((Hello readers who have looked through my Tunomungeg thread (or not), here is an Adventure Mode story that I hope details the background of the world that Tunomungeg takes place in, up to the point where the LP takes off. I do hope you enjoy this as it develops. I figured pictures wouldn't go well with this, but feel free to tell me if I'm wrong. If you haven't yet, check out Tunomungeg here;
http://www.bay12forums.com/smf/index.php?topic=82270.0 It's much more on the humor side. I also decided to place this in a separate topic, as it isn't exactly the same LP as Tunomungeg.))
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My Father’s Son
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On the road at last.Rovok had finally set off on his own. In truth, he should have done so decades ago, but he had thoroughly resigned himself to run his mother’s farm. Her surface farm. For like most dwarves the two of them lived on the surface. After the collapse of the once great Dwarven kingdom of Torgal, over half a century ago.
As such, as he looked up at the vast blue sky above him, he felt comforted, not lost as his forfathers had. It was a familiar sight, still, the sun blazing above was far too bright and before long he set his eyes once more on the road in front of him. They called it the Road of Honesty, for whatever reason. His destination was the nearby Human village of Llent, where he was told help was being sought.
While walking, he took a few swings with his sword, to test the weight of it. It was hardly Dwarf craftsmanship, purches off of a wandering Human vendor, but it was a good weapon. It was also made of steel, which was rare enough in this part of the world. With the collapse of Torgal, only the kingdom of Dorrath remained, and it had all but shut off itself from the world. As such, it was mostly human mines sending metals out into the world, and there was an increasingly high demand for iron and steel for weapons.
As far as weapons go, one might say a sword had no place in a Dwarve’s hands. A proper dwarf would carry an axe, or a Hammer. However, Rovok’s father was a Swordsdwarf, in the King’s Guard no less. The stories his mother told him in his youth had always captivated Rovok, so when he was finally captured by wanderlust, he chose it as his weapon to honor his late father.
He didn’t exactly know why he was setting out into the world. He didn’t have a goal or purpose, for now he was just seeing where the wind would take him. He hoped that it would take him to Llent, for start. If he wasn’t set upon by Goblins and bandits before he got there.
It was still nearly half a day’s walk to the village though, so he occupied his mind with stories of his dead kingdom that his mother often spoke so fondly about.
*****
Less than a century ago the Dwarves had been a very prosperous people. Their mountainhomes were filled with riches that they traded to the other races. Strong drinks and Hearty songs filled every hall in Western Emalina, where Dwarfkind made its home. Most of the Dwarves considered themselves a part of two kingdoms, the kingdom of Torgal, or the kingdom of Dorrath. Each making their home in great mountain chains that were their namesake.
Rovok’s ancestors hailed from Torgal, the greater of the two kingdoms. They all had been Guardsdwarves, however none had risen quite so high as Rovok’s father. However, the fate of Dwarfkind’s greatest kingdom was a grim one.
To put it simply, they dug too deep. Deeper than anyone had dug before, and what they found was Hell, quite literally. Demons rose out of the eath by the thousands, and overwhelmed any defense that the Dwarves tried to put up. For a time, their advance was even halted, long enough for a plea of help to reach the kingdom of Dorrath. Their response was to shut themselves into their mountain, in an attempt to lock up the Evil that Torgal had awakened.
Eventually, the Dwarves of Torgal could hold back the Demons no longer. The King himself died in battle, defending his people. Seeing no other choice, the remaining soldiers evacuated at many citizens as they could, and then collapsed the entire mountain, burying both themselves and the demons.
Dorrath then opened itself to give shelter to the survivors, but the Dwarves of Torgal carried a deep resentment towards their sister-kingdom, and spit on the offer. Instead, most of them scattered and lived their lives on the surface, many of them now afraid to dig into the mountains.
Rovok’s mother was one such Dwarf, choosing instead to run a farm on the surface, and make a living there in the absence of her husband.
*****
Finally, as the sun began to set in the Western sky, Rovok came upon Llent. Relief washed over the Dwarf, for staying outside after dark was incredibly dangerous. Tales of whole parties being butchered in the night by a mysterious creature nicknamed the Bogeyman were told across the entire continent. Some called it only a myth, but even the non-believers slept indoors and in good company when possible.
