top—even if she had more than her fair share of embarrassing defeats as well.<br />
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Canna started to eye her opponent over looking for a weak point to attack. Her eyes were naturally drawn to his legs as she wondered how many solid kicks to the knee it would take before he would fall over. However, before she got too deep into a strategy she watched the oaf reach down to the sword hanging at his hip with a vacant expression on his face. Canna had her own blade to match his if it came to it, but she had no desire for this encounter to end in a death. Instead she would take a risk and charge right into his range hoping to settle this dispute before any sword needed to be drawn. It was luck, or perhaps fate, that saved the red maned mauler from another humiliating defeat as her foe struggled to pull his blade from its scabbard. He tugged on his weapon twice hoping for some sort of give while neglecting to realize that his massive right paw was holding onto both the blade’s handle, and the scabbards preventing the two from becoming separated. Canna took this opportunity to attack leaping into the brute’s range before striking his unprotected elbow from below to force his joints to dislocate.<br />
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It was a sound strategy, but not a flawless one as Canna lacked the immense strength necessary to shatter such a sturdy bone in just one hit. Regardless it was effective enough to draw that guard’s attention away from his sword and give Canna the only advantage she needed. The violent vixen delivered a quick, stiff kick to the brute’s right knee which on the surface seemed ineffectual, but as Canna dodged his clumsy grapples and counters with more solid kicks to the same muscle the cumulative effects started to become apparent. Her bulky foe took a step towards his dainty target, but when he placed pressure on his right knee the support for his mighty girth gave and the titan fell to his knees. That one difference was all Canna needed to connect with a strong right hook to the brute’s jaw. A loud, unnerving crack followed the attack, but the brute still displayed the same vacant expression he had before the attack leading Canna to think that maybe her gambit had been ineffective. However after a few motionless moments her opponent leaned forward and collapsed to the floor in a loud thump leaving the teenage combatant as the only one still standing.<br />
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A few heavy breaths followed the carnage as Canna spit a wad of blood onto the road beside her. She groggily shuffled over to Borlin’s unprotected cart and started to rummage through the contents until she pulled out a small silver flask emblazoned with the seal of Southgate. She popped the top and took a quaff from the container only to twist her face in disgust as she realized the contents. “Wine.” She grumbled with a glare before shaking her head in frustration and begrudgingly taking another swig. The fine elven wine was rich in earthly flavors and a strong essence of majesty, but to Canna it was overpriced swill that did an awful job at removing the thick taste of blood from her mouth. She rinsed her mouth with the lavish drink, but vehemently spit it out onto the roadside just moments later. She shook her head before tossing the flask back into the carriage and turning her attention back the road ahead. She was about to return to her trek before her manners got the better of her and she reached into her pocket before pulling out a couple pieces of gold and throwing them to the ground nearby the defeated merchant. “For the wine.” She said that without knowing if Borlin was even conscious anymore, but she didn’t particularly care. That fight helped clear her mind of the previous evening’s unpleasantness, and now she could turn her attention completely to Arkhosia, and the many opportunities that would await her within.<br />
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This was probably the least vital piece of Canna’s backstory and I debated about skipping it entirely since it doesn’t do too much for Canna’s character as a standalone piece. However, I decided to go ahead and make it for three reasons. Firstly, I wanted to do a scene that showcases Canna’s violent attitude because I don’t think it has gotten across as a major flaw in her character. Canna has a few big flaws that will be looked into with great detail in time, but Canna’s very short temper was sort of the catalyst I had when constructing her personality. See, I created Canna on the idea of having someone who would be very quick to violence and anger when their patience is tested despite knowing there would be potentially severe consequences to that attitude. It felt like a fresh mindset compared to past characters, particularly against Vega who was super friendly and understanding. If Canna met Bomar she would beat the shit out of him—or knowing LordKaT she would attempt to before it was revealed that Bomar is actually the avatar of Bahamut or something.<br />
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Anyway, the concept of running into a pushy merchant when you’re alone is an interesting concept to me because it feels like one of those scenarios you’d use to test the diversity in the personalities of your characters. It’s kind of like those personality tests where they ask you what you do when you come across a broken down bridge and you have to figure out a way across and what you answer will decide which color Power Ranger you’d be, but for me I try to ask how differently my characters would react to the same situation. For example, Vega would listen to Borlin’s entire pitch, and probably get suckered in and buy something. Eli on the other hand, might just engage him in conversation and just try to use it as an opportunity to spread goodwill and the words of Pelor. Sayid would probably get eaten by zombies. Different solutions from different characters, and in the case of Canna I wanted someone who would not tolerate the bullshit and would immediately start getting violent. That’s the main trait I built Canna’s character on, though you would never know because Peter’s NPCs are always some damn agreeable and harmless. Perhaps if they were a bit more irrationally douchey things would be different.<br />
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Secondly, I wanted to include an action sequence since I haven’t really touched combat writing since I stopped role playing on One Piece forums, and I wanted to see how I could do. I was reminded how much fun it is to visualize fight scenes… and how much of a hassle it is to write them. As you’ll notice I’m very hyper-critical of myself and I personally hate writing combat scenes because I always feel they come off monotonous. There’s just a big necessity to always establish where the various parties are and as such you have to call back to them which means using the same name or terms over and over which was drilled into me as a big no-no. I suppose I could be more vague in my description, but I hate vaguely describing an action scene. It reminds me too much of a poorly drawn manga fight (Naruto) or that bullshit “shakey-cam” in movies (The Dark Knight) which rob you of the enjoyment of actually visualizing a fight scene. Perhaps I will improve with time… or I’ll learn to stop caring. One or the other.<br />
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Thirdly, and most importantly, I wrote this piece because quite frankly I wanted to. I wanted to tell this story and see how it comes off. All the stuff with Leon had a sad factor to it because ultimately you knew Leon left. This however is different, and before the same feelings returns once I introduce Cormag in the next entry I wanted to see if something without a negative emotion hanging over it can still be entertaining in my writing style. See, with Juliet and Caitlin I wrote one piece backstories that felt traditional, but with Canna I wanted to try a more “LOST”-esque approach because quite frankly… that’s what backstories should be. LOST looked a character throughout their life and not just in the one single moment that defined them. LOST could have just said “Locke is the way he is because he’s crippled” but that doesn’t explain the immense pain he suffered having his father steal his kidney, or the bitter ironic twist that he grew up being told he would be special until it was all he believed which were both told over multiple seasons. If I were to tell my backstory it wouldn’t be in one piece either because more than one event has shaped who I am, so I’m trying a similar attitude with Canna focusing on three “arcs” that correspond to the three most important people in her life: Leon, Cormag, and Avandra. I wanted to tell a more complete story, and by that attitude I decided I wanted to tell this story.<br />
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This entire experiment is something I want to do, and that is primarily why I’m doing it. I’m not posting these for profit as I barely make fractions of a cent off the average article—this is just something I love to do. That’s why I want to tease something larger. See last entry I asked for opinions (good or bad) on my writing style because it would reflect a project I might work on. Well surprisingly… no one commented, but I decided that I’ll give it a try anyway because why not? So, hopefully before the year ends I’m going to be launching a new blogspot where I will be posting a fantasy adventure novel series. I haven’t figured out many of the specifics, but I’ve got ideas brewing and I want to take a crack at the numerous stories, concepts, and ideas I’ve got brewing in my head. I’m not sure where this will take me, when it will start, or what it ultimately means, but fuck it I listened to Kevin Smith talk about starting his Fatman on Batman podcast for months and he actually launched it so I’m tired of pumping up dreams that never happen. Adventure Fantasy Novel in 2012. New York Giants podcast in August. I might even start working on a show where I get plastered and play League of Legends or TF2. Baby steps though.<br />
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Finally, before I head out I want to address something I neglected to mention in the commentary for the last entry, and that is the title of this series. Leon name dropped “Change Yourself, Change the World” last week and I wanted to speak on that. First, writing that moment totally reminded me of the title drop in The World Ends With You (which everybody should play). Second, I should elaborate on the title as there’s a bit of history to it. Originally I wanted to call the series Crimson Anger, but Gav alerted me to the fact that it could be misinterpreted as a series about Canna’s menstrual cycle instead, so I changed it to Change Yourself, Change the World. That phrase comes from my very good friend Raymund Ong who a few years ago was diagnosed with cancer. He survived due to his invincible spirit, overwhelming willpower, and all around outRAYgeous awesomeness. He’s an outstanding human being who had dedicated his life to helping others with their physical fitness and eating habits, so not enough buckets of win can be thrown in this dude’s direction. In addition that phrase, the “Change Yourself, Change the World” mantra is actually something he’s having tattooed on his back. When I was left thinking of a replacement title for this series that phrase popped into my mind, and although I didn’t love it at first, I realize now how appropriate it is for Canna’s character. So there’s the story peeps. Everyone give a round of applause to Ray, the sexiest, most aRAYzing guy you’ll ever meet who will tenderly hold you before fucking your brains out, and then going right back to cuddling. <br />
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That’s it for me this week guys. Peace.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-38618883770842994242012-05-17T14:57:00.000-07:002012-05-17T14:58:00.625-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Departure of Inspiration<br />
Leon took a deep breath. Now came the moment he was dreading. “I’m going to be going over the wall. Going to see what they’re doing on the other side, and see if we can’t take some of our lands back.” It was Canna’s turn to fall quiet now. She was young, but far from stupid and she knew exactly what this meant. To Canna, her Uncle Leon wasn’t just a great guy, but rather a hero and inspiration. He was a guardsman in the strongest human military force left on the planet and a genuinely kind spirit. The young redheaded angel always adored the idea of being a warrior, but that concept was considered pure lunacy by her mother. Her Uncle was the only person who tolerated her attitude, let alone encouraged it. She didn’t love her uncle just because he was fun and treated her kindly—she loved him because he was the greatest influence in her life. As the realization he’d be leaving dawned on her all she could do was stand in disbelief as she felt her passion fade away into a pathetic somber emptiness. Leon dropped to his rear and embraced one arm around his niece’s shoulders, gently pushing her into a sitting position beside him. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy, and it would require tact, care, and a lot of luck to have this all work out for the better.<br />
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“Yeah, I’m going to be gone for a while. It could be a really long time. I’m sorry Can, but it’s something I have to do.”<br />
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“I’m going to be all alone.” Canna replied, futilely trying to hold back the upcoming sobs. Leon frowned, but knew this was an inevitability. He gripped her shoulder tightly; his firm grasp gentle but comforting. He knew it was impossible, but he hoped such a touch could help the veteran soldier transfer some of his strength to the broken hearted little girl.<br />
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“You won’t be all alone, Can. You’ll still have your mom and your dad who both love you very much, and very soon you’re going to have a little brother or sister who will love you too. I know that this hurts, and trust me it’s going to be hard for me too. I was looking forward to seeing you grow up in a bright, strong, and beautiful young woman, but I don’t know if I’ll be around during those years. Not physically at least.” Those last words caught Canna’s attention and a small flicker of hope lit up in her heart. She looked up at her uncle with her eyes circled by infant tears.<br />
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“Wha-what do you mean?” Canna’s words were lightly buried in a sob, but the brave little warrior-to-be held her tears at bay to keep this sadness from overwhelming her.<br />
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“Well, I mean that I can still be there for you in spirit, and I can give you a few life lessons that you can take to heart. Consider them a code to follow, like a warrior’s oath.”<br />
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Canna’s attention was pulled in by the idea of a “warrior’s oath”. She’d heard stories about noble soldiers who only fought in accordance their code of ethics or the religious champions who lived by a set of commandments their gods placed on them, and these valiant souls were as painted as disciplined heroes worthy of praise and adoration. Canna wanted to be like those grand idols; a stalwart example of virtue, but more than that she wanted to be like her uncle. She took a deep breath and clenched her teeth as she wiped the tears from her eyes so as to ensure all of her senses could fully absorb these fundamental truths. Leon grew a warm smile in response before digging into his life and pulling out the most important lessons he could depart.<br />
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“Can, in this life there are three things you have to remember. First: family is the most important thing in your life. We don’t get to choose who our families are, but remember that your family is a group of people who can to love you regardless of what you do. There are going to be many people you’ll meet in your life: friends, colleagues, romances, but for all of those people you have to remain a certain way for them to love you. It’s always great to have those people, but when it comes to family always remember that their love is unconditional. No one in your family is ever going to stop loving you no matter what you do, and the same is true in reverse. Now you’ve got a little brother or sister on the way and it’s going to be your job to protect them. Always look out for them and keep them safe. Can you do that?”<br />
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Canna nodded her head in agreement as a strange feeling of pride swelled up in her stomach. “Second: always be yourself. Don’t let people tell you what you can’t do, and never accept another person’s plans for you if it’s not what you want.” Leon could already feel the piercing gaze of Jude staring daggers into his back from this sentiment. “You have free will in this world, and you need to use it. There’s going to be a lot of hard times in your life when you’ll feel lost, but remember to stay true to yourself and you’ll find your way. And third…” Leon paused.<br />
<br />
“And third: if you change yourself, you can change the world.” This sentiment was the most important thing in Leon’s life. It was the motto that became the crux of his entire existence after his father once said those words to him when he was at his lowest. Leon never told anyone about his darkest hours; the ones spent contemplating a meaningless existence for a talentless individual with nothing but will in his favor, but these words gave purpose to that passion. Leon could only pray that Canna would take the same from it. “Never accept complacency. Don’t just let the world dictate your life. If you have a goal you have to take risks for it. Luck favors the bold as they say, and sometimes you’ll need to make some mistakes before you do something right. Just make sure you always do something. You’ve got an amazing passion, Can, and I know that one day you’re going to do amazing things. Don’t let somebody stop you from changing this world. Okay?”<br />
<br />
Canna nodded her head, putting on a brave face as she committed each word to memory. She watched her uncle’s proud grin slowly slip into a bittersweet frown as their moments together were now quickly coming to an end. Leon stared out into the distance, absorbing this nostalgic view one last time before turning back to his niece and extending a hand. “Remember what I taught you, right? Whenever you’re meeting somebody or saying good-bye you should greet them with a firm handshake.” Canna responded with an uneasy grin as she placed her tiny palm against his massive paw. The two shook hands, but as always Leon was not quick to let go.<br />
<br />
Canna laughed as she tugged to free her arm before eventually shouting out the words that Leon would demand for release. “I yield!” she cried. “I yield!” But Leon didn’t let go. Canna’s giggles trailed off as she looked to her uncle who’s head was hung in shame as a series of tears dropped from his cheeks to the cold stone ground beneath him. Not letting go had always been a part of this game, but at this moment Leon felt a swell of emotions overtake his body. He realized that this handshake was the last memory he was going to have with his beloved niece, and he didn’t want to let go. It was so easy for Leon to tell himself it would be simple and that it would be worth it, but once he felt the warmth of her touch, heard the sweet tone of her voice, and saw the hope in her eyes it stopped being a matter of will. He couldn’t restrain his emotions any longer, and they came rushing to the surface without the slightest bit of control. Leon tugged on his arm and pulled the young girl into his chest where he wrapped his arms around Canna in an embrace. The feeling of comfort he had at this moment was one he never wanted to end. For Leon Corbett, this was the best and worst moment of his life.<br />
<br />
“Thank you for being born into this world, Canna.” He wasn’t Canna’s father, and he knew that. He would never be that person in her life, but for this lonely soldier whose life had become one long crusade against an unconquerable foe, he found someone he could share himself with. And now, he had to say good-bye.<br />
