So I was bored, and cleaning out my external drives. Came across some old writing I did. This one was based on a character I played in D&D back when Pawl the Dorf was the DM back in Feb 2005:
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Born on the day that would bring Riva Startrail into the world, Thorwalian was only several hours older than Riva. Born under the sun, Thorwalian was thought to have a bright future. Riva, who was born under the night, as several stars streaked through the sky, was prophesized to become a hero for the tribe. Though by all means, Riva Startrail held higher stature within the tribe, Alihanna Howlsinger, even as a child, had been drawn to Thorwalian. They had spent their youth hunting together. Despite Thorwalian’s jealousy over the “warrior born to the fallen stars”, Alihanna was still attracted to Thorwalian. In her eyes, he did not have to be the hero that Riva was already destined to be.
Plagued by endless nightmares, Thorwalian was once believed to be possessed by demons. Brought forth to the tribe shamans, not even they were ever capable of determining what was wrong with the young warrior. Stemming from the same tribe from Riva Startrail, Thorwalian was considered every bit the opposite of Riva, and was unwillingly cast as a rival. When he could take no more of the senseless comparisons, forged in the beginning by his own mind, he left his tribe to become what they called Snow Lords. (See Snow Lord Kit, © 1998 Adam-X Studios, Inc. heh). Snow Lords are barbarians who leave the tribes, to become one with the land. The life of a Snow Lord is not usually a long one; but it is something they are willing to sacrifice for enlightenment. The nightmares he so frequently lived with slowly subsided.
Thorwalian often ran with a particular wolf pack (canine being his Animal Kinsman, again see the Snow Lord Kit). He ran with them, hunted with them, and helped protect them.
One night, the dreaded nightmares would return. In a deep slumber, thunder clapped within his dreams. It felt as if stampedes of mammoth were trampling over his chest. When he opened his eyes, there was only darkness. Then he saw it. Saaren, the White Wolf. He believed himself dead at that moment. Then the White Wolf was speaking to him… it’s mouth moving, but no words were coming out.
The White Wolf faded away slowly, like mist in the morning sun; leaving behind only it’s pale glowing eyes. Thorwalian watched as the eyes slowly filled with a crimson liquid, and trickled down from the skies, like a rain of blood. As the blood rain fell, it began to take shape in the heavens.
Slowly, but surly – the shape took form of what appeared to be a man wearing blood red robes, his arms stretched out to the heavens, crushing the stars above. At that moment, Thorwalian awoke from the dreaded nightmare…
He has since left his arctic homelands, and returned to the tribe. When he learned that Riva had left to go on some quest to destroy a powerful, evil magic… he knew that his dream was something more. A local dreamwalker – a shaman specialized in traveling within dreamstates told Thorwalian that it was undoubtedly the same ill omen that Riva had foreseen. Alihanna Howlsinger had hoped that Thorwalian would remain, but fate it seemed, had other plans. Vowing to return one day, for one night he swore his love to her, and that he would take his hand in The Sacred Ceremony of Union.
Thorwalian, with few scant possessions, left the tribe again… traveling to the out world to discover what power, so evil and vile, could haunt him even in his sleep.
During his travels, he met a swashbuckler aboard a ship. The two hated each other from the moment they laid eyes on each other. They were complete opposites in every aspect. The swashbuckler was quick with his weapons, as he was with his witty comments, where the barbarian was slow with his weapons, and slower with his wit. The swashbuckler was civilized, the barbarian would rather drink a bowl a soup by cupping his hands together. Whether it was to spite Thorwalian, or sheer coincidence – the swashbuckler always seemed to be going in the same direction the barbarian was. They now share a very much love/hate relationship. The swashbuckler tries to teach the barbarian how to act within city walls while the barbarian tries to teach the swashbuckler the importance of a large axe… They tolerate remarks made towards one another, but should any one say anything about either of them; they’re likely to find themselves fending off a quick moving swashbuckler and a powerful barbarian…
The trouble and danger Morgan and Thorwalian have faced together seem to be an endless tale of glory and battle – usually spoken through the bottom of an mug of ale, but at least some of those battles must be true, for Thorwalian seems to have the scars to prove it.
Fate would come and guide their hands as horrid nightmares plagued Thorwalian’s sleep once again. Images of the White Wolf came to him, whispering words of civil war, death, and something about: “In order to be free of the stone, the king and the rock must be free again.” He had not understood what the words meant then, but he did have a clear image in his mind of a large port city. Morgan had suggested Daggerport, which was not too far from where they were.