As he came in sight of the village’s gate, several men came out to greet him. All had the look of laymen and peasants, more importantly all of them had a look of friendliness about them, and waved when he came within earshot. Rovok returned the wave, and called out;
“Hail, good people. I am a traveler, weary from the road and in need of a place to lay my head for the night. Are your village gates open to one such as myself?”
One man stepped forward; he looked to be a smith by the hammer he carried and apron he wore, and answered;
“Of course, make your way inside and have a drink! It’d be a cruel people indeed who turned away a man to fend for himself in the night! Come!”
With that he beckoned Rovok to pass through the gates and the group dispersed, probably to finish up work for the day. Rovok quickly made his way past the village walls, and made his way towards the tavern, which conveniently had “Inn” painted on the side in large letters. Sometimes it was the simple names that worked best.
The establishment was rather plain, at least as far as Rovok could tell, who had never stayed at an Inn during his entire sixty years of life. A few of the villagers who had finished work for the day were already seated at tables and drinking their money away. A few gave him odd looks, an armed Dwarf traveling alone certainly waste a common sight, but not so rare that people stared at him for more than a moment. The Innkeeper was an old, ugly woman with most of her teeth missing, as well as half of an ear. Still, it was a bit of a moot point calling her as such, most Human women were ugly to Rovok. They had so little hair!
Not knowing what drinks they served, the Dwarf simply asked for their strongest brew. Immediately after placing his order, Rovok caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and found a group of men beckoning him over to their table. Curious, Rovok joined them and took a seat there was silence for a few moments as his drink was served, and then one of the men spoke up. Rovok remembered seeing him at the gates.
“So, what’s an Armed dwarf doing stopping at our village?”
It was almost a challenge, clearly this man did not trust him, and by the look of his companions, the rest of the village probably carried similar sentiments.
“Well, truth be told, I fancy myself an adventurer. I heard you all were having trouble here, and I wanted to see if I could help out at all.
Rovok of course left out that he was an entirely
green adventurer, but all the same the mood at the table switched instantly. Almost at once all of the men relaxed, before sharing a look. It was then that the man spoke again.
“I’m sorry about that, we
have been having... trouble lately. A bandit has been making a lot of trouble for us, and people get more uneasy as the day goes on. If you can fix that problem for us, you can drink this whole damn tavern dry and we’d be the ones who owed
you the money for it.”
The men shared a laugh, before suddenly growing quiet and looking towards the ugly innkeeper.
“On second thought, I don’t think that would be such a good idea. Ol’ Glenda would hang us from the ceiling by our toenails and beat us with clubs if she heard us telling you that. Still, we’d be thankful, and try to scrounge together some sort of payment for you. What do you say, are you up for it?”
The Dwarf sat in silence for a moment. Was he up for it? Sure, he could swing a sword, but he had never actually fought someone, much less to the death. After a minute he decided if he was adventuring he’d have to stat killing eventually.
Just hit them with the sharp end, how hard could it be?
They all shook hands on it, and then called for another round of drinks.
*****
Half a day’s walk my ass
!Rovok had set out for the bandit camp at dawn, and it was almost sunset by the time he reached it. The camp was made at the edge of a large prairie, where it transitioned into a large forest. There were enough trees around so that wood wouldn’t be an issue for anyone who needed it, but not quite enough to support wildlife.
Initially, Rovok approached from the north, but he figured the bandit that had been causing so much trouble would be on the lookout for people hunting him, so eventually Rovok turned West and came upon the came from that direction, where there were trees to provide him cover. When he could finally make out his prey, Rovok swore.
He had been told to hunt down a bandit. What had been conveniently left out was that said bandit had an entire group under their command. At least four, that Rovok could see. As his heart began to beat faster, he also was increasingly aware of how little protection he had. One knife that he used for throwing, a bronze shield, and his steel sword. Coupled with no real combat experience, Rovok seriously began to second guess what he was about to do. There was certainly no way he could take them all on.
Maybe if he separated them though..