<br />
Leon returned Canna home later that night, and the next morning he left for his venture over the wall. Days without hearing any word back about his fate turned into weeks and then months. After a while Jude gave birth to Darek, her second child and the family’s attention turned to him—with the exception of Canna who continued to wait for any news back. Unfortunately, no news ever came back about the optimistic soldier with the seemingly ever present smile, and after a full year he was declared dead by the Corbett family. This brought about a violent change in Canna who turned to anger at the slightest provocation and locked her face in a bitter scowl that no one could budge. The subject of her beloved uncle brought out the worst in Canna, and so Jude decided that Leon’s name or presence would never be spoken of again. All that remained of his memory was buried in the heart of his niece; the young girl who lost the guide for her passion and the inspiration in her life.<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
And thus ends the Leon Arc. Is it an arc when it’s only three pieces? Fuck it, I’m calling it an arc. But yeah, this is the end of the whole relationship between Canna and Leon, and it’s a rather sad one. Canna is a lot like Leon when he was younger, but with a lot more aggression. The tragedy here isn’t just how a man had to leave behind someone he thought of as a daughter, but for how we know Canna’s story turns out… at least to a certain point. We don’t know her ultimate fate and maybe there’s a happy end to this story, but the reality of this story is that Canna’s life is very different because Leon left. When she was with her uncle Canna was restrained and calm. Leon was similar as a child and knew how to direct and develop Canna’s more aggressive nature which means that had he stayed behind Canna might have grown up to be a completely different person. Would that be for the better? Who knows, but it’s something to contemplate. A lot of the pain she goes through growing up could have been prevented.<br />
<br />
When I build a character in D&D I try to put a piece of myself in them and for Canna it’s that feeling. Not to start the sob story, but as many of you know (or don’t) I grew up without a dad for most of my life. My grandfather (we called him Poppi) was the male influence in my life and the man I respected the most. Sadly, he died when I was five, and that void never really got filled. I often wonder how different my life would have been had my grandfather been around as he was a tremendous presence in my life. He likely would he gotten me involved in more sports and activities as a child which might have meant I probably never would have become an anti-social kid who grew up glued to a television and video game console. No one can know for sure, but it’s something I contemplate from time to time and I wanted to explore that with Canna. As I mentioned before the handshake is something my Poppi did with me, and the mountain this scene takes place on is called Validus Mountain in a reference to Validus O’Toone, a character I based off of my grandfather in another story I did back in high school. So this part is a whole lotta Poppi.<br />
<br />
While I’m at it, the whole first paragraph is a memory I have of a place my family used to go to when I was a kid called Peter’s Mountain. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen a snake in the wild, and I have more than a few memories going up on that mountain and throwing rocks with my cousins at old soda cans other hikers would leave behind that my uncle would set up into targets. Good times, and even though I hate that opening paragraph (a common theme you’ll find), I do enjoy using those memories.<br />
<br />
Some of you who listen to Weekly Manga Recap might know that final line Leon says to Canna. I wish I could take credit for it, but it’s actually from Skip Beat. I don’t normally lift quotes directly, and originally I just had a simple “I love you, Canna.” in its place, but I just couldn’t think of a more appropriate and beautiful line for that sentiment. Oh boy, I have to hand in my man card now, don’t I? Maybe I’ll get it back once the Cormag stuff comes up.<br />
<br />
So about Leon, as I said last time I like adding depth into the mentor figures so we know what makes them tick, and I got into that a bit with Leon. There are a few factoids about the guy I didn’t openly state, but some others might pick up on them. However that would insinuate I have talent and subtlety as a writer, so not likely. I really do like Leon’s character and what he means for Canna. However at this point his story is out of my hands and into Peter’s (MechaGM’s). I told him about Leon and Cormag and gave him free reign to do with them as he pleases once they crossed the wall. I told him it was completely kosher to kill them off or keep them alive as it was appropriate, so we’ll see what Peter plans. Maybe there’s a happy ending for Leon?<br />
<br />
Up next I’m going to get into Canna’s life in Arkhosia, and what prompted her to leave her home. Honestly were a few standalone stories I wanted to tell in between, but I didn’t want to drag this series out due in part to something secret I’m working on. I’ll be vague, but I’m planning on doing something bigger than this backstory series based on whether people seem to like reading my writing, so if you do leave me a comment. What I’m planning is something I’ll keep in my back pocket for now, but it could be extremely awesome (see: magnificent failure).<br />
<br />
Alright, so I think that’s all for this week. If ya’ll have any questions or thoughts lay them on me (no homo) in the comment section below. Peace!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-66261734335710261892012-05-04T15:05:00.000-07:002012-05-04T15:05:24.729-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: All That Matters<br />
<br />
It was a rare sight to see the normally chipper Leon Corbett dejected and confused, but such was the case as he made the less than enthusiastic approach towards his brother’s home. It was the afternoon, though not that one could tell beneath the perpetual shroud cast over the land, and the gentle breezy autumn weather couldn’t do anything to lift the spirits of the embittered soldier. Thousands of scenarios had gone through Leon’s mind in the past week, but few of them brought any sort of comfort from the immense weight that dropped his shoulders to a slump. The Corbett brother could navigate the shortest routes through Southgate without any difficulty, but today his trek was deliberately inflated as he spent every precious moment debating what to say and how he would say it. Thick beads of sweat cascaded from his brow and down his sun-beaten face as he approached the thick mahogany door with his muscles numbed like the day he took his first life. He raised one fist up to alert his family to his arrival but found his body paralyzed in that moment; doubt infesting his thoughts as his heavy worries became more threatening. For the first time in years Leon was experiencing a fear he had felt since he was a directionless child with his arms quivering in their static motion. With a deep inhale he overpowered his crippling fear just long enough to knock on the door a single time, but the forceful rap was enough to notify the residents of his arrival.<br />
<br />
“Uncle Leon!” The voice coming from the opposite side of the door belonged to Leon’s beloved niece and hearing her all too familiar squeal erased all the concern from the soldier’s battered mien. His earnest smile returned, and his eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he watched the doorknob before him shake back and forth in an erratic fashion. Leon gently grasped that doorknob from his side and gave it the most gentle of twists before dropping to one knee so that the eager tyke could pull the door open and embrace her uncle with the warmth he had become fervently smitten with. The hug lasted a few joyous few seconds before Leon leaned back and looked his niece up and down. With every day Canna was becoming more of a spitting image of her mother with her soft pale skin, distinctly delicate cheekbones, and long hair in the same vibrant scarlet hue. More than that though, Leon looked into her eyes and still saw that fiery passion emblazed in her lenses; raw and unfocused yet unyielding in its conviction. They were the same eyes Leon found so awe inspiring when he first held her, and seeing a youth with such an immense will humbled a man who often felt his kind were a dying race in a world becoming increasingly tolerant of complacency. He became so lost in his jubilation that he didn’t notice Canna’s outreached hand until she spoke up. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?”<br />
<br />
The young girl’s face was curled into a disappointed pout until the old soldier eclipsed her tiny hand with his massive paw. The two shook hands as any two friends or acquaintances would, but the real excitement came once several seconds went by and the handshake hadn’t ended. Canna grinned as she got to test her strength by trying to pull her arm free of the guardsman’s grasp, but with a sly smile and tiny exertion of his well-trained strength Leon’s grip remained steadfast. Canna desperately tried to pull herself away, but when that seemed futile she brought her other arm in as she tried to pry off her uncle’s thick, coarse fingers. Leon loosed his grip just slightly so that the tiny toddler’s strength began to budge through her uncle’s titanic might though he was quick to tighten it once again when it seemed she might break free. The young girl started to giggle as she cried out for her own release, but Leon was quick to remind her of the rules of their game. “If you want me to let go you know what you have to say.”<br />
<br />
“I yield!” she cried with a laugh before pulling her hand back and lightly rubbing her wrist. “How do you get so strong?” Canna asked after her laughter died down to a chuckle. Leon reached down and scooped his niece up into his arms before carrying her into his brother’s home.<br />
<br />
“Well, it took a lot of work. I had to train every day, eat all my vegetables, and of course, never misbehave.” He flashed his niece a grin after that last statement, but the astute five-year old wouldn’t be so easily duped.<br />
<br />
“That’s a lie.” She bluntly pointed out, eyes narrowing in her deductive prowess. Leon laughed before setting the girl gently down on a chair beside her father who sat and watched in silence.<br />
<br />
“Maybe, but you should do all of that anyway. If you’re good, maybe I can show you a few exercises you can do every day before I leave.” Leon turned his attention to Kaevyn who sat back in his bulky wooden chair with the same impassive expression that was always seemingly painted onto his face. The elder brother gave his brother an acknowledging nod, but Leon would not tolerate such a paltry greeting. “Come on Kev, I know if you say more than fifty words in a day your throat would probably dry up, but you can’t muster up an actual hello for your brother?” Kaevyn sighed lightly before standing up from his chair to give his brother a hardy handshake before sitting back down and reverting back to his motionless state. Leon couldn’t help but laugh to himself. “Kev, I really think you should have been a monk. Free food, peaceful atmosphere, and that vow of silence would be a breeze for you.” Leon snickered to himself before his attention was drawn to the tight white bandages wrapped carefully around Canna’s left knee. “Hey Can, what happened to your knee?”<br />
<br />
Canna didn’t have the chance respond once her mother gracefully entered the room and answered for her. “She got that when she was out rough-housing with the older boys in the neighborhood which I distinctly told her not to do.” Jude stated in her chiding maternal voice. “Oh, and Leon, her name is Canna. You know I hate it when you shorten it.” Jude was still an astounding woman, but now her more angelic features were highlighted by a maternal glow. She stood with elegance despite being eight-months pregnant, but her tongue was still laced with the venom that could tear a man’s self-esteem into shreds.<br />
<br />
“Sorry about that, Jude.” Leon said as he rubbed the back of his head. Jude stared at Leon with a peculiar glare that the idealistic soldier knew all too well. It was the same condescending and judgmental stare she always had when she was thinking about her husband’s “directionless clown of a brother”, though Jude would never use those words in public. Leon knew her true feelings well enough though, but he always kept a smile up in the face of her harsh opinions with the proverbial mantra of “family is family” acting as the constant for his endurance. Within moments Jude’s critical expression faded away into her faux face of hospitality with allowed her to grin and give her brother-in-law a welcoming hug into her home despite her actual desires to see him leave.<br />
<br />
“You’re looking good, Leon.” Jude’s compliments were sweet and earnest—a rare act of kindness from a woman who was easy to disappoint.<br />
<br />
“Thanks. I’ve been putting a lot of extra hours into training recently. Got a big assignment coming up and uh…” Leon nervously scanned the room before realizing he wasn’t yet ready for this conversation and thus quickly changing the topic. “You look fantastic by the way. How far along are you?”<br />
<br />
“Eight months.” Jude gently responded as she tenderly caressed her belly while dreaming of the undoubtedly beautiful child that will soon bless her life. “He’s going to be due very soon.”<br />
<br />
“He?” Leon reflexively responded. “How do you know? Is my brother just imprinting that into your mind because he wants a son to help out at the forge?”<br />
<br />
Jude chuckled lightly having legitimately found that remark amusing, which was not an often occurrence when it came to Leon’s brand of humor. “No,” she replied, “we were traveling in the city last month and we met a diviner of Sehahine on the street, and she said we were going to blessed with a strong, handsome son…” Jude’s voice trailed off into a faint whisper with those final words as she started thinking of her unborn child with endless affection in her eyes. Leon bit his tongue so as not to ruin the moment, but he knew all too well that Jude had been duped. The god’s power was at a mere fraction of their once immense power, and the number of the followers have dwindled to a handful of true faithful. Even if they had met a priestess of Sehehine she wouldn’t waste her goddess’ limited power performing trivial fortunes, and in all likelihood she had been tricked by a conman. Still, there was nothing he could do now that would fix that situation, so he opted to instead let her keep her peace of mind and instead silently prayed that his sister-in-law got her wish of a “strong, handsome son”. Jude came out of her wistful thinking and realized the real reason she actually came into the conversation. “Canna, I need you to help me with the stew.”<br />
<br />
“But Mom, I don’t like cooking. It’s boring!” Canna whined, crossing her arms and huffing. Jude didn’t speak; she simply stared at her daughter, eyes slowly narrowing so that her misbehaving child would know this intimidating stare was meant only for her. Canna, full of a wild will, responded with her own passionately defiant glare, but Leon wouldn’t sit idly by and allow this confrontation to continue.<br />
<br />
“Hey Can,” there was a momentary pause before Leon remembered the reprimanding he just took, “--na, go help your mom in the kitchen. I have to talk to your dad about something anyway.” Canna didn’t initially move, though her rebellious expression began to fade once her attention turned to her beloved uncle. “Do it, and maybe I’ll tell you a story after dinner.” The promise of one of Uncle Leon’s stories was enough to motivate the young girl into hopping down from her chair and following her mother into the kitchen, though Leon could tell from Jude’s face that his promise of more “stories” was not going to be well-received by the Corbett parents. Still, he intervened to avoid a potentially disastrous situation for his darling niece, so a few more cold looks from Jude was worth enduring. Leon took the seat beside his elder, though neither one turned to face his brother, and again the room became silent once Leon and Kaevyn were left alone.<br />
<br />
“She’s uh… getting really big. Strong too. Should probably try to find something for her to focus her energy on though.” Leon rambled. “Maybe she could help you at your forge. Not like all the time I mean, but like just a little bit. I mean she’s strong, and pretty brave so I don’t think she’d have a lot of trouble.” Leon’s long-winded thought trailed off to an awkward end before Kaevyn lightly grunted an apathetic response. Leon lightly chuckled to himself. “Come on, Kev, for once in your life have an opinion of your own.” Though those words were said with Leon’s usual innocuous tone there was a bit more truth to it than normal as it seemed Canna’s departure was causing the immense pressure of his decision to return. Already he could feel the beads of sweat forming on his brow, his muscles tensing as if to prepare for an impact, and his foot uncontrollably tapping a nervous, erratic rhythm against the floor. Kaevyn was a quiet, unassuming man, but he was not stupid.<br />
<br />
“What’s on your mind, Leon?” Every time Kaevyn spoke it seemed he didn’t waste a word as if one had the worth of gold, but for the first time in years Leon heard legitimate concern in his brother’s voice. It would have been a touching moment for the younger brother to recognize the humanity of his sibling, but the matter at hand blocked out nearly every other thought leaving only the intimidating truth. Leon had to say it now while he had the chance, but earnestly he’d rather march into a thousand wars before saying these next few words.<br />
<br />
“I’m going to be going over the wall.” Leon’s words were quick and quiet—he didn’t want the women in the kitchen to know this truth yet, but he was panicked to realize his fear hadn’t yet subsided.<br />
<br />
Kaevyn was quiet for a moment, staring ever forward as though his neck was locked in that position. His upper lip only briefly curled as his brow lowered and his normal responsive grunt became a violent huff. “You’re really never going to be satisfied until your life reaches a violent, disappointing end, aren’t you?” Just as Leon spoke the truth, Kaevyn was finally speaking his candid thoughts—though very likely in the more eloquent words of his wife.<br />
<br />
“I’m not suicidal, Kev. It’s for a scouting mission. The allied races are getting a small party together to go scout some things on the other side of the wall and do recon. We’re not there to kill Lloth herself. If all goes well I may not even have to draw my sword.”<br />
<br />
“Probably good considering you’re a rather unspectacular swordsman.” Kaevyn responded with words far more harsh that he had ever spoken to Leon with before, albeit in a tone still layered in restraint. “You just won’t let it go, will you? You’re not going to change anything by going over that wall. All you’re doing with your life is throwing it away because you can’t accept a simple inevitability.”<br />
<br />
Leon’s temper started to rise, but he knew that he wasn’t going to gain anything by engaging in a vicious argument over morals with a man who’s opinions came from his blinkered wife. “It’s all I’m good at Kev. I know you and Jude want me to leave the military and just become a baker or something. I know you think I should find some girl and start having kids. I know you want me to live the life you get to enjoy but it’s just not who I am. I’ll never be a husband. I’ll never be a father. But… I think I can be a hero. I think I can do something great, or at least try to, even if it costs me everything. It’s the only thing that’s ever seemed right.”<br />
<br />
Kaevyn returned to his normal silence as he let his thoughts settle until a point when they all made sense to him again, and one enormous truth stood out in this maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. He blurted it out, maybe not realizing the gravity of this notion himself. “Canna is going to be heartbroken if you leave.”<br />