Drawn by unseen hands, Thorwalian entered a tavern and met his new companions there. It was there he had met the mage, Aislyn, the blade singing swordsman, Ryuujn), Zara, the priestess of Eth who was apparently a god contained within a gem in her hand; her paladin and loyal protector, Jerrod, as well as the whimsical Maddi, the sneaky gnome.
Clearly a lose set of adventurers, Morgan had managed to convince Thorwalian about having second thoughts. Morgan had said such things, “Well maybe this White Wolf of yours was just a bit confused. I mean, come on! The woman has a gem stuck in her hand, and she has been trying for the last two hours to convince me that it is her god stuck in that gem!”
But it didn’t take long; only one night’s rest – for the next day they were on their way… and it was deep in dark caverns that reeked of death, that they found the body of Riva Startrail – Thorwalian’s rival, throughout his childhood – slain. Cutting his rival free, he took him and buried him – dancing the warrior’s dance he so richly deserved. He had begun to realize then, that perhaps it was in his own mind, his own insecurities, that he had made Riva out to be his rival. He saw, and heard now, how Riva died a most honorable death – he did what he was born and destined to do. He did everything he could to remove all evil magical weapons. It was how he lived, it was how he died.
This was his first step in learning about honor.
Throughout several more adventures to follow; Thorwalian and Morgan proved their worth – and sometimes worthlessness – to the party. Together, they proved to be quite an efficient fighting machine – so skilled in fighting together, that they seemed to occupy one space – their movements amazing – for Morgan struck with a quickness, while Thorwalian struck with strength… but it was some of those times, when they would kill one another’s “designated” opponents, when suddenly the two would cease doing battle, just to fight with one another!
Their adventures brought them against crocodiles, manticores, and even hydra. Thorwalian, used to crude weapon making, using the teeth and spikes of these creatures to create a gloved fist with spikes, that proved to be quite deadly when used. It was during this time, they had all helped a dwarven kingdom – when they had battled a manticore. It was here, he watched dwarves rally together to fend off this horrid creature, who sought their death, only so it could make a lair of their home. Here is where he witnessed not only the courageous behavior of the dwarves, but in his other companions as well. They fought not just for the sake of fighting; but because they wanted to defend their home; and they fought for a cause. Something Thorwalian – like most barbarians of his land had not done.
During a battle with a bugbear chief, Thorwalian acquired a beautiful long sword. Marked with special ruins that read: “The Giant Slayer.” He used the studied the long sword, and began to let himself become one with the blade; allowing for it’s magical abilities to flow through him.
It would save his life.
When a diabolical plan by a triad of hags finally unveiled, and the truth behind the kingdom unfolded; not only did Thorwalian and the others find themselves battling dangerously against three hags, but a hill giant as well. When the hill giant stormed in an went after Zara, Thorwalian stepped up and waved the sword, shouting out, “This blade has drank the blood of you and your kind for generations! Tonight, I will feed my blade upon your own fresh blood, as I carve you – the way this blade was destined to be used!” He was bluffing, and hoping the giant would recognize the blade for what it was. The hill giant did – it shined in his eyes, like a beacon of hatred. Thorwalian managed to get several exceptional blows, but the utter strength of the hill giant, and his height proved more of a match than Thorwalian could withstand – he was beat down, broken and nearly shattered by the continuos blows of the hill giant – but he had done what he wanted to. Divert the giant’s attention and crushing blows away from the priestess of Zara – so she could figure out how to smash the magical sphere, created by the triad of hags.
It had been a battle that very nearly cost his own life; as well as the lives of the others. But when Zara managed to shatter the sphere, the king was freed from his stone curse, and he and his mount – a giant roc – came to the aid of the adventurers, just in time. With the sphere shattered, the spell was broken. Ogres were seen for what they really were, and a civil war of sorts exploded on the streets of the kingdom. Farmers and merchants fought against impossible odds; but rallied by their revived king, they had something the ogres lacked; hope and faith.
With the king freed, the hags destroyed, and the ogres driven away – the reconstruction of the kingdom began; but not without first rewarding those who had survived the battle. It was here that Thorwalian was given his magical girdle. There was something strange inside of him – about how good it felt, to actually sacrifice himself to get the giant away from Zara – to fight, not only because he believed in the cause, but because he cared truly, and deeply for his friends.