Without sparing another moment, lest his thoughts turn him into a coward, Rovok set to work on his distraction. Which was quite simple really, there hadn’t been any rain in quite awhile so Rovok set the tree above him ablaze and quickly retreated and hid behind another. It only took a few moments for the shouting to begin.
However, luck was not on his side. Yes, the group had separated, however three of them were coming his way. Hardly better odds. Still, they
were better odds. So, when they were within distance, Rovok gripped his knife, let the fear for his life flow out of him, and stepped out from behind his tree.
He aimed for the closest one, a man carrying a large axe, and flung his knife. While he had been hoping to score a hit between the eyes and end the confrontation there, his aim wasn’t quite so good. Still, the main was too surprised to move out of the way, and the knife sinking deeply into his thigh, le let out a scream of pain before ripping out the knife, and watching blood come pouring out of the room.
Perhaps because they didn’t have knives sticking out of their legs, the other two recovered quickly from their shock and charged forward. The man in the lead carried a halberd, with a woman behind him wielding a whip. They closed fast.
Rovok drew his sword, and let both instinct, and the blood of generations of warrior dwarves running through his veins guide him. The outlaws were about to learn why Rovok’s namesake, the Stonesword clan, were named such.
As soon as the man with the halberd got within range Rovok struck. He stabbed low, running his sword through the thigh of the man before ripping it out and jumping away from the slash of the woman’s whip. The man howled in pain and collapsed, clutching his leg while the woman advanced, continually cutting the air with his whip. Rovok could only back away and look for an opening. However, as whip strikes began connecting and tearing apart clothing and skin alike, he knew he had to move. So he struck at the cause of his frustration.
His steel cut through the air, and the woman’s hand, which fell to the ground spurting blood. The woman let out a cream and went to clutch the wound, but hand enough discipline to resist the urge to clutch at her stump and went to pick up her weapon off the ground with her remaining hand.
Rovok took advantage of her lack of concentration and charged, knocking her over. As she lay on the ground, fight pain and trying to regain her balanced, Rovok planted his sword in her gut and ripped it out. She screamed, and a moment later fell limp.
The fourth man from the camp had begun making his way over, after hearing the sound of battle, but wasn’t yet within range. Instead Rovok made his way back over to the men he had wounded earlier, and saw that both of them had bled to death from their wounds. By now, other trees had caught fire, and the whole area had began filling with smoke. Rovok quickly gathered up their weapons in case he should need them later, and it was then that the fourth man arrived.
He was older than the other three, by ten years perhaps. He had a rough beard that was tucked into his thick leather jacket he wore as armor, and his head was shaved. Also, unlike the other three he was weary.
Rovok knew this was going to be a tougher fight. Still, he gripped his sword tightly and charged. However, before he was in range the spearman struck, and Rovok was stabbed in the gut. However the spear was made of silver, which was notorious for not holding a sharp edge, and the blow was only a glancing one. Rovok put it out of his mind and struck.
The two traded blow after blow. While Rovok’s weapon had an advantage at this range, the man had much for experience in combat. Still, Rovok managed to land one cut, then two. Soon the scratches were adding up, and the man was covered in blood. Finally, he charged and knocked the spearman over. One swift stab to the man’s neck ended the confrontation.
Rovok took a moment to catch his breath, and surveyed the scene. The fire he started seemed to be contained to a small area, and it didn’t look like it’d blaze out of control. The Dwarf was covered in blood that wasn’t his own, and began to feel sick as he realized what had just happened.
He had just killed his first men. Four, in such a short timespan. He went around once more to survey the bodies, and cursed when he realized that none of them matched the description of the man he was sent to hunt down. Still, he cut off their heads as proof of the deed and looted the campsite. He found a dagger identical to his own and stuck it in his belt, and a few coins minted in the nearby town of Everil. Other than that, it was mostly junk, probably loot that the bandits couldn’t sell. Sighing in frustration, Rovok looked at the setting sun cursed once more. There was no way he’d make it back to the village by the time night fell. He would have to camp here, alone.
He was going to be seriously pissed off if he awoke to being dismembered by the Bogeyman.
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Topic: Rovok (A companion to Tunomungeg) (Read 932 times)