<br />
Finally it hit him—the painful fact he had been dreading to face. Leon’s grin faded away only to be replaced by a disgusted frown as he contemplated the consequences of this matter. He hated everything that it meant for his young niece, but after seeing those strong hazel eyes once again he was reminded of the stakes of this war. “Yeah, she is. Trust me… I know. So, that’s why I need to ask you a favor, Kev. I want to be the one that tells her. Alone.”<br />
<br />
Kaevyn vehemently shook his head, his teeth clenched and his lips curling in a barely controlled anger. “Absolutely not. Canna already misbehaves and acts like she’s a soldier. Jude will not want you taking her off and telling her anything you want just because you feel like being a martyr.”<br />
<br />
Leon turned to his brother; defeated and desperate, he pleaded with his brother. “Kev, please… let me do it.” He paused he choked back a swell of emotion and stated the blunt, miserable reality. “Kev, she’s the only person in this world who will actually give a shit when I’m gone. I don’t have anyone else is the world to say good-bye to, and I…” Leon sobbed just once, his head hanging in a self-pitying shame. “We’ve never been all that close Kev, but I need this more than anything. I’m sorry I’ve been such a headache to you and Jude. I’m sorry if you think I’m a bad influence on your daughter. I’m sorry if the only thing I’ve ever been to you is a disappointment, but to Canna… I actually matter, and I just don’t want to leave without telling her what I need to say.” Leon let out a deep exhale as the toxic truth he held deep inside was finally released into the open; the pressure, fear, and doubt now washed away. His eyes were still watery and his breath was still short and stressed, but for the first time in weeks Leon finally felt relieved.<br />
<br />
Kaevyn sat back and closed his eyes. “I never saw you as a disappointment Leon. You say you’ll never be a husband, and that you’ll never be a father, but, Leon, you’ll always be a brother. Don’t ever forget that. If it means that much to you, then tell her.”<br />
<br />
Leon’s smile returned as wiped the sweat from his brow away with the palm of his hand, a light chuckle broken by the slightest inflections of sobs. “Thank you, Kev. I uh… just thank you.” Kaevyn responded, now returned to his basest levels of emotions, with an acknowledging grunt, and once again the room became silent.<br />
<br />
**<br />
<br />
There you guys go, the second part of this little arc regarding Leon. First and foremost this is actually the third time I’ve written this, because I hated how it read the first two times—honestly I still don’t love this version, but it feels a lot better than the first two drafts. I’ve been writing this bascially since I finished “Family is Family”, but ran into writer’s block several times which brought this to a stand still for a few days. I was almost going to just sit on it for another week, but I was in a shockingly clear mood today and pretty much ripped this one off in a couple hours. Am I proud of it… not particularly, but I hate just about everything I write so I’ll leave that all for you guys to judge.<br />
<br />
This whole part is to reveal Leon’s secret about going over the wall and showcase the relationship he has with his brother. Family is a huge theme in Canna’s story, and I wanted to showcase why it’s such a big part to Leon’s as well. I’ve always been fascinated by character motivations particularly those of the mentor figures because often times we never see what brought them to this point. Though I could easily tell the story of Leon’s childhood that would be radically off topic and excessive, but I do still want to tell some very important facts which will then become important to Canna. So the big thing here is Leon’s look at family particular how he and his brother get along. Obviously, they don’t get along well at all, not because they hate each other, but because they’re two totally different people. In life these guys would never interact or even really be acquaintences, but because of their family bond they’re linked forever. I’ve always found this a pretty interesting relationship because personally I get along great with my brother and sister, but I had friends who barely ever talked to their siblings and that was always so alien to me. Still, family is an astounding bond, and obviously very important to both brothers.<br />
<br />
I really wish I had the talent to draw because I really don’t know if the scene with the two brothers is done justice in text. A big part of the moment for me is the fact they’re sitting next to one another (something I probably should have spent more time explaining), and the fact they aren’t looking at one another. It’s symbolic of their relationship; distant and faceless despite who they are. Maybe I should start directing a television series and do it there. I’d call it… Rollo T’s Sexy Secondhand Saucy Sassy Showcase. Mostly for the alliteration.<br />
<br />
Another small factoid is the handshake. It might come off as cheesy, but honestly this is how my grandfather shook my hand. He would grab it and never let go. Oh God, I’m a fat loser on the internet about to cry about my grandfather. Oh hurry, do something funny! Alabama Puppy Fart! Okay, phew, I’m good. But yeah, that was something from my past that I thought would be a nifty little thing between the two.<br />
<br />
I was asked if Leon and Kaevyn’s relationship is meant to reflect Canna and Darek’s, but honestly it’s not. The two sets of siblings are very different from one another. Probably the bigggest reason is that while Leon and Canna are very similar in personality, they’re roles in the relationship are reversed. Canna’s the elder in her pairing, meaning that Darek probably looks at her will to create change as an inspriation or something to admire, but Leon was the younger brother so his passion was seen more as immaturity. Leon and Kaevyn are just two guys who are nothing alike and don’t really have much to say. Their conversation probably could have gone longer here, but it have mostly just been Kaevyn grunting in approval. He’s just a quiet guy.<br />
<br />
Canna and Darek on the other hand are pretty close. Since Canna never really held down a job and has never had a significant relationship she almost always spent time at the house, and outside of the year she spent in Arkhosia she’s always lived at home. Basically she’s been there every single year that Darek has been alive, so the two are pretty close. Even in a “silly person-straight man” way they’re different because Canna at least responds to Darek’s teasing. Kaevyn is just a quiet guy who never says much and lets his wife define most of his opinions, which we’ll get into more later. Trust me when I say that Jude will be a ridiculously big part of Canna’s life down the line, and I’ll have a lot more to say about her.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that’s all for this CYCW. I’ll probably try another one maybe around the 18th or so. Sorry, the next one is probably the most important piece of Canna’s story, so I gotta give it proper dues. Thanks for reading, leave a comment if you had any thoughts on it (and if you didn’t I have to assume you’re a zombie), and keep it real losers. Erm… winners? Whatever. Get off my lawn.<br />
<br />Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-20357850804435462532012-04-19T17:26:00.003-07:002012-04-19T17:34:52.681-07:00Change Yourself, Change the World: Family is FamilyHey guys, big sexy Mr. T here. No, not that Mr. T; the fat white one. Okay it’s Rollo, let’s just go with that.<br /><br />Anyway, I haven’t posted here in a while. Sad, but hopefully something that will change as I’m sure many of you have been desperately missing my posts (see: no fucks were given). I’m not returning with Inside the Koma or STFU (though one on the ME3 ending is sorely needed), but rather a new series called Change Yourself, Change the World. This series is a look at my D&D character, Canna Corbett and the different events that shaped her life. This isn’t a straightforward backstory into Canna (that you can find <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Canna_Corbett#Back_Story">here</a>), but rather a collection of scenes from her past to explain quirks about her character, and help explain who she is.<br /><br />I want to start each entry with a little commentary about the piece. For example, this entry isn’t actually about Canna at all, but rather her Uncle Leon. See, Leon is a huge piece of Canna’s backstory as he’s her major inspiration and ultimately the reason why she’s such an angry person. I didn’t want to jump right into the events of his disappearance because the scene lacks weight when you don’t actually know or care who Leon is. That’s what this entry, and a few more future entries will help establish. I want people to see that Leon was an individual with his own flaws and strengths and not just a motivation for someone else. The major point of this scene is to get across Leon’s views on family and the wall, while at the same time hinting at the strong similarities Canna and he will have in the future.<br /><br />Enjoy folks.<br /><br />***<br /><br />Today was a special day for Kaevyn and Jude Corbett as Kaevyn’s brother, Leon, would be visiting for the first time since the couple gave birth to their newborn daughter, Canna. This marked the first time the Corbett siblings had met in almost a year as Leon rarely had time to leave his post as guard for the human capital of Southgate, but when he heard his niece had been born he knew he had to come visit. Leon, like his brother, was well-built and tanned with large brows. The brothers shared their dusty brown hair and pronounced jaws, but the younger brother had a distinctively arched nose, matted down hair style, and a seemingly omnipresent smile. Leon had a way of radiating a jovial feeling as if there was nothing that could upset his attitude which had always been in sharp contrast with his older brother who was dry, stoic, and came off impassive. At first glance they were instantly recognizable as brothers, but those who got to know the two men would know they couldn’t be more unalike. Leon arrived still dressed in his chainmail uniform much to the chagrin of Canna’s mother who had gone through the effort of dressing up for the occasion. She’d be the first to blame herself however, as no one found Leon’s disrespect for formalities and lack of tact more repulsive than her. She didn’t know why she’d assume that Leon would treat today any different.<br /><br />“No time to change, Leon?” Jude softly spoke in her all too common chiding tone. Visually speaking Jude was a breath taking woman for a commoner. She had strikingly vibrant scarlet hair, delicate features, and auburn eyes that gave off an assertive yet refined presence. Since having Canna she had started radiating an easing maternal glow, but most who knew Jude knew she was quick to state her opinion and not one to appreciate having it challenged. Still, she was friendly and courteous even in the face of what she considered to be an obscenely rude gesture as she didn’t hesitate to embrace her brother-in-law when he closed in for a hug.<br /><br />“Yeah, sorry Jude. Thought about stopping home to change, but then I realized I didn’t really have anything nice to wear anyway. Compared to you I always feel like I’m arriving underdressed.” He chuckled after speaking, though he didn’t do it expecting anyone else to join in. Jude gave her brother-in-law a forced, but pleasant smile in response before the younger brother greeted his elder with a firm handshake. “Kaevyn, congratulations big brother! You’ve got two breath-taking women in your life now. I know guys back in the guard who’d give up their salary for the next five years to be in your position!” Kaevyn nodded firmly; appreciative, but casually reserved as always. Leon eagerly glanced around the room with a wide grin stretched across his face. “So where’s my niece at?” he said; voice brimming with enthusiasm.<br /><br />“Right here.” Jude said as she returned to the room with her daughter wrapped gently in a soft pink blanket. Canna was only a few months old, but already resembled her mother in almost every physical way with soft delicate features and the same unique ruddy hue in her hair. The infant’s auburn eyes drifted across her familiar surroundings until locking in on the stranger with the comforting smile. “Careful” the mother warned, “she’s always fussy when she just wakes up.” After a momentary pause of hesitation Jude handed her daughter over to Leon who quickly cradled his niece with a look of bewilderment and amazement in his eyes. As a soldier Leon has been trained to always remain vigilant, but as he supported the youngest Corbett in his hands he felt his muscles relax for the first time in years. His tenderly watched as the infant reached up and tried to wrap her hands around the links in the soldier’s chainmail and experienced a feeling that no words could describe. However, as Leon was never one to dwell in silence he spoke the only thought that came to his mind.<br /><br />“She’s beautiful.” He said earnestly with the hint of an almost skeptical amazement in his voice. “It’s a good thing she got her looks from her mother.” Leon chuckled slightly at his own comment and his brother allowed himself a slight grin. Others might have found Leon’s remark to be insulting; a back handed compliment or a cheap shot, but Kaevyn knew his brother’s teases were his unique way of giving compliments. Leon obviously thought nothing of it as he went right back to watching his niece without a second thought, but it was in that moment that the uncle and his niece met eyes for the first time. The two locked lenses and stared at one another for a moment that felt lost in time. The veteran soldier was used to judging a person’s character just by the look in their eyes, but this is the first time he’d seen so much told in so little. He gleaned an attitude from just this solitary meeting and it caused an experienced killer to quiver slightly for the first time in years. “She’s got strong, powerful eyes. That’s great…” Leon was known for always carrying his heart on his sleeve, but right now his bliss was never more evident.<br /><br />“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jude skeptically responded, curious what Leon could possibly see to have made him so elated.<br /><br />“Oh it’s her eyes. I mean you can always tell someone’s character by their eyes, and her eyes are strong. That’s a great thing to have in this world. It means she won’t be complacent in a world filled with oppression.” To Leon those words were an astonishing truth that signified great things for this child’s future, but to Canna’s parents it was an awkward statement coming from a man they both believed was too much of an idealistic dreamer.<br /><br />“How very kind of you.” Jude said with a condescending smirk hidden by her hand. After letting the moment pass she attempted to salvage the conversation and hopefully veer Leon away from his bizarre insight. “I’m surprised she’s this calm. She’s always cranky after waking up.”<br /><br />“Maybe it has to do with the armor. Maybe little Canna is envisioning herself in a suit of this. Think about it: General Corbett, the knight from Southgate who tore down the wall with her bare hands. Doesn’t the sound great?” His last statement elicited a small smile from the infant girl which was reflected in the soldier’s face. “She likes that idea! What do you know Kev, you got yourself a little soldier!” Leon’s tone suggested it was another of his teasing comments, but there was an unmistakable hint of pride in his voice that assumed he might not be entirely joking. Regardless, Canna’s mother shook her head at such a thought.<br /><br />“She’s probably laughing at that silly face you get whenever you start dreaming about that wall. Honestly Leon, you’d do a lot more in life if you let go of such fantasies and focused on your own future more.” Leon was quiet, but kept up his normal carefree smile. Inside he wanted to retort his sister-in-law—his conviction was never stronger than when he talked about destroying that wall, but he knew his family’s opinions on the matter. They, like too many he knew, were complacent in a life bound with restrictions. They tried to continue life as it was and make do with the best they had available as if to ignore the darkened skies that left their homes covered in a ubiquitous shade, but Leon remained adamant that a day would come when humans would take back the lands they had stolen from them. He stood there in a conciliatory silence as Jude gently took her child back. Within moments of leaving her uncle’s hands the infant Corbett began to wail and squirm in her mother’s grasp leading to an awkward laugh from Jude. “I told you, she’s always fussy when she wakes up. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go feed her.”<br /><br />Jude quickly carried her daughter off to another room leaving the two Corbett brothers alone for the first time in years. Though their relationship wasn’t bad, the two brothers had so many different ideals that they rarely conversed outside of family matters, and before Canna was born Kaevyn could go for months without hearing any word from his little brother. Now that Jude, the personable component of the Corbett marriage, was gone the two brothers stood quietly in an awkward hush.<br /><br />“So uh… how goes the forge?” Leon uncomfortably asked in an attempt to start a long running conversation with his brother, but Kaevyn, ever the soft-spoken stoic, just grunted in an apathetic response. Leon chuckled nervously to himself as he scrambled for another topic, but after coming up short he decided to talk about himself. “Things are going great with the guard. Found another bandit encampment the other day. Managed to arrest most of them too, so it was a pretty successful mission.” Leon waited for his brother to inquire about more details of the daring raid, but again he responded with a solemn grunt that killed the conversation right there. The younger Corbett ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh of exhaustion. Every day he put himself in life and death situations, but somehow trying to carry a conversation with his older brother was infinitely more difficult and stressful. Several more minutes of silence passed by before Kaevyn finally started up a discussion.<br /><br />“Have you met a nice girl yet?” Though Kaevyn was the one talking, Leon knew those were Jude’s words.<br /><br />“Nah, the girls in the city just aren’t really my type, Kev.” Leon sheepishly turned his gaze to the floor as he spoke. “And even if there were, I’m not much of a boyfriend type. Not many people want to spend their lives with a guy who dreams about going over the wall, y’know?”<br /><br />“You could quit the guard. You could work with me at the forge for a few months until you can find a more honest line of work and then start a family of your own.” Kaevyn’s low but unimposing voice spoke those words far too nonchalantly for Leon’s tastes. Still, he choked down his strongest thoughts and instead responded in a far more civil manner than he truly wanted to.<br /><br />“No thanks, Kev. I know you and Jude want me to work a more traditional line of work, but it’s just not who I am. I couldn’t wake everyday with a shroud of clouds blocking out the sky and just go to work like nothing is wrong. Wouldn’t want to raise a kid in a world like this either--it kills me just to know that Canna will grow up in a world where the Drow have taken her land, her gods, and her freedom before she was even born.”<br /><br />“She’ll have a great life, Leon.” Kaevyn assured his brother. “She has two parents who love her and the Drow can’t take that. Throwing away your life against something you can’t fight won’t change that.”