Campaign of the Month: February 2016
Rise of the Durnskald
Killoren Monk, Herald of Ahz-Radamant
Deception and Betrayal. These thoughts surged through me, coupled with a new hate for one I had loved. Wrenching my mind from me, these emotions began to separate me from the battle I had to win at all costs. The whole affair was preposterous though… completely unexpected from the likes of him… “How could he do this? Was he planning this the whole time? What about that oath we had made?!”. The already very precise slashes delivered by the Seelie Sylph before him quickly became more vicious – demanding that he return his focus to combat. The enemy’s white eyes, absolutely unwavering, met my gaze. Not a hint of emotion flecked his eyes or contorted his rigid face. He is seriously trying to kill me. Sadness suddenly filled me and it took control in a moment’s time. Reaching out for him with an open hand, I gave it one final futile attempt to persuade him to stop. “Brothe…!” I yelled at the unchanging visage of my opponent – hoping he would pause mid-swing and laugh like he always did. He dealt a fatal blow, vertically slicing clean through my chest, starting right where the neck meets shoulders. He had really done it, that bastard. The cold image of his enemy burned in his mind, completely engulfing my conscious. I closed my eyes, releasing a deep sigh as I prepared to let go, accepting my fate.
The next moment I let out a long shrill cry in response to the excruciating pain, grasping my chest in a pitiful attempt to hold my body together. It was then that I began to realize the wound was not there. In fact, the very pain that coursed through my mind also seemed to vanish, a distant memory. I clutch my face with my hands, “Was it all a dream? By Morgan’s grace…” I think to myself, slowly settling down. At this moment I also realize that I am wearing nothing, and quickly reach for a tablecloth to wrap about myself. Suddenly a nondescript, and certainly unknown voice enters my ears: “By the blazes will you calm down? You’ll throw the whole ship into chaos.” Confusion continues to wrack my brain and I shake my head violently, trying to regain my faculties. I open my eyes and take in my surroundings, quickly realizing the environment is entirely foreign.
My eyes are drawn immediately to a fire set in a hearth, and I soon notice an older human in a dark green tunic eyeing me with what looks like a cross expression mixed with confusion similar to my own. My brow furrows immediately as I try to decipher what I’m seeing, ending up with more questions. “Who is this human? Why is there a fire? Where are the trees and plants that I normally see?” The older gentlemen, realizing that I am clearly bewildered, takes a new tone while I look around the room still brooding on these questions. “I think I know who you are. You’re a Killoren.” My gaze meets the man’s studying eyes, causing him to slowly nod, affirming to himself that he is correct. “Your kind are born when you are slain as a fairy.” My heartbeat quickens once more at this and suddenly the visage of a fairy enters my mind. Immediately gripped by a wave of pain at the image, I grasp my head, and begin shaking it in an effort to cause the image to disappear. The older gentlemen rises from his stool and comforts me, which steadily restores what little sanity I had prior to seeing the image. Gently the gentlemen raises what one would think an easy question: “What is your name young one?”
I try to recall memories of myself – anything about me. Reaching for things like a name a place of origin or my birthday causes me to draw blanks. The more I think about my memories, the more my brain is wracked with pain, so I stop after a few moments. I calmly look down at my hand, which prompts the gentlemen to withdraw from my side and return to his stool. Closing my fingers into my palm, I form a fist. The simple act of forming a fist feels very natural as I test my muscles. Unwillingly, I utter a part of a word “so” as I clench my fist. Almost entranced, I adjust my body, poising to strike with this fist, my fist. “Ra” is issued as I complete a pose which once more comes very naturally to me. Suddenly I extend my fist in the general direction of the fire: “theen (thin)!” Still bewildered by my body mostly moving by its own, I recollect control of my person as the gentlemen chuckles softly. "Sorathin is it? Good to make your acquiantance. I was hoping you might join me by the fire here. Come sit down at this stool, I have a game we can play to pass the time. With a desire to free my mind, I hesitate only a moment before sitting at the stool while the gentlemen draws a set of dice and scales from a pack at his side. “This man may not have the answers I seek, but perhaps he has a bit of wisdom he may impart upon me” I think to myself before he begins the explanation of his game.
Most recently I have become a member of the Undead. The curious sensations that often reached me, such as needing to breathe or being hungry no longer pester me. I’m thankful to still be conscious, but is this really my destiny? The challenge of overcoming my limitations and breaking boundaries no longer seems interesting. Everything else looks very dull and plain; It’s as if my motivations to struggle have been stripped from me. Krellem does terrifying things to Undead as well… Will he consider destroying me? I look over at the black stone that rests at the far end of the room… this stone must have brought me back like Jay and Silent Bob. It’s a curious and fascinating item I’m sure we’ll come to understand more with time. Despite that, I feel as though I’ve been cursed. I wish those plated creatures would just die when they’re put down the first time. I guess this is my fate… I must test myself and find new challenges to best… I can only hope they’re as satisfying as they were before.