He made a strange request of the king, and much to his surprise found his request answered with a “yes.” Given a parchment to be returned to Vargus – Thorwalian had the papers, under the king’s words, as a praise for skill and power – to enter the Knighthood that was so strong in the Vargus kingdom…
But as it stands, it has been a series of battles marked with blood; and the loss of lives. The valiant Ryuujn lost his life during one of the most honorable of battles. His closest friend, Aislyn vowed to take his body back to his homeland, and to “take care of him” there. During the battle against the hill giant, to free to the king – Jerrod had also lost his life. Through means still somewhat unclear, the Priests of Eth brought him back and gave him a second lease on life.
With the king free from his stone curse; it seems each of them has now a mission of their own. Morgan has temporarily left them to go back to his own home lands to train and master his weapon use (and what other things he was going to do there, no one knew – and no one really wanted to know, for surly it was nothing short of trouble). Zara and Jerrod watched over the construction of the Temple of Eth in the kingdom that now adopted Eth as its religion of choice. Maddi had been given a small map, from what seems to be a ghost, that apparently pin points the location of the gem she sought; the gem that would save her family.
They attended a banquet – well, everyone but Thorwalian and Morgan (they were too busy being drunk off dwarven ale) – with the king, in their honor. The following day there had been a royal burial for their fallen comrade – Mirra. The king spared no expenses on the burial, as the also brought forth Mirra’s mate to be buried with her, who had been murdered by ogres and placed in a common grave previously…
Jerrod, who was a paladin of Eth, could feel within him; the time was now to call for his faithful steed that would serve him unto death. The answer came from the heavens. The thundering sound of a roc’s cry filled the morning sky. Jerrord, amazed by this, and yet delighted, told the others of the news. Now all that was left to do was travel up the mountain to claim his new steed.
That alone, would prove to be a deadly encounter all in itself. As they traveled up the mountainside, they encountered Galeb Duhr; a species of rock creatures that are completely intelligent, and powerful all in their own right. They requested the help of the party, and willingly they agreed. Traveling into a cavern that the Galeb Duhr had led them to, they would encounter shriekers, troglodytes, and a fearsome behir. In a valiant battle, Morgan displayed his skill as a swordsman of vast power. He dodged from side to side, his blade finding its mark in the behir every time… until the behir finally managed to clasp onto Morgan. Constricting around Morgan, its claws began to tear Morgan apart. Limbs snapped, and blood flowed freely. Thorwalian, seeing that his friend was in trouble drew his giant slayer and struck deep and hard – delivering the final deathblow to the foul creature. Lifeless, the creature dropped Morgan to the ground. Thorwalian rushed to his side, and screamed for Jerrod and Zara to come and bandage his companion. Once Morgan’s vital signs were stabilized, Thorwalian volunteered to carry his companion. They traveled down a long hallway that ended in a large, circular room. Crafted of rough marble, even its unshaped state, there was a certain beauty to the room, and numerous rivers all seemed to cascade into this very room.
Kanmah was the first to make a move towards the stairs, to head for the river, when a voice whispered, what seemed to be in everyone’s mind…
What are you doing here?
In confusion, Kanmah looked around. “We seek a bit of the magical rivers.”
Who sent you?
“The Galeb Duhr,” Jerrod spoke up.
Where is the behir? The troglodytes? How did you come to pass? Have you killed them all?
Thorwalian stepped forward, his hand clenched tightly. “We have killed them all. They sought to stop us from our mission.”
For what reason do you seek water from the rivers?
“The help the Galeb Duhr,” Zara answered.
Suddenly around the stairwell, a beholder appeared. Everyone quickly backed up, and hands went to their weapons. But no one drew their weapons. The beholder, if it so wished, could have killed them all from the beginning. Each eyestalk seemed to watch everyone in the room.
“Do you know what the rivers are?” the beholder hissed.
“We know not,” Jerrod offered. “We only know that the Galeb Duhr have fallen ill to a fungus that is killing their kind. They are good creatures, and we sought only to help them.”
“Do you judge creatures by what they are?” the beholder asked. Its main eye focused on Jerrod. It had been a trick question. Beholders, more commonly known as Eye Tyrants, were always known to be Lawful Evil.
“No,” Zara answered. “But they did us no harm. We saw their sick.”
The eyestalks turned to Zara, who immediately stepped back. Thorwalian stepped in front of her, placing himself between the