<br /><br />Leon found himself quieted in the face of that argument. Kaevyn (or rather Jude) was not wrong in that assessment. Plenty of people had happy, healthy lives ever since the Drow attacked. It was certainly less than ideal with nearly the entire pantheon of gods being restrained and weakened to a fraction of their former power, but an army of the strongest militaries on the continent united under one banner were utterly crushed beneath the Drow’s power. What chance did one man (and an unspectacular one at that) have to make a difference against such power? This was not the first time Leon had faced this fact, nor would it be his last time, but he always came to the same conclusion. “Change is inevitable. Even if I do nothing, the status quo is going to change eventually. If I want to ensure that change is for the better then I need to make it happen myself. I can’t count on anyone else.”<br /><br />Kaevyn sighed and looked at his little brother with heavy eyes. He could understand Leon’s desire for a better world, but he knew that the chances of Leon crossing that wall and coming back alive were slim to none. He had tried to sway his younger sibling for years, but the soldier’s conviction remained strong. Some part of Kaevyn hoped that seeing Canna might change Leon’s priorities, but that event confirmed his ideals more than ever. “If you had a family, you’d change your mind about that.”<br /><br />“I do have a family.” Leon responded, looking at his brother with a comforting smile. Kaevyn grunted in approval, and once again the room became quiet.Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-20112769264241371212011-05-25T13:23:00.001-07:002011-05-25T13:23:43.572-07:00Building Character: What's in a Name?Welcome back everybody to Building Character, an in-depth series detailing how to build RPG heroes (or villains) chalk full of character! Last time I discussed how you can turn the mechanics of the game into more poignant character traits, and this time I want help smooth out the rough edges of your character and look at the finishing touches of the character sheet: name, height, weight, age, gender, deity, etc. To some people those are the most important decisions of the character, but to others they’re stuff decided at the end, usually by a generator, and they don’t put much stock into these choices. That’s fine mind you, most of those choices are rather meaningless, but when you do put thought into them they carry much more meaning than something a random number generator came up with.<br /><br />Let’s start by looking at the name which is admittedly one of my weaker areas. It’s not that I don’t like having depth behind a name mind you, but rather that the best names usually have meanings behind them, and I’m awful at picking that sort of stuff without feeling like it’s coming off cheesy. Caitlin was an exception to this rule however as I did put a good deal of work into her name (at least more than “name this character after someone from LOST” which was my MO most of the time). For Caitlin I picked something Irish for a few reasons: 1) I’m part Irish and damn proud of it. 2) I wanted something foreign. 3) Irish names have an elven look to it. Caitlin (pronounced “Cat-Lean”) looks a lot more exotic than “Katleen” which would be the standard spelling of the same name. Cormac was another Irish name, meaning raven which I went with just for alliteration sake. Originally I was going to call Caitlin Rose, or rather the Gaelic expression for “child of the rose” as I was going for a “rose” theme with Caitlin (punctuated by naming her rapier the “Thorn”). In the end I decided against this theme as the names didn’t do anything for me, and I decided on Caitlin. I like the name a lot now, and I’m glad I put some decent work into it.<br /><br />The most work I put into a name though was for Eli DeLucci. Both parts had significance. DeLucci is Italian for “the light” which worked well for Eli being a cleric of Pelor. I’ll admit I sorta stole that theme from One Piece’s Rob Lucci, a villain whose name basically meant “robbing light”. I knew a DeLucci in school though who explained what his full name meant, so that’s what I worked off of. Eli was not a reference to Eli Manning (QB for the New York Giants) as many have suspected. Rather I wanted a biblical name for Eli considering his backstory. I went through the major prophets and couldn’t find a name that worked, but I eventually settled on Eli as the name. I find the bible to be a great source of names for characters if you’re curious. Name your next hulking behemoth Samson and you’ll instantly like him more. Trust me.<br /><br />Also, if you’re ever really stuck for a name try opening up an old year book and finding former classmates with awesome last names. I’ve used this trick several times before.<br /><br />To be blunt, names should carry some sort of meaning. I know not all parents name their kids with any sort of thought put into it, but look at it this way. You have two cities: “Fairview” and “Dubnard”. Without knowing anything about these two cities, which one seems more interesting? To me, Fairview is stock. It’s not intriguing and there’s not very likely to be an interesting story about how Fairview got its name. Dubnard on the other hand? Well the immediate question is “where does the name Dubnard come from?” Might it be based off of a king or the city’s founder? Maybe it’s based on a festival that is intrinsic to the town’s identity. Maybe it’s the name given to its people by a goddess who says in her tongue Dubnard means “strength” or “hope”. The point I’m getting at is something being strange for the sake strange gives you the opportunity to come up with a reason for this down the line. Remember that you don’t need to have a full idea in your head when you come up with something, so leaving an opportunity explain it down the line is a great tip to follow.<br /><br />Now let’s move onto two stats that I fully admit I ignore for the most part: Height & Weight. In real life these two measurements nearly define us in many cases, but in my fantasy RPG I couldn’t care less if my Barbarian is ideal weight or not. Still, it’s worth paying attention to these numbers as they can be used to help flesh out the image of the character in your mind which is essential to a medium of storytelling where all you have is your imagination. I understand some people aren’t crazy about weight /height measuring, so a protip would be to use other people’s heights/weights. I don’t record you walk around asking people these two numbers though. Instead, look to famous athletes as almost all of them have their numbers posted as official statistics.<br /><br />Take a warrior for example. I might build a warrior who is stout and speedy, so the build of linebacker would be a good idea like Patrick Willis (6’1”, 240 lbs.) Or I may want a big and powerful warrior shielded in thick plate built like Defensive End Justin Tuck (6’5”, 274 lbs.) Or maybe you want a less pristine champion and you envision a more hefty and brutish fighter, like Offensive Guard Jahri Evans (6’4”, 318 lbs.) You can do this for swimmers, gymnists, basketball, sumo, heck, anything. Personally for Caitlin I just used my sister’s height of 5’7” as that’s an average height for a girl. For weight I put her in the mid 120’s after looking up healthy weights for a woman of that height, then subtracting about ten pounds due to being an elf. Not a flawless system, but it works better than picking numbers and having a 5’6” 314 lb. wizard.<br /><br />Now onto gender, and I’ll use this moment to address the audience regarding a question I receive a lot: “Why do you always play women in roleplaying games?” First off I don’t “always” play women. The two most famous characters my audience knows of (Juliet and Caitlin) both came about after a male character (Sayid and Eli) left the party. In addition my first character and longest running one I should add was Leo Castillo, a guy. But more importantly playing a woman doesn’t feel strange to me, at least no more strangely than playing anything else. When I roleplay I like to have my character be separate from myself and I’ve found swapping gender to be a very easy way to help keep me in the mind of a different person.<br /><br />Personally (and I must stress that these are my own personal views) I view gender as one of those last minute options. I know a lot of people will disagree with me as they view gender to be pivotal to a character’s identity, but for me it’s just a check box you have to make. I don’t view gender as a character trait as aside from biological difference, there’s nothing absolutely associated with either gender. When I make a character I think in terms of personality like attitude, arrogance, bloodlust, personal vendettas, fears, dreams, secrets, etc. Choosing to be a woman or a man doesn’t force me to be anything else, at least not something not dictated by the setting. If it’s a world where women are viewed as property and the idea of a female knight is taboo, then yeah picking a gender might have string attached, but in general I feel you should do with what you want to do. If you’ve never played a character of the opposite gender before, I recommend giving it a try. Just remember that “girl” and “guy” aren’t character traits. Acting excessively feminine or masculine is, but on your own just remember that gender doesn’t define a role. For Caitlin I’m playing a headstrong, brash, loyal to a fault, determined, and protective elf that happens to be a woman. All of these traits could easily be carried over to a male character, and nothing would change except the relationship with Dhother (either it would be nixed, or I’d make the male character gay).<br /><br />Anyway, the final topic I want to hit on is deities as lord knows the Wyrmwick campaign has its fair share of dealing with the gods. For a Divine character picking a deity isn’t recommend; it’s required. For other characters though the option is left open for people to pick their main deity of choice or take the option of giving a middle finger to the gods. The latter option is abused far too often in my opinion. Sure the guy who willingly ignores the gods known to be existent in the gaming world is cool, but he’s rather rare, y’know? Picking a god is great for your character as it can help define what they hold most precious in life. A warrior who considers Kord his main deity shows he prides battle most of all, but a knight who worships Erathis daily shows that the expansion of his kingdom is paramount to him. The 4E pantheon is varied enough to work right out of the box (so to speak), but you can always add new gods for flavor. My recommendation though is to think what your character wants most in life, and have them decide who they would pray to most often to ensure good fortune. For Caitlin I decided on Corellon for the sake that Caitlin held tightly onto her elven roots. It doesn’t have to be complex—a short explanation will do.<br /><br />And that’s it for this edition of Building Character. These details might seem very minor, but they can be essential for getting into the head of the character you want. Having a name adds a level of customization to show this character is yours, and gender/height/weight help to paint a better picture in your head. Same with appearance, but I always sucked at appearance, so no help there, guys (sorry). To some people these choices are at the top of the list when you make a character, but for others (like myself) they’re add-ons to help flesh out your character once the major points are settled.<br /><br />I hope this helped, and I do hope you’ll return for the finale of Building Character when I take a look at backstories and explain to you how I would build a logical and entertaining history for your hero.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-23480476609462055662011-05-23T07:09:00.000-07:002011-05-23T07:31:19.733-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 14Hey everybody, I’m going to just go ahead and link <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8AWFf7EAc4">all</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wCD-S0XKm8">of</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o22eIJDtKho">these</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7GiGv52w-U">videos</a> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHM2JUhIwAg">here</a> for you to use as a soundtrack for this recap. If you haven’t picked up the hint by now, this was a sad session. There were several major deaths and a lot of painful moments to accompany them. And yet, there were some very uplifting moments to counteract them, and of course it wouldn’t be Wyrmwick without a few mind-numbingly derp moments to go along with it. Gentlemen, I suggest you get ready to hold back the man tears, because we’re diving right into the recap!<br /><br />With the Toothpick Brigade’s victory of the tower of Redwulf, they moved on to what would be the final tower in the Demon Baron’s territory sans his own fortress. Along the way they passed by a sign that led to “Boatmurdered” or “Boat Murdered”. I’m hoping for the former as geez… the latter is just an awful name for a city. This dwarven settlement was interesting, but not necessarily worth exploring at the moment, so our heroes pressed onwards and found the last remaining tower. This tower was still incomplete, but as we peered in on a ritual we knew we had to act now or risk an even greater threat.<br /><br />Though we did vanquish the forces in quick fashion (Dahl even got to chuck one of his swords like a javelin and kill one!), the ritual was completed and from the ritual raised an enormous fiend who we had to put down—lest we face extermination so close to our goal. We survived this brutal encounter and proceeded to damage the teleportation circle that would allow the Demon Baron’s forces to continue building this structure. Victorious, we went to bed only to be awakened by a familiar mage. Ghadi, from Vante’s Tower.<br /><br />Ghadi asked what we were doing at the tower stating that we was there to finish building it. We got the jump on him and interrogated him to find out what we could. He told us what little he knew about Caitlin, and then proceeded to demand we let him go. Dhother however was not going to allow this fiend to walk away knowing that all of the towers are his doing. Dhother was ready to execute the guy, but Ghadi was far too powerful for that. He started to tear us apart with his magic, and our party had yet to get a full night’s sleep so our powers were limited. By the time Ghadi finally fell our party was nearly wiped, and to our utter horror a bolt of lightning recharged the life of the fallen mage. Dhother was adamant about killing the mage, but when it suddenly seemed that things weren’t going our way we attempted to retreat. However Ghadi would see to it that we were punished for our aggression.<br /><br />Dahl was hit with a spell that sent him flying back into the tower, and trapped him there. When the party members attempted to enter they found the floor trapped, and Dahl was sealed off from them. It seemed they would have to leave him behind, but before he died Dahl gave two last requests to the party. The first was to bring Caitlin back home, and the second was to build a memorial to his fallen wife and daughter; a task he never finished in life. Following that he passed out, and the magic trap enveloped the tower remnants in flames. When they finally died down all that remained of the former pirate was a pile of ashes and a lingering feeling of guilt in the heart of Dhother as he knew his brash decision to kill Ghadi was ultimately what cost his friend's life. The death of Dahl hit the party hard, but they were adamant in finishing the task he asked of them and proceeded back to Boatmurdered to try to find the proper equipment necessary to traverse the harsh obsidian roads to the Demon Baron’s tower.<br /><br />In the tower Caitlin’s luck had finally run dry and the High Priest had begun to torture his prisoner. She was subjected electrocution, stabbing, and even forced vomiting (don’t ask) for weeks as the party slowly made their way to the tower, and she even received the horrible news about Dahl. That night she prayed to Bahamut in order to confirm the truth, and indeed it was correct: Dahl was dead, but he was happily <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/b/be/Theanins.jpeg">reunited with his family</a> in the Astral Stream. However Bahamut then gave her the somber news that this wasn’t the death he alluded to previously, but rather that Alpert’s life was rapidly coming to an end. Stricken with grief Caitlin spent the night wildly lashing in her cell, unable to cope with these tragic revelations.<br /><br />The party entered Boatmurdered to find the Dwarven settlement to in truth be a dreary fortress constantly underseige by elephants (don’t ask why), and the party had to venture through the maddened slums of the city to find the proper boots that would allow the adventures to traverse over the superheated rock that surrounded the Demon Baron’s tower. In addition they found a young Dwarven girl known as <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/4/4a/Harley.jpeg">Harley</a> who was orphaned after the Dwarves accidentally dug into Hell and well… released all Hell on the city. Her parents committed suicide, but the young girl remained blissfully unaware to this fact knowing that they had only “gone swimming” in molten lava. Feeling guilt over Dahl’s death, Dhother took to caring for the girl, and the party took her with them when they left Boatmurderd (still an awful name for a city).<br /><br />Before making their final advance on the tower the party wanted to drop Harley off on the Mighty Gauntlet, but when they arrived they found their ship nowhere to be seen, and instead only the living headache known as Bomar the Baker was there. Bomar explained how he wanted to surprise us with bread, but he instead ended up burning our ship. Dhother did not take this <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/f/fe/DnD_Dother_is_REALLY_not_amused.png">well</a>. Curse our good-alignment because I seriously want to choke the living crap out of that baker. HOW DID HE EVEN GET HERE!? I DON’T UNDERSTAND HOW HE KEEPS GETTING TO THESE PLACES!<br /><br />Now without a boat the party made (in my opinion) the absolutely horrific decision to bring Harley with them towards the Demon Baron’s towers. As the party approached, the Demon Baron came to Caitlin and escorted her out of her cell and into a new one in a more accessible area with her armor and equipment waiting for her. He warned her that the High Priest would be busy working on a ritual, and before leaving he handed her a letter and he instructed her not to read it until after she was gone. The party arrived shortly thereafter, and freed Caitlin for a touching reunion (y’know up until Caitlin realized they brought a little girl with them). Still, after three long months the party was reunited, and without a moment’s delay they evacuated the tower and headed to Redwulf.<br /><br />The night Caitlin and Dhother spent the night together sharing their experiences of the past three months. Before the night ended the two shared their <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/2/28/Shutup.jpeg">first kiss</a>, and finally Wyrmwick has its own official couple! After this touching moment the party took a new ship to Wyrmwick to see on the condition of the dying councilman. Caitlin arrived to find her surrogate father on his last breaths, but he held on long enough to see his adopted daughter one last time. He told how he always saw her as family to him, handed her his last will, and then passed on. Following his death Caitlin finally cried; the first time it had happened in over 15 years.<br /><br />The next morning Caitlin woke up with a heavy heart before she opened the last will Alpert gave her. Caitlin inherited his estate and 1,000 gold, and the rest of his fortune was to be donated to charity. Following that she opened the letter from the Demon Baron, or rather Daevick Tarkimos, and it started “If you’re reading this, then this means I’m dead.” The letter continued to wish her luck on her quest, but all it did was leave a broken heart even more shattered, and further fueled Caitlin’s desire to see that High Priest and Tiamat suffer for their crimes.<br /><br />The session ended after Caitlin & Dhother convinced the church of Bahamut to take care of Harley, Bomar showed up again (HOW DOES HE KEEP GETTING TO THESE PLACES!?), and the party was rewarded with 25,000 gold for taking down the towers. The armies of Tiamat are crippled, but the finishing blow still needs to be applied. Next session the party shall travel north to Fort Alewyn to find a way to Bahamut’s realm where Caitlin will undergo the ritual to become the firstborn of Bahamut.<br /><br />So what did you all think of this session? There were plenty of tragic moments to go around, but a few memorable scenes to balance it all out. Which death hit you the hardest? What did you think of the character development (Dhother, Caitlin, Deavick, etc.)? How about the romance between Caitlin and Dhother? What do you think should be done about Ghadi? We’re slowly approaching the endgame of this arc everybody, so get ready for the inevitable epic showdown between the forces of good and evil for the future of the continent!<br /><br />Images credited to <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Kluu">Kluu</a> and <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a>!<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-9954559514095403642011-05-16T10:10:00.000-07:002011-05-16T10:43:34.081-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 13Have I ever mentioned how bizarre that we allow Left 4 Dead 2 to make us furious, yet we still continue to play it? It’s baffling to me. I mean we’re aware of this every single time we open the game up too. We’re all very aware that there’s about a 60% that one person in the call is going to get angry and probably rage quit. And yet we still choose to play it. That’s insanity people. Of course, that actually has no bearing at all on recapping this week’s D&D session, but I couldn’t think of a witty opening, so I thought I’d just wax nerd on you all for a little bit.<br /><br />This was a long session of D&D (around 7 hours I believe), but sessions usually run long only if they are particularly epic. This session had action, drama, triumph, failure, and some very cryptic messages from Corellon, but we’ll get to that in time. For now, let’s get into the recap!<br /><br />After killing the Goblin King and taking his “epic lootz” as it were, our party ventured back into the Borreal Maze for another run with insanity. This time around we weren’t attacked by any trees (not that that prevented Dahl from <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/9/96/Poordarhl.jpeg">freaking out</a> anyway), but we were essentially attacked by the Hunters from Left 4 Dead. Holy crap, my intro suddenly makes sense now! I need to go back and modify it to make it look like this was a brilliant and witty observation discovered on my front prior to writing this article! Ah… but the backspace key is so far way… ah fuck it.<br /><br />So yes, our party was attacked by these strange monsters that attempted to pounce on us and do us harm, but we fended them off rather well after Denora went all <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/0/02/DnD_Denora_Burning_Light.png">Solar Flare</a> on everybody and blinded the monsters. After that we escaped the maze a little worse for wear, and we began to plan our next move. Dhother was now fully recovered from his time spent at the Demon Baron’s tower (which was our reason for why Dhother was not participating last week, so the party had to catch him up on current events—the biggest of which being, of course, Caitlin’s prisoner exchange. Dhother seemed legitimately shaken by this news especially as he <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/c/c4/Caitlinsletter.jpeg">read the letter</a> she left behind for him, and for those still a bit late to all of this Caitlin and Dhother have a crush on one another. So with newfound conviction, the party makes a move to head to Wyrmwick and see if they can find the location of any of the other towers.<br /><br />Meanwhile in Demon Baron land, Caitlin is still at the mercy of her captors, though despite this she’s doing everything in her power to irritate and antagonize the followers of Tiamat, and Dhother will tell you if there’s one thing Caitlin is great at it’s annoying people. She began by carving a symbol to Bahamut out of a chunk of rock, and used it to pray to Bahamut which she managed to successfully do. After getting the information about the towers from the Demon Baron (who is still trying to convince Caitlin he’s on the up and up), Caitlin asked Bahamut if he could send this information to the party. He agreed, but he could only do it in the form of a dream. Caitlin was pleased to know she still has a way to help the party, even if it isn’t the most direct way.<br /><br />However Caitlin wouldn’t go unnoticed by the High Cleric for long and one day he came upon her cell with an entire force of guards. Caitlin was her normal, cocky self, and was promptly gagged for her arrogance and dragged off to a chamber where they strapped her down to a table. The High Cleric was preparing to perform a ritual, and just before he began he removed Caitlin’s gag probably on the hopes she’d start begging for her life, but instead she fired off a Disintegration Breath. Sadly, this move did nothing (which makes me worry how BAMF this cleric is), and immediately afterwards a white gem was forced into Caitlin’s chest. As the crystal settled, its magic bonded it to her skin and the magic began to take effect. All at once her dragon mutations began to revert; leaving Caitlin as the same normal elf she had been before entering Zalelah’s Crypt. She passed out from the pain only to wake up hours later back in her cell with the <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/1/11/DnD_Caitlin_Crystal.png">crystal</a> <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/f/ff/DnD_Caitlin_Powerless.png">implanted</a> firmly in her chest.<br /><br />Back to our intrepid heroes, they have finally made their way to Wyrmwick and the first order of business is to inform Alpert of Caitlin’s situation after neglecting to speak with the councilman during their past visits. The party informed Alpert of Caitlin’s decision to surrender herself to the Baron, and the shock of knowing his daughter is a prisoner of the Demon Baron was too much for Alpert’s heart. The poor councilor suffered a heart attack and proceeded to fall into a coma. Denora tried every spell she had to bring the councilman back, but sadly his condition was very poor and the prospects for his future looked grim. Before leaving Dahl let the unconscious Alpert know that his daughter was doing <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/6/67/DnD_From_one_father_to_another.png">great things</a> and that he should be proud before promising to bring her back home. The party left for Redwulf in somber spirits.<br /><br />It seemed Bahamut came through for the party by providing our heroes with a dream—or rather one party member. That party member was Dahl as he’s the only follower of Bahamut currently in the party, and these dreams were a doozy. They all involve Dahl seeing his family, then the location of other towers. There would be one to the northwest, and one to the east. Then Dahl’s family would become zombies and try to eat him. Caitlin really does need to scald Bahamut for that one. Like poor Dahl needs anymore stress in his life at this point. Dude’s already paranoid of three trees less than a mile apart. This dream was the guidance that brought us to Redwulf, and there we attempted to find the location of perhaps another tower.<br /><br />We did find the location of another tower, but the biggest discovery had to be finding out Grieg is worth <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/a/ad/DnD_Wanted_Poster.png">100 Platinum</a> for his crimes in the past. Yeah, if you weren’t there when we rolled it up, Grieg used to live in Redwulf, but he took part in several revolutions that got him labeled a revolutionist and had an insanely large price put on his head. Luckily no one in our party is driven by avarice because if they were Grieg probably would have been sold out. Instead we gathered supplies and headed for the tower to take it down before the forces inside could overwhelm the Redwulf army and create an undead legion.<br /><br />Real quick let’s revisit Caitlin who is now back to being a normal elf. She has continued trying to pray to Bahamut since reverting, but communicating with the Platinum Dragon has been a difficult ordeal for the former first-born due to (most likely) magical interference from Tiamat’s influence. Eventually she did manage to contact Bahamut so that she could show him her new condition. Bahamut was weary on the gem and instructed her not to let anyone remove the gem, or else it would likely kill her. Instead she would need to visit him in his realm and he would remove the device, but until then she’d have to survive as she was. Finally he told her that the party was faring well, but one of her loved one’s was not doing so well. Before he could reveal who, the meeting abruptly ended as Tiamat became aware of it. The High Cleric came down and destroyed the makeshift holy symbol with conviction. In response, Caitlin fashioned a makeshift chisel and began carving prayers to Bahamut on the walls which again prompted the High Cleric to come down to her cell and restore the wall to normal. Caitlin, in response, went back to carving her prayers on the wall as she refused to be broken by these fiends. Until he physically prevents her from opposing him, either by strapping her to a table or breaking all of her bones, the High Cleric is going to have to get used to Caitlin being a bitch.<br /><br />In another attempt to assist the party Caitlin asked the Demon Baron to send a message to her friends with the remaining locations of the towers and indication that Caitlin was alright. He agreed, and at this point Caitlin is beginning to sincerely trust the Baron. However she will not follow along with his plan. In three months time (two months have passed since), Caitlin is to be taken from the Demon Baron’s Tower to the Realm of Chaos where Tiamat resides as she is become the new second-born of Tiamat. However the Demon Baron’s plan relies on him sending someone else in Caitlin’s place which she adamantly refuses to happen. As it is should the party not arrive in time, she will be heading to Auntie Tiamat’s, and honestly I totally want that to happen as that will be one interesting family reunion.<br /><br />Switching back to the party, our heroes are greeted in the night by a mysterious messenger bringing them a map of the area. On it are six marks. Two Xs that seem to indicate the towers still standing, three Xs in squares where the demolished towers once stood, and a circle around the area where Vante’s Tower stands. This circle is the most troubling aspect, but a message on the back indicated that while Caitlin was safe, she wouldn’t remain that way for long. This added pressure spurred the party to put this curious marking behind them for the moment and instead head towards the tower closest to them.<br /><br />This new establishment was different from the past towers in that this was a complex with two towers separated by a small building. On the left tower we could see the standard white orb of evil land destroying, but the right tower had a brand new blue orb. We decided to scout the place out to investigate, but before doing so Dhother received a vision from Corellon. In his vision Corellon stood naked before he jumped on a surfboard. He flew around in a circle for several moments before a tower grew in the center of his rotation. He then landed, pointed at the tower and said “<a href="http://www.justin.tv/brugaar/b/285896772">I just had lunch today</a>”. Verbatim. I do wonder how Dhother keeps his <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/d/d2/DnD_Dother_is_not_Amused_02.png">sanity</a> in these situations considering the company he keeps.<br /><br />Taking that new information into account, we attacked. First we went after the right tower to discover what the blue orb might do, and after a quick encounter outside we came upon a hideous mass of assorted goblin parts. This was a very difficult encounter as this mass of parts has to have close to 450 HP. None of our characters are insanely high damage dealers at the moment, so bringing this mass down took quite some time. Luckily our rolls were hot pretty much the entire encounter, and the mass rolled rather poorly so we escaped without too much lost. As we discovered the blue orb seemed to be some type of incubation beam that was growing the mass—likely until it was large enough to stomp all over the Redwulf army. By stopping it now we prevented a potential future travesty! Go Team Us!<br /><br />The second tower was filled with shadow monsters, and before anyone suggests I make Smoke Monster references, understand that already happened in Dethklok so I got out my LOST fanboy-ism there. These smoke monsters were actually freaking beastly and nearly wiped out depleted resources. We got lucky again with some great rolls, and discovered all the monsters were linked together as one. Just when Dhother and Jonn got hit with an attack that dominated them, Dahl lot loose a final blow that killed all the monsters at once. Following that we weakened the support of the white orb, and then took it out from afar destroying nearly half of the complex. What remained of the forces was quickly taken out by the Redwulf Army, and we, the <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/1/1b/DnD_The_Toothpick_Brigade.png">Toothpick Brigade</a>, were hailed as the heroes of Redwulf. With only one tower left to destroy, our party approached what may finally be the climactic showdown with the Demon Baron! Only time will tell, but stayed tuned viewers as next week promises to be exciting!<br /><br />Images credited to <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Kluu">Kluu</a>, <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Sighter">Sighter</a>, and <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a>.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-69302727199990023142011-05-09T09:43:00.000-07:002011-05-09T09:57:26.023-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 12Well hello there everybody! I hope you all had a fantastic Mother’s Day and spent this cherished holiday celebrating the matrons who made our lives possible. I spent mine swearing at Noob Saibot for being a cheap teleporting whore and crying, so it was a good weekend all around due in no small part to a great D&D session on Saturday. As a quick head’s up Nik was not able to make the session due to prior commitments (I think he was at a gay bar), so we were without our silky haired lead man for the session. No worries though because it’s not like we got our asses handed to us by trees or anything, right?<br /><br />Picking up from the end of the last session we (Caitlin, Denora, and Jonn) decided to leave the tower standing so as not to piss of the guys holding our friends captive—though it wasn’t an easy choice. Our only attempt at vengeance was slicing up the power box in the basement that enabled the teleportation device on the tower’s ground floor. We truly are the vandals of this world! With our juvenile shenanigans behind us we rode off to Colingrove to give Duke Ned the news. We arrived to see the city nearly deserted with a report left behind that the city’s forces (including Duke Ned himself) marched towards Wyrmwick to help repel a Demon Baron attack from the South Tower—the tower we had just recently destroyed.<br /><br />We sailed south only to find Wyrmwick fine and Duke Ned drinking himself silly in the bar. Apparently a runner came to Colingrove baring a message with Wyrmwick’s seal that asked for assistance, but after speaking to Kahn Musarog we learned no such message was sent and instead it seemed some shorter man with long red hair and a facial scar was responsible for sending the message. We gave our message to both Duke Ned and Musarog who took it in stride mostly because we explained our position, and following that Duke Ned left for Colingrove. We took it upon ourselves to investigate this mysterious red-headed runner while we waited for the High Cleric of Tiamat to give us a new assignment, but before we set off Caitlin gave Jonn the remaining vials of the ritual liquid used to make her the first born. She wanted him to have it as insurance should something happen to her.<br /><br />After that we traveled around to Sharan’s Pass, fucked with a bartender, <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/4/42/Caitlin_faceplant.png">tried to be totally sneaky</a>, and eventually headed back towards Colingrove to find this red-headed runner. We learned there that the runner headed to the east, and without a moments delay we marched on the North Tower only to find our runner standing outside the tower doors as if he was waiting. Caitlin snuck up behind him and placed him in a hold so we could integrate him, but (twist!) it turns out this red-headed runner was none other than Thorian Hawklight, douche extraordinaire! After some persuasion (see headbutts to the back of the head) we learned he was waiting for a report from the High Cleric of Tiamat, and conveniently so were we. However we were privy to the little detail of the broken teleporter, so we decided to play engineer and go fix it.<br /><br />Back over to Dhother and Grieg it seemed that this magical sun was taking its toll on poor Dhother. Grieg tended to the Invoker as best he could before searching for clues only to find a dark obsidian surface beneath the sand. As he continued to dig he found it eventually reached an edge, and after a good Perception roll Grieg woke up from the illusion to find that he and Dhother were actually on top of the Demon Baron’s Tower. Yipes.<br /><br />Back with Thorian & Friends, we took our favorite recurring character into the basement of the tower and forced him to hook up the teleporter again. It electrocuted him which we found very funny. Caitlin asked Jonn and Denora to take Thorian to Colingrove so he could be arrested and then she would stay behind and wait for the High Cleric, but before that could happen the tower flashed with lightning and the cleric arrived. He demanded we release Hawklight, and against our will we did so, only for the Cleric to stab Hawklight in the heart for failing… which admittedly was pretty fucking hardcore. The Cleric then explained to us that we could have our friends back if we entered a portal with him.<br /><br />Instead Caitlin proposed a counter offer. If the Cleric returned Dhother and Grieg to the party with all of their equipment and permitted everyone to return to Wyrmwick, then Caitlin would offer herself up as a prisoner. Caitlin urged her party members to <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/4/41/DnD_Trust_Me.png">trust her</a> on this, and left her weapons with Jonn before joining the Cleric. In a flash Caitlin and the cleric disappeared and in their place was Dhother and Grieg, equipped and confused. Caitlin was stripped of her armor and equipment and placed in a dark cell inside of the Demon Baron’s Tower to await whatever foul cruelties the Demon Baron had planned for the first-born of Bahamut. Tell me that seeing <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/1/1f/DnD_Demon_Baron.png">this motherfucker</a> coming towards you wouldn’t make you shit your pants with fear—if only Caitlin were wearing pants at the moment. However instead of using Caitlin like a toothpick like I assumed, the Demon Baron dropped to one knee and begged his cousin to help him.<br /><br />He explained that he was an unwilling pawn in this army, and that he wanted Caitlin’s help. In return he would ensure that there was a mix-up during a prisoner transfer scheduled to occur in a few months (and before anyone suggests that’s a long time away remember that it takes weeks to get anywhere in this world). Caitlin (and myself) were obviously a bit weary of this revelation and didn’t make a commitment either way, though I intend to cut to the core of this situation next session. I just can’t trust him because I totally get a Gin/Rukia vibe from this situation where all the Demon Baron wants to do is give me hope of rescue only to cruelly snatch it away to let the despair really sink in. Call me crazy but I just don’t trust that the Demon Baron is on the up and up yet—I have too many questions.<br /><br />Turning our attention back to the party, we join them as old friends reunite, though there is a somber feel about this knowing that Caitlin traded herself for them. It seemed this was a plan of Caitlin’s for awhile as she left a note behind for Dhother that basically explained that she didn’t want the party to worry about her. Instead she urged them to find the Goblin King’s orb to prevent further teleporting hijinks and to blow up any towers they find. They did just that, and the tower at Watchman’s North was utterly obliterated. With one more tower in ruins, our heroes ventured to Colingrove to resupply before heading off to the Boreal Maze.<br /><br />Before leaving though they stopped by Bomar the Baker’s only to find a familiar face arguing with the beloved baker over his bizarre bazaar. It was none other than Dahl, the former-pirate turned poop shoveler… you know, the guy who lost his family. He told the party that he overheard their plight and that he was going to join them in their quest in order to pay back Caitlin for sparing his life and attempting to find his family. Can you guys say “Guest Party Member”?<br /><br />Without wasting another moment the party ventured into the Boreal Maze and began navigating its twisted design. Each night the party would attempt to rest only to leave Dahl shitting his pants on the final shift muttering “<a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/0/03/Dahl.jpg">I can hear the trees</a>”. Just as our party was about to exit the maze we found ourselves under attack by Treants, and for those unaware what those are, think big fucking trees with a pissed off disposition.<br /><br />These fucking trees nearly TPK’s us which I can only imagine would be the greatest downer ending to a campaign ever: “yeah, Caitlin you’re still prisoner of the Demon Baron, and the rest of the party was killed by fucking oak trees. GG.” Thankfully we did survive the encounter, but it was not a very glamorous victory—i.e. there were quite a few girlish screams going around. Let it be known that thus far in the campaign our biggest challenges have been a Death Knight, and fucking trees. Worst part is no one believed Dahl when he was crying about the trees until their 1d12+10 branches were lodged half way up our asses.<br /><br />After that we managed to climb up to the top of the tower that made up the Goblin King’s prison with Denora pulling off some very special <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/2/24/DnD_Dare_Denora.png">Daredevil-esque</a> acrobatics to make it inside. Once we had broken in we descended the tower and ignored the jeers of the prisoners who clearly knew far too much about us which is, admittedly, something we should look into. We managed to traverse the dungeon just fine though and we battled the Goblin King is a climactic battle. Through good teamwork we dispatched the Goblin King without too much of a hassle, and were left to reap the spoils: his orb of anti-teleportation, and the necklace that prevented mutation.<br /><br />We escaped the tower and called it a night following that encounter. We’re in a very unique position now as the party now has to figure out where the remaining towers are as we only knew of Watchman North & Watchman South. Until those towers are destroyed they can’t march on the Demon Baron, but it might take quite some time to accomplish this. On the flip side Caitlin is set to be moved to a new prison in a few months, so there’s a timetable going on right now that the party doesn’t even know about. So, what do you guys think? Do you trust the Demon Baron? Was Hawklight’s death satisfying? Will Dahl freak out even more when he learns that Dhother has an evil magic rosary following them? Could Bomar the Baker really be behind everything!?! Tune in next time to (maybe) find out!<br /><br />Images credited to <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Sable">Sable</a>, <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a>, <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/DungeonsAndFlagons">DungeonsandFlagons</a>, and <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/index.php/Sighter">Sighter</a>.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-90036742050879775122011-05-04T07:14:00.000-07:002011-05-04T07:28:36.043-07:00Building Character: Mechanical MakeupHey everybody, welcome back to Building Character: A Guide to Character Creation as told by some fat guy on the internet without credentials! This time on Building Character I’m going to take a look at turning the mechanics of your hero (the feats, powers, and weapons) into character traits. Now admittedly this isn’t my strongest area of expertise as I’ve mostly built optimized characters as sadly 4E is not a system built for flavor when it comes to the mechanics. Still, even a min/maxed character in 4E can still take a look at their mechanics and think character, so let’s start where we left off.<br /><br />The first major decision I have to make excluding class/race is my main class feature, and for the Scout it’s a choice between Flashing Blade Mastery and Spinning Axe Mastery. Basically these two choices boil down to whether you want to have a light blade or an axe as your off hand weapon, and admittedly I chose light blade for mechanical reasons, but there was a character reason as well. When I think axes I tend to think of them as more savage weapons than your classical broadsword or halberd. When I think of a scout using axes I tend to think of them as a much more primitive or primal sort of scout—like the scout of a tribe of Half-Orcs or something. My initial idea for Caitlin was to have her as a soldier, so the idea of a more traditional sword user struck me as more appropriate. In addition I’ve seen light blades used by humans as a more refined way of fighting, sort of like the elegant counterpart to the more tradition broadsword and shield fighter. This is what initially led me to think Caitlin would have a more noble upbringing, but since Wyrmwick has no monarchy this idea eventually led to having some relation to the councilmen, but I’ll get more into that later.<br /><br />After picking a class feature it was time to look at stats which quite honestly is where you really do need to put character aside unless you’re dead set on wanting to play a stunted character. It works for some people, but in general playing a moderately intelligent mage or a fragile fighter will get you killed in 4E, so you have to go along with the system here. Now as an elf Caitlin received a natural bonus to her Dexterity (her attack stat), and a secondary bonus to either Wisdom or Intelligence. I went Wisdom as it has the chance to affect a few powers down the line, and simply let the builder build an array from there. It ended up giving me one last point to Strength (understandable), and making Charisma my dump stat. I was a bit weary on that latter point. Charisma is a dangerous dump stat in my opinion because that naturally makes your character less diplomatic which I was already very poor at, so I swapped Charisma for Intelligence. Since my Dexterity was already 20 and I didn’t figure Caitlin would be the party’s Arcana/History checker, there was next to no point in investing in Intelligence. At that point though I made a note about having a below average Intelligence as that’s something I could always work into the story.<br /><br />It’s natural to have a dump stat in a roleplaying game, so my advice would be to find a reason to justify this weak stat. For example a mage with 8 or lower Strength can explain as they spent their life studying and as such their arms have become frail. A cleric with low Dexterity could say they suffered an injury as a child and that has made them flatfooted. For Caitlin I explain her low Intelligence is due to her never being properly educated which I can then explain in her backstory as she was raised as servant and a warrior so her education was always a little handicapped.<br /><br />With skills you have a good opportunity to explain why your character is trained in one area over another. For example when I built Caitlin I was allowed 5 skills, so I took Nature, Perception, Stealth, Acrobatics, and Athletics. Nature and Perception were shoe-in choices as they’re keyed off my secondary stat (Wisdom) and I receive a race bonus to them for being an elf. Stealth and Acrobatics were also givens as they were based off my primary stat (Dexterity), so they would both be solid skills. For my final skill I had a few options. I could go with Heal and get another Wisdom based skill, but ultimately I decided on Athletics. As I looked over the skills I picked prior, I took note of Stealth and Nature which for a city-based soldier (particularly one of noble relation) seemed like odd choices. I started to think why Caitlin would be skilled in something like that, and I thought about what if she was an experienced hunter? What if, as a soldier, she was trained to live off the land and as such as learned to hunt animals in the wilderness? It would be an easy way to relate all of my current skills (Perception to spot, Nature to track, Acrobatics to balance, and Stealth to sneak up), and as such taking Athletics to help trek through the difficult landscapes of the wilderness felt like the right choice. I started to figure if I built my Scout as a soldier using light blades then mobility would be key to their fighting style so having good Acrobatics and Athletics skill fit that concept quite well.<br /><br />As I move onto powers I find myself a bit stuck for advice because here’s where you make or break your character in 4E. If you pick powers based on how they work for your character concept as opposed to what they actually do in battle you have a very good chance of ending up with a crippled character. For example if you choose to only take cosmic powers as a Sorcerer you might be building a very thematic character, but they might not be right for what your character needs to do. Sometimes theme and mechanics work well, but sometimes they don’t and then you may need to come up with a reason why your Tempest Thunder Mage is using a fireball spell. My recommendation is to instead ask your DM if you can reflavor the move so the attack is thunder related. Since your powers (or in some cases lack therefore of) define your class, making sure they are justified should be extremely simple. Don’t fret if you do have to take the odd power that you just can’t reflavor to work—just try to think of a way to justify it in character, or ignore it and just handwave it so no one questions why the flail wielding Knight is using a move that’s supposed to slice the opponent’s legs off.<br /><br />Since Caitlin was an Essential’s Scout she didn’t have many powers to pick and thus I don’t have much from a recent personal experience to speak from, but with Juliet I remember often times struggling to find a power that was effective yet still worked for the concept. For example I remember often debating about whether it would be appropriate or not for Juliet to take a summon, and before I respeced her to become a Sentinel I had penciled in that she would take Summon Shadow Ape at level 5. When it comes to mechanics in 4E and character developing, don’t stress the small stuff. Take powers that you know will be fun over ones that perfectly represent your character because the fact is that 4E is heavily focused on combat and if you have a terrible build you won’t be able to enjoy your character for very long anyway.<br /><br />However, when you get to equipment you can start to really play with what these choices mean to your character. For example, instead of debating between more accurate proficiency or a larger damage dice, ask why your character learned to fight with a battle axe instead of a broadsword, or why your character has a magic implement. In some cases your character may start with magical equipment and this is your opportunity to include a great in-character reason for it. For example, Caitlin started with a +1 Magic Rapier. I justified this in character as saying the weapon was a gift from Alpert and it holds personal meaning to her due to very personal touches on the blade. Heck, I even named that weapon (Correlon’s Thorn for those who care, though the name seems ironic now). In fact naming your weapon is actually a great way to add a personal touch to your equipment. Anyone can own a +1 Broadsword, but only King Arthur wields Excalibur.<br /><br />I say that knowing full well that Arthurian nerds are going to explain how wrong that last example was.<br /><br />What I’m suggesting with this article is not to look at your character sheet and see nothing but numbers. If you want nothing but numbers, then you really want an MMO. Try to find reasons that justify the numbers. Look at your 18 in Charisma and figure out how people react that—I mean an 18 in Charisma would make you a very memorable presence afterall. Try to explain why your character has a 13 in Stealth at level 5. For Caitlin I explain her choice in weaponry as being a more refined type of soldier as she’s not a standard troop in the Wyrmwick army, but rather a personal bodyguard/servant for a councilman. I explain her skills as being taught to her by elven trainers that Alpert paid for so that Caitlin would be able to learn the same skills she would have learned from her parents.<br /><br />I would suggest that players new to adding this kind of depth to their characters really should avoid trying too hard. The fact is that you can create a brilliant and memorable character without ever thinking why they chose a spear or a flail as opposed to a sword. Sometimes you just like a choice and that’s all the justification you need to make it. The fact of the matter is that D&D and tabletop in general is meant to be fun, and if you’re getting frustrated coming up with a reason why your dwarf is trained in stealth then you’re not doing right. Also you made a ninja dwarf, and that is awesome.<br /><br />On the next edition of Building Character we’ve finished building our initial mold, so now it’s time to detail them. I’ll look at names, gender, and all the little details that get your character ready for the big time.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-18481338035992451252011-05-03T06:35:00.000-07:002011-05-03T06:36:21.580-07:00From Their Eyes - Caitlin (Growing the Wings)Have you ever made a decision you immediately regret, like ordering one drink too many at the bar or starting up a conversation with a particularly verbose acquaintance? This was sorta like that, but a thousand times worse.<br /><br />I’m not even sure why I did it. I knew we had to get across the pit, but we had no clue how to get across such a large chasm. I wasn’t thinking straight, or rather I was thinking in the brashest sense of things again. After all there had to be a reason for that liquid to exist, and everything else we had tried with it thus far had failed. After a sip I didn’t notice anything; some rather thick and bitter taste but it didn’t seem lethal. I guess that lulled me into a false sense of safety because right after that I chugged the remainder like it was a mug of mead over at the Golden Hand Clubhouse.<br /><br />I don’t remember when I really started to lose myself, but it must have been pretty early on. After just a few moments I was doubled over on the floor; throat clenched with my fingers digging into my arms. The initial feeling was like razor blades pushing against the inside of my skin. The serrated edges ripped their way through my flesh only slightly but as soon as there was an opening it was as though someone forced their fingers into the laceration and began pulling at the edges to widen it.<br /><br />The pain was immeasurable. I can remember my own painful shrill echoing through the cavern for what seemed like an eternity. I had never heard myself scream before, at least not that I can remember—it’s a horrible sound I never wish to hear again as long as I live. Somehow that one noise was so piercing and violent that it dulled the rest of my senses sans the agonizing pain. I remember writhing in shock with my body thrashing in all directions. In all likelihood I probably slammed my head against the smooth stone floor more than a couple times in my horrid spasms, but my transformation left me numb to those minor inconveniences.<br /><br />Soon my wounds were large enough to be used as gates, and I felt the long scaly wings start to emerge from my back. Where they came from I can’t even begin to fathom. Was this the power of magic? To make the impossible a reality? If that’s true I worry for the sanity of every mage out there who dares to claim they have the power to manipulate these eldritch forces at their fingertips.<br /><br />Every nerve on my body was sensitive as if they had all chosen this exact moment to reveal their frailty. The wings extended out from my back in what seemed like an endless march and nothing I could do stopped the pain. I can’t remember what the others were doing during this. I can remember glimpsing during the brief moments my gaze could focus for even a moment, but even in my clearest recollection I didn’t see them reacting. Instead one distorted images fades into a blur of dull tones—likely the floor during one of the many times I was hunched over hacking up a thick wad of blood onto the ground. Or so I’m told. I wasn’t aware I was doing it, but my allies said it must have happened six or seven times as evidenced by the large crimson stain beneath me.<br /><br />When it finally ended all I can remember was an overwhelming sense of relief. My face was drenched with sweat, but my back was covered in blood. When the wings emerged they forced themselves through my armor, and what tattered remains were left of my clothes were now a ragged ruddy mess. Regaining my senses took time and my body was still adjusting the pain very slowly. My breath was worn and haggard as though I had just ran from Colingrove to Wyrmwick without stopping, and despite my best efforts I couldn’t stop a slight quiver in my body as if my nerves were dreading the possibility that the process could start again at any moment.<br /><br />After my breathing returned to normal and my eyes could once again focus on a single image I looked up to find myself under the judging eyes of my flabbergasted party members. I was not used to showing a vulnerable side—especially not to strangers, so I quickly discarded my pain-stricken frown and replaced with the same bold grin I had when I suggested our earlier “diplomatic” decisions. “Hey guys,” I said meeting their bewilderment with a smirk, “I bet I can fly now.”Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-55709938529284306382011-05-02T08:07:00.000-07:002011-05-02T08:37:47.206-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 11Let me apologize ahead of time readers for the following article as there is a good chance that random “USA! USA!” chants will appear throughout this piece as a result of last night’s big news. For those foreigners out there (and according to my traffic I have a pretty nice following in Sweden) this might all be a bit too exotic for you guys to comprehend, but just let the silly Americans wave their flags and enjoy the recap. “USA! USA! USA!”<br /><br />Back onto the topic, the theme of this week’s session was character development. In some cases it was very traditional and in other cases quite literal, but the constant this week was character development and everyone got some. Some will also note this session had a much darker tone than normal, and that’s true. It’s not to say we didn’t derp and have some fun, but in general this session was a good deal more somber. To put it bluntly if the Demon Baron arc were a trilogy, this was the Empire Strikes Back session. We ended hopeless, defeated, and conflicted—but remain optimistic because that means next session Caitlin gets to rescue slave-bikini Dhother from an evil slug and then we’ll blow up the Demon Baron’s tower. I’m getting ahead of myself (though the imagery is awesome), so let’s start at the beginning.<br /><br />We returned to the chronicles of Wyrmwick having just left Vante’s Tower with knowledge of the White Orb of Lockton’s Keep. On the request of Bahamut we decided to seek out the orb and add its incredible power to our ranks so that we can use it to take down the Demon Baron. We wasted no time doing this and we arrived in Lockton Keep just a day later. The Keep itself is a lighthouse with a budding city built around it with a heavy emphasis on Moradin, the God of Creation, Hammers, Dwarves, Liquor, and probably Overblown Religious Festivals. We couldn’t get in the church to see the White Orb, so we needed an alternate plan. First we did some reconnaissance with Grieg using the power of his Shadow Orb to turn invisible and insubstantial so long as he remains in the presence of shadows. With this he snuck into the Church before dawn and investigated a trap door that lead into the lighthouse above the church. There he found a blind old woman sitting a wheelchair which we then deduced was the host of the Light Orb.<br /><br />After debating the morality of killing old women (a tabletop tradition), we decided it would be best just to speak with the old woman directly, and after some negotiating we were allowed to do just that—or at least Denora was. Our meek little cleric headed upstairs and spoke with the old woman about the orb. Not only did we find out that to possess the Light Orb meant losing your eyes, but any owner of an orb is slowly having their soul devoured so that upon their death they fade away to nothingness instead of going onto the afterlife. A harsh price, but the power you receive in return is supposed to be great, and Denora made the decision to put lives of those around her over herself. It was painful as Denora had to experience her eyes literally melt out of her face, but the deed was done. I could link you to one of the many images of Denora without her eyes, but I already have enough nightmares about waking up next to nuns missing their eyes due to thirteen years of Catholic school so you're on your own there.<br /><br />It was a heavy sacrifice, but Denora made it for the benefit of everyone else, so props to her. The poor girl passed out from the pain and we had to carry her back to the ship. When she awoke she found she could no longer see, and even worse the orb which she was told would guide her after she lost her sight was not speaking to her. <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/8/8e/DnD_Denoras_Realisation.png">It was a tragic scene</a>. If that’s pulling your heartstrings guys then hold on because things do not get any easier. On the plus side Grieg has taken it upon himself to take care of Denora and guide her. Maybe it’s a budding romance, or maybe just the two orb wielders looking out for one another, but at the very least you get your “d’awww” moment which is quite necessary for this session.<br /><br />We left Lockton Keep having acquired the second orb and information about where the blue orb might be (hint: it’s far to the east in an enormous cyclone) and then headed south for a quick stop at Wyrmwick before continuing on to Felbrigg Stronghold to find Doll’s family, find out the location of the other towers, and handle Dhother’s vampire problem because (shocker) the rosary came back. We arrived and Caitlin, Dhother, and Jonn made their way to the poorer district to find Doll’s family. We learned the family had been imprisoned for not paying their taxes. Outraged, we went to the castle to pay their taxes and get the family the heck out of dodge only be alerted of some very grim news from Lord Felbrigg himself.<br /><br />The family is dead and what remains of them was fed to the pigs in a farm to the west. No, I’m making a joke—that’s quite literally what happened to them. I should note that Caitlin smelled a very terrible evil coming from the castle and particularly Lord Felbrigg himself while Dhother’s rosary was reacting strongly to the stronghold. Caitlin tried to stay her hand as long as she could, but to the shock of everyone (or maybe just me), Dhother was the one to attack.<br /><br />We started up a battle with Lord Felbrigg and his guards, and Caitlin got to show off one of her new breath weapons! Yes, in case you missed it Caitlin now has her own breath weapons and the first she used was the special Bahamut breath, Disintegration Breath. It does decent enough damage (2d12) upon hit and 10 ongoing damage afterwards, so yeah expect to see a lot more of that. As for the battle itself it was difficult considering our two Leaders were gone and thus no healing. Still we proved to be victorious and Lord Felbrigg was torn to pieces. We collected his body parts for “disposal” and decided to investigate the castle a bit further. We found a dungeon that appeared to be a feeding pit for the vampire lord, and after exploring his bedroom we found a journal and a scroll. The scroll’s seal was foreign to us so we pocketed that for the moment, but the journal we easily picked and read. It detailed Felbrigg’s life starting from a very long time again before eventually reaching the end where he wrote about making a deal with the Demon Baron to spare Felbrigg in exchange for materials and supplies. With this new information we left the castle and headed back towards Wyrmwick stopping on the way to toss Felbrigg’s remains overboard so that he can rest at the bottom of the ocean ala Dio from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. If I recall correctly we should have about a hundred years or so before Felbrigg comes back, so that’s a plus.<br /><br />The trip to Wyrmwick was an uneasy one as we had to report that we essentially left Felbrigg without a government, so in other words we left it in complete and utter anarchy. Muzarog came up with a plan to install a temporary puppet government and try to send refugees to Holmin Falls where a fort is currently being established. With that done Dhother and Caitlin headed off to their respective churches for prayer. Caitlin spoke with Bahamut directly and learned the sad truth that Doll’s wife and daughter were indeed dead. On the plus side she did learn that the orb’s effect on the user could be reversed in some fashion, though we’d have to destroy the orbs themselves which wouldn’t be an easy task. Finally she learned that to complete the ritual to become the first born of Bahamut she’d need to travel far to the north to find a way to Bahamut’s castle. Cryptic, but man it might as well been step by step directions compared to Dhother’s experience with Correlon. I kid you not, Dhother prayed long and hard for guidance, and Correlon answered his prayers with a meat spin. Yeah, LordKaT is our DM alright, and consider yourself lucky if you don’t know what meatspin is by NEVER searching for it. After that Correlon decided to cock slap Dhother which was all a very cryptic way of saying “go to Colingrove”. Following that not-so-bitching prayer session, Dhother and Caitlin got drunk, though for very different reasons.<br /><br />Get your tissues ready guys because it gets worse from here. We left Wyrmwick and returned to Colingrove to see the city preparing for war. As Grieg spoke with some of his old compatriots Caitlin headed to the church of Bahamut to tell Doll the bad news about his family. He immediately felt defeated as though his attempt to change his life was completely meaningless, but Caitlin shared with him the truth behind her own painful loss. She, like Doll, had lost her family, though for a man who just lost everything it was little consolation. It would take time, but hopefully Caitlin could keep Doll optimistic and on the right path. However now she felt rather defeated though she wouldn’t let the party see that as she quickly began offering Dhother public handjobs. Caitlin is good for a great mood whiplash like that.<br /><br />After we got our supplies we rode off to Watchman’s North to try to take out the tower before Colingrove met the Demon Baron’s army head on. We arrived outside the tower and began an intense fight with the Gnolls inside and a fiendish Chain Devil. The party got lucky in that Caitlin used another one of her breaths, Misty Breath, to turn the Chain Devil and two of the Gnolls into a fine mist making them useless until they save. That allowed us to focus fire on the remaining Gnolls and eliminate them before the Chain Devil returned so we devote our full focus on him. On the plus side Denora possesses a new ability that allows her to project a field of light that makes it so good aligned creatures get total concealment while unaligned creatures are blinded. Even with those bonuses the Chain Devil still nearly took us down in a wild flurry of attack, but we survived just long to take him down.<br /><br />Now all that was left was to take down the tower, right? No, we were greeted by a man in dark robes who applauded our abilities. It appeared he was a servant of the Demon Baron, but before we could ask him much he cast a spell. In a flash both Dhother and Grieg disappeared and the man told us that if we wanted to see our friends again we were to return to Colingrove and tell the world leaders to give up their resources to the Demon Baron. After that he left leaving the party conflicted and defeated. Caitlin, head hung low, started to head back towards Colingrove while Jonn demanded we try to take down the tower. It was a pretty tense moment full of conflicted emotions that probably stand out as the best moment in the campaign for me thus far. On one side it’s a classic “needs of the many outweight the needs of the few” situation and Jonn has a very valid argument in bringing the tower down, but Caitlin and Denora are both hesitant to do so as it would put the lives of Grieg and Dhother in jeopardy. Five sessions ago Caitlin would have agreed completely with Jonn about blowing up the tower, but now she’s grown close to her compatriots and after just having to relieve the pain of losing a family she’s not willing to risk their lives. Making this even more complicated Caitlin is the fact that Dhother was one of the two kidnapped, and I’ve made it canon that Caitlin and Dhother have a thing for each other—or at least Caitlin does for Dhother.<br /><br />So yeah, the session ended with Dhother and Grieg waking up tied to posts in the middle of the desert with the same dark robed man from earlier promising to take the orb from Grieg by whatever means are necessary. Fade to black.<br /><br />You see what I mean now about this being the Empire Strikes Back of the Demon Baron arc? Dhother & Grieg are captives of the Demon Baron, Denora is blind, Caitlin has given up hope, and the Jonn is at odds with his allies about what to do with the tower. It’s a pretty tense moment that will undoubtedly lead to some great storytelling down the line. I love that everyone got the chance to delve a bit more into their characters this session, and I think we’ll learn a lot about each other in the coming sessions.<br /><br />Credit for the images goes to <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a>.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-71688715040732746652011-04-25T08:22:00.000-07:002011-04-25T08:28:18.000-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 10Hide your wives and hide your kids, it’s another edition of the D&D recap! This time our sessions were stretched over the course of the weekend, but in shorter segments. Thankfully this will be a one post recap (hopefully), but that isn’t to say stuff didn’t happen—far from it. Heck if you thought Caitlin got fucked up… well actually she’s still far and away the most fucked up party member, but shit happened to Grieg too. Let’s not waste time and get right into the recap!<br /><br />Having just finished off the gnolls and cleansing the temple of Bahamut, we found ourselves searching the town for any other survivors. Caitlin smelled a very dark energy radiating from a manor inside the city. We went to investigate, but when we snuck into the basement we found ourselves blinded by this magical darkness. Figuring it was best not to wonder into the pitch black cube of hell, we decided to try the back door, though it was half barricaded with chests. I rolled a trap check and Caitlin sensed she didn’t feel there were any traps, but it seemed too suspicious not to be. To satisfy Caitlin’s curiosity we stood back and let Grieg fire an arrow at chests. Nothing happened. Oh except for the enormous explosion that took out nearly a third of the manor. But you know… no biggie right?<br /><br />As a moment of douche-ness Jason told us we found a tiny scorched <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/1/10/DnD_Teddy.png">teddy bear</a> that to me meant we had just killed a group of children which quite frankly would kill Caitlin emotionally. This was just a joke though, and the teddy bear was just left behind. In fact all we found in the manner were corpses that made this D&D session feel more and more like a Silent Hill title. All we needed was some symbolism, eerie music, and a retrospective by Dena and we’d have been good to go. Instead all we found was a magic circle that when activated produced an eldritch candle. Figuring this arcane light might break the darkness, we took it with us into the basement.<br /><br />Dhother decided he’d be the one to enter the darkness first, and to our delight the candle worked! To our horror though, the candle worked, revealing a room full of the mangled human corpses, mostly children, imbedded into the wall. The floor was slick with blood and viscera, and crimson stained spikes lined the ceiling. Dhother proceeded to freak out, though none of us really judged him. Oh Dhother you’ve got a little bit of baby brain on your shoe.<br /><br />The other thing to note in the room was an altar with a strange man upon it. We debated for quite some time whether we should try to wake him or not, but eventually he extended the length on the room so that we were all inside. We were all trapped in what I can only image Hell must look like, and our mysterious man, cloaked in shadows, woke up and <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/0/0f/DnD_Shadow.png">began to move</a>. We tried to sneak up and attack him while he was still shambling around the room, but our attacks just passed through him. Eventually we rolled initiatives and began our battle, but for the sake of brevity I’ll sum up the important shiz-nit (as Snopp Dogg says): Shadow man couldn’t be hurt, he said Grieg was chosen, and we eventually figured out we needed to burn him with the candle.<br /><br />After the shadow man died an orb of shadow hovered over his altar. Since it told Grieg he was the one chosen for it, Grieg attempted to grab it only for the orb to latch onto his body and cover his body in shadows. Before long Grieg looked more like Noob Saibot (Ha-HA! Mortal Kombat reference), and the shadows began to fade away. Once they were gone it seemed Grieg was back to being normal old Grieg—to everyone else that is. Grieg knew he had changed, and that was most obvious when he heard the orb speaking to him telepathically. It appears these orbs attach themselves to a host and feed off their energy and emotions. In return they grant the user extended life, and special abilities. Grieg’s was the orb of Shadow, which granted him many insidious abilities though it should be noted that his powers aren’t intrinsically evil, but rather very “dark”. If Mickey Mouse shows up and starts talking about the door to the Light, I’m quitting (Ha-HA! Kingdom Hearts reference).<br /><br />Following that battle we left Holmin Falls via abandoned ship, dubbed the Mighty Gauntlet. Considering the other names that Jason’s name generator has come up with, we were very fortunate. Back in Wyrmwick we reported about the damage to Holmin Falls, and revealed Caitlin’s condition to Muzarog to explain why she might have the ability to counteract Tiamat’s influence. It went well (well as well as “hey I’m a dragon” discussion can go), and Muzarog suggested we head to the Felbrigg Stronghold to discover how they combated the Demon Baron. He would provide us with a bribe and the use of his personal carriage driven by… and I’m serious… Pantikrabs. Yes, his name is Pantikrabs. See what I mean about us getting lucky with Jason’s name generator?<br /><br />Caitlin used Pantikrabs services to travel to the temple of Bahamut, and from there prayed to the Big B. After a long discussion between father and sorta-daughter-thing, Caitlin learned a bit about Grieg’s orb (protip: don’t let Grieg die), and the source of the Glass Roads. The roads receive power from towers that act as hubs for the Demon Baron’s power, and destroying the towers will revert the lands back to normal. One such tower was in Watchman’s South, and another already destroyed tower was near Felbrigg.<br /><br />Admittedly I goofed here. When we spoke to Councilman Muzarog, I thought we already agreed to bribe the leader of Felbrigg, and that we already had his money. I misunderstood that he wanted to see us, so when we left without the money I honestly thought it was on board the ship. That was my fault, and I wanted to clear the air there so people didn’t think we were just rushing through things. Also I farted, so clearing the air was necessary. So long story short, we couldn’t get into Felbrigg but we found the destroyed tower anyway.<br /><br />… Also magic.<br /><br />With the information we gained we headed back to Holmin Falls and marched on the South Tower. We cleared out the Gnolls guarding the tower (and the one demon who leapt off the tower just to fight us), and made our way upstairs to find a glowing white orb hanging from the ceiling. We started to knock it down only for Dhother to warn us that doing so would kill us all! So we left the tower and knocked it down from the outside via Grieg’s crossbow. The orb fell and tower went boom! It would have looked more glorious and awesome if we hadn’t decided to immediately book it afterwards just in case any reinforcements heard Hiroshima go off. We returned to Wyrmwick, victorious!<br /><br />Suffice it to say, Muzarog was still very confused as to why we left <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/a/ad/DnD_Muserog_Irritatet.png">without his money</a>, but since we figured out the whole “tower” thing on our own, we saved Wyrmwick that bribe money. That’s a positive, right? Sadly we did learn a negative due to a dream with Bahamut. The Demon Baron is Tiamat’s chosen one, so basically Caitlin’s polar opposite cousin. In addition Bahamut fears we won’t be strong enough to take down the Demon Baron, and is suggesting we find the other orbs like Grieg’s and hopefully with their power and the systematic elimination of the Demon Baron’s towers, we might just be able to do it. Unfortunately Caitlin’s mutations have taken a turn for the worse: her sense of smell is now completely changed, she’s starting to grow talons, and she now has complete control of her breath weapons. In general these aren’t bad (in fact the breath weapons are a huge plus), but it’s enough that Caitlin refuses to enter Wyrmwick due to her appearance and she’s contemplating finishing the ritual to see if it will make her stronger. I asked the party to give my best to Alpert, but they didn’t so lord knows what Caitlin will look like the next time she sees him. Stupid party.<br /><br />And with that we set off to Colingrove and from there Vante’s Tower. Along the way we were attacked by pirates, and Caitlin got to <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/4/44/DnD_Dragon_Roar.png">intimidate people</a> with her dragon wings for once. This battle went our way as Jason’s Saving Throw rolls were awful. We knocked half of the pirates off the ship, and they all drowned shortly after. We killed two more, and the last surrendered. We tied him up and interrogated him. His name? Skynet Anti-Gravity. No, I’m not shitting you. Again, see why Jason’s name generator sucked? We retconned that shit immediately so his name is Doll, and he’s pirating to help his family in Felbrigg. Caitlin spared him on the condition that he give himself up to the clerics in Colingrove and repent for his sins. In return we’d find a way to get his family out of Felbrigg… in due time. He agreed, and we docked the Mighty Gauntlet in Colingrove.<br /><br />From there we picked up some supplies (i.e. some new magic armor for Caitlin and Grieg, plus the rest of the dragon ritual liquid), sold off some items, and then purchased horses to take us to Vante’s Tower. Along the way Dhother continued to investigate the rosary he found in Zalelah’s Crypt, and finally figured out all he could about it. It seems to rosary acts as a GPS on a “Hot N’ Cold’ system to show the user where “home” is. It also can act as a homing beacon for the vampire, and Dhother realized the vampire only disappeared and we weren’t really sure we killed her. Dhother attempted to drop the rosary, but found it followed him like a dog. Yay! Now Dhother can join Dragon Caitlin and Shadow Grieg as having a horrible problem hanging over his head! Huzzah!<br /><br />We finished off the night in Vante’s Tower learning the origins behind the orbs. We found that at least six orbs exist, though their locations are unknown. The only other orb we know about it the white (Light) orb which seems to be near Attesfield, across the sea to the north of Vante’s Tower. Also Dhother traded the rosary to the mages in exchange for Caitlin’s bodily fluids, so Caitlin can rest easy knowing someone doesn’t have a salt shaker full of her tears.<br /><br />The session ended there, and next week we have to decide where to go. Looking on the <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/7/79/Wyrmwick-Continent-Complete.png">map</a> (courtesy of Sable this time) you can see our options. We could head south back towards Colingrove and try to liberate Watchman North. Or we could return to Colingrove directly to pick up our ship and sail to Attesfield to get another orb. Or we could get the ship and head to Felbrigg Stronghold to find Doll’s family, investigate the source of the rosary (does anyone believe for a second we won’t wake up next time with the rosary?), and try to find out the locations of the other towers. Again, we have a few ways to go about this, so we’ll need to prioritize accordingly. What do you guys think? Where would you go if you were us? Any thoughts or predictions for the future? Are you pumped for the Tiamat V Bahamut Chosen Showdown? Do you like my vest made of real gorilla chest (Ha-HA! Simpons reference)?<br /><br />Images credited to big sexay <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a>.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-33046231536191342692011-04-21T07:22:00.000-07:002011-04-21T07:23:44.422-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 9 Part 2When we last left, our heroes were left in a desperate situation and in a last ditch effort they shattered a dangerous device and became enveloped in a white light. When we return we see the survivors back on Oceanic 815, but when the plane should be torn apart by the island’s electro-magnetic fields, nothing happens sans a wee bit of turbulence. It’s then we realize that this is a world very different from the one we knew, and the island itself has become deeply submerged under the ocean!<br /><br />Okay fine, I’ll stop with the LOST references and just get back to the recap. This is going to be another long one guys. I told you that you should have gotten snacks.<br /><br />So yes, after Jonn smashed the crystal containing the strange shadowy figure we all found ourselves conscious and alive in the same sprawling field from Caitlin’s dreams with the shadowy figure standing just a few feet away. Was he a friend or foe? Did he bring us here? Why was he trapped in the crystal? What happened to Owayne? There were so many questions to ask, but instead of answering our enigmatic man simply rose a single finger towards Caitlin and covered her in a bright white light. When the powerful glow faded away Caitlin still remained… but her sword was now pink.<br /><br />Our enigmatic man revealed himself to be Wez the Mad, or rather the person we knew as Wez the Mad. To our surprise it turns out the insane old man locked up in Wyrmwick’s jail wasn’t the same Wesley that was betrayed by Owayne like we believed—instead that man was none other than the Platinum Dragon himself, Bahamut. As it turns out Zelalah was not a follower of Bahamut after all. Rather she turned her loyalties to Tiamat and trapped much of Bahamut’s soul inside the crystal used to power her staff. What remained of Bahamut found its way into the body of Wez the Mad, but that part wasn’t aware of itself. By shattering the crystal we released Bahamut’s power and freed him. Eternally thankful he granted us one request, and the answer was simple: kill Owayne. Bahamut said that wouldn’t be a problem, and then he turned to address his “daughter”.<br /><br />It appears it is true that the ritual Caitlin entered into was one to turn the user into the first born of Bahamut, and against her will Caitlin was slowly becoming the daughter of the Platinum Dragon. Face to face with her “dad” Caitlin was asked if she wanted to continue being the child of Bahamut. She was given the option to decline and be returned to her normal form, but to the shock of many Caitlin tentatively declines. She didn’t agree to be the first born of Bahamut either, but many found it shocking that when giving the opportunity to return to her previous form, Caitlin didn’t immediately take it. Even later Dhother pulled Caitlin aside to ask her about her decision, and Caitlin explained that she wasn’t sure if she should revert back. To players confused as to why I had Caitlin make that decision, I had her not turn back because at this point Wyrmwick (and the world for that matter) has a lot of enemies. Though the random mutations were painful and unpredictable, they also provided great benefits. It’s not the perfect scenario, but with evil and danger this ubiquitous, Caitlin felt it was worth enduring the mutations for a while before she makes her final decision so that they can have access to many powerful abilities in the meantime.<br /><br />Our conversation with Bahamut over, he agreed to bring us back to Owayne’s Hold, or rather the site formerly known as Owayne’s Hold. Our paranoid demeanor ensured we had to find Owayne’s body before we could declare him dead, but when we arrived we were stunned to find nothing. No Owayne, no clerics, and not even the shattered rubble of Owayne’s Hold. The entire area was flat and charred black as if some great cleansing fire had just purged the area of all life. It was an solemn, quiet moment… and it was right then that we realized we’d now have to walk back to Collingrove. Curses.<br /><br />We made the journey back to Collingrove (begrudgingly), and arrived to great news: Timmy’s condition has radically improved and the Duke wants to celebrate our victory over Owayne with a lavish feast and a gift of 2,000 gold for each of us. Plus a house, so now I have another integral piece in my plan to make a Wyrmwick sitcom spinoff where Eli and Captain Bearbossa own a hotel together and Dhother is the slutty pool boy. “Well A Lookie Here” coming to CBS in the Fall of 2012. Watch for it.<br /><br />We all used what money we had to purchase magical weapons/equipment of some kind, though I don’t know what everyone picked up. I know for Caitlin I picked up a Lightning Short Sword +1 (because I just fucking know DarkVolt will make that shit look badass), and +1 Hide Armor because well… I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted at the moment. I’ll have to go through again because honestly an extra +1 to AC isn’t all that worthwhile considering my AC is never going to be very intimidating. Maybe I’ll look for a headslot item. Might as well grab a pair of goggles considering how I crit failed a mutation roll and now Caitlin’s eyes are yellow with fiery blue pupils and second pair of eyelids. Seriously, to walk around town Caitlin has to wear a blindfold, a gag (to hide the occasional wisps of smoke that come out of her mouth), a cloak, and a hood. It’s gotta look like our party is dragging some poor girl around like a gimp at this point.<br /><br />After our shopping was done we boarded a ship headed for Wyrmwick where we reported the good news of Owayne’s passing to Khan Muzarog. Muzarog thanked us and informed us that the Glass Roads leading from the Demon Baron’s tower have now passed the South Tower meaning that they are slowly making their way to Wyrmwick. Sadly though we couldn’t immediately join the fight as Caitlin had (sigh) “prior engagements” with the mages at Vante’s Tower, and the party would be accompanying her. As we were eager to get this obligation out of the way, we found a mage who teleported us to North Pass, and took horses from there to get to Vante’s Tower. We arrived and Ghadi was all too excited to begin his… “testing”.<br /><br />Now how to I properly phrase this? I think Kreia said it best in KOTOR II when she said “I suffered indignities” to explain how Darth Sion raped her with his patchwork pecker. Similar situation with Caitlin. Ghadi did very “intrusive” tests and we can just skip over dwelling on this particularly harrowing moment in Caitlin’s life. All you need to know to get the “squick” factor is that Ghadi collected all of Caitlin’s bodily fluids which I can only imagine he put into tiny organized vials in his pantry like some cum and spit spicerack. So yeah, shockingly, Caitlin was very eager to leave the tower, though Ghadi, ever eager to beat Vern as the “creepiest motherfucker in this campaign” asked if Caitlin would marry him. Dude, you’ve got my piss in a jar—fuck off.<br /><br />I will have it be known that I do have plans to deal with Vante’s Tower in the future once we handle the more pressing issue of the Demon Baron. Ghadi will pay—count on it. Even if for some reason Caitlin dies, I will assure you my next character would solely exist to fuck with this world’s mages and get that sweet karmatic retribution. Alright, with that duty behind us (though forever remaining in Caitlin’s nightmares), we were ready to start the offensive against the Demon Baron, and after returning to Wyrmwick we had our first mission: find out the fate of Holmin Falls. If you check the <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/3/38/Wyrmwick_Map2.jpg">campaign map</a>(this one made by DF, though there’s a colored version by Sable also on the wiki) you’ll see Holmin Falls tucked into that corner by the South Tower, so the idea was that we were heading into a shitty situation.<br /><br />We set off for Holmin Falls and as we neared our destination we found the Glass Roads heading towards our beloved Wyrmwick. The roads themselves were cold and obsidian, and seemed to wither and destroy life it its immediate radius as our verdant meadows has shriveled and faded away to hopeless hills of sandy dunes. As a test I dropped just a few blades of grass on the roads only to have them burst into flames. Sadly Dhother did not agree to test his face next. Yet, low and behold, Caitlin found her tattoo reacting to the roads and against better judgment decided to place her hand on the jet black road. To the bewilderment of the party, the road began to revert at her touch; though the moment she pulled her hand back began the ground became twisted and tainted once again. Still, Caitlin temporarily returned the land back to normal wherever she went, and as such the party cloistered around her as she led the way to Holmin Falls.<br /><br />We found out this was a good thing too because as we neared Holmin Falls the ground turned completely into a sandy wasteland, and when Grieg dared to step onto the sand he was attacked by a series of hands that were trying to pull him in. We saved our new friend, but we were very careful from then on to avoid stepping on the sand. Luckily Holmin Falls, despite being decimated, still had paved streets for the party to stand on, so we didn’t have to investigate the city attached at the hip. Sadly, Caitlin couldn’t smell any human life in the city—instead only smelling some foul stench coming from what Caitlin recognized as a temple of Bahamut. Peering inside we found a group of gnolls and fire elementals socializing inside the ruins of this Bahamut church, and Caitlin wasn’t going to take that short of disrespect in her father’s house! We attacked!<br /><br />This battle was one of the more enjoyable encounters we’ve had in a while. I really do believe the best way to make a challenging encounter is to have a near equal number of monsters to players, that way the party can’t gang up on one monster too quickly. I think this was a challenging encounter, even though I wanted to rip the head off that Gnoll who kept dazing us. That black asshole. We won a very hard fought battle, and upon touching the altar Caitlin seemed to cleanse the temple of the evil plaguing it. However she found symbols of Tiamat laying on the ground insinuating that Bahamut’s greatest enemy was in league with the Demon Baron, and that this battle was going to become very personal.<br /><br />And we ended there. I could talk about more like Caitlin and Dhother having their emotional talk that ended in handjobs, or the brief battle against one of Tiamat’s chosen, but this was one long sessions and fuck some stuff you’ll just have to watch for yourself sometime. Enough happened this week that honestly I could have split this into three parts and still missed some stuff, so there should be plenty to talk about. What do people think of the Bahamut twist? What about Caitlin not jumping at the offer to stay Caitlin? How about the budding relationship between Dhother and Caitlin and all the kinky sex involved? Are people enjoying Grieg? What other good magical equipment should I buy? How do you think the meeting with Auntie Tiamat will go? Why do Jonn’s farts stink so god damn much?<br /><br />There’s much to debate, but one thing is universal: fuck the mages in this game. Fuck them in the ass with a dildo wrapped in barbwire and soaked in salt water & tobasco sauce.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321273683915048800.post-81030033390931074882011-04-19T17:14:00.000-07:002011-04-19T17:18:39.719-07:00Wyrmwick Log: Session 9 Part 1Holy crap, I still don’t know how this group finds ways to play over seven hours of D&D in a weekend. This time it was all on one day, but in one long session that started at five and ended a little bit past midnight rather than broken up over two days. However I should note that we wouldn’t have bothered playing that long if we weren’t having fun, so obviously there was a lot to enjoy this session. If you decide to read through this whole thing I commend you because this is going to be a long one. You should probably get some snacks.<br /><br />So our campaign continued about where it left off with the party at Vern’s cavern, and the White Dragon agreeing to fly us to Owayne’s. However we decided not to assault Owayne’s directly at the moment as we could use more information, and thus we convinced Vern to take us first to Vante’s Tower, a tower of mages far to the north where we could perhaps learn more about how to defeat a Deathknight and more about Caitlin’s condition. The dragon could only carry three of us though, so Dhother, Denora, and Caitlin readied themselves for the journey while Greig and Jonn headed towards Colingrove where we would meet up with them once we completed our journey. Oh, but before we left Vern smelled Caitlin and said, and I quote, “This is gonna be a good journey”. <a href="http://www.lordkat.com/wiki/images/2/2c/Caitlin_Smell.jpg">Ew</a>. A thousand times ew. Vern is one creepy dude, though shockingly not the creepiest guy hitting on Caitlin this session, but I’ll get to that in time.<br /><br />So during the long travel to Vante’s Tower Caitlin began to grow a tail, horns, and a new sense of smell meaning that as the days continue to pass by Caitlin becomes even more of a dragon. With renewed urgency we entered the tower and spoke with Ghadi, a mage in the tower. He said he could help us out with both of our problems by providing us with a device that would prevent Owayne from teleporting, and by putting a ward on Caitlin to slow her metamorphosis. Figuring we just walked into a good deal, we headed up to the room where the ward would be performed only to find a room littered with corpses. To our bewilderment though Ghadi wasn’t actually trying to trap us or trick us—he and the other wizards of Vante’s Tower are just completely batshit insane. Obviously when we saw the floating corpses we decided Caitlin wouldn’t take part in his ward, but he refused to give us a decent deal on the orb that would prevent Owayne’s teleportation. He did tell us that this orb could be trusted as a more permanent version of this orb, along with a device to prevent changes similar to what Caitlin is experiencing are currently being used by the Goblin King who’s prison rests just beyond the Mountains of Madness and the Boreal Maze.<br /><br />We contemplated briefly about just heading to the Goblin King’s prison and taking the stuff he had there, but without the luxury of time, Caitlin made a deal with Ghadi. If he gave us the orb, then after the battle with Owayne she would return and allow Ghadi to run his tests on her on the condition her companions could supervise it. Ghadi anxiously agreed, and we had the orb, so we quickly headed off to Colingrove where we reunited with Jonn and Grieg.<br /><br />At this point we had to make our final preparations to go up against Owayne, and we started by speaking to the city’s clerics to have them bless our weapons and provide us with support against Owayne’s undead legions. After that we visited the mages only to find Arwyn, who was quite eager to see Caitlin. He explained there her blood had turned silver and that currently they aren’t aware what it meant, which is rather annoying when all you want are answers and instead the mages just say “hey look this happened! I don’t know why, but it did!” After that he provided Caitlin with an amulet that he said would allow us to see Owayne should he turn invisible. Caitlin asked if Death Knights could do that, and Arwyn responded that he didn’t know. Then we found out the amulet wasn’t magic, indicating that Arywn is also batshit insane. Apparently studying the arcane arts in this world leads you to be a complete freak. Note to self: kill all mages.<br /><br />That night Caitlin was disturbed in her sleep by a dream where she found herself alone in this strange field with the crystal we found back in Zelalah’s Crypt. She wandered up the crystal only to see a strange shadowy figure within the crystal who would stare at her while banging on the crystal. After that Caitlin woke up and immediately headed into Dhother's room to find the crystal. To her shock the same figure she saw in her dream was staring at her in real life, but she couldn't tell who it was. As she tried to speak with the shadow, Dhother woke up leading to an <a href="http://lordkat.com/wiki/images/4/4f/DnD_Nightly_Disturbance_speechbubbles.png">interesting exchange</a>. After sharing some words, Caitlin punched Dhother in the balls and took the crystal for herself. I can't remember why I had Caitlin punch Dhother in the balls, but he probably deserved it.<br /><br />So with preparations made it was time for the big moment when we would attack Owayne. Our plan was in place: let the clerics handle the undead, and then have Vern attack the tower and bring it down on top of Owayne. The plan started off almost flawlessly as Vern brought the keep down and Owayne was crushed underneath his own palace. Then the clerics handled the undead and left us to deal with one pissed off Death Knight. Around here though is where the plan fell apart—and we all sorta knew it would. The problem is that Owayne had gone too far (attacking Alpert and Timmy) to really justify ignoring him any longer especially if he was going to remain a constant threat while we tried to combat the Demon Baron.<br /><br />But the downside is fact is that Owayne is a level 19 motherfucking beast so he jacked our monkey asses up. No lie, he seriously fucked us up, and we just about party wiped. To be completely fair we fought far better against Owayne than any level 4 party should have. We took him down to bloodied and I think everyone got at least one good hit in on him. The problem is that his health easily outclassed our damage output, and every time he attacked it was pretty much a guaranteed hit. With a few of our party members already down for the count, Caitlin handed off the crystal to Jonn for him to smash into the ground. Once it shattered, everything went white...<br /><br />And like the Season 5 finale of LOST, that's where I'm going to leave you right now. To be frank this session was long and full of stuff to talk about, so I really can't sum it up in one long post without basically writing the Time Cube (sans the racism). Expect the rest of the recap to come up in the next few days, but until then reminisce about how fucking stupid it was for us to attack a Death Knight at level 4.<br /><br />Credits go to Sighter and <a href="http://darkvolt.deviantart.com/">DarkVolt</a> for the images.<br /><br />Until next time, Namaste!Rollo Thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02382660871128211137noreply@blogger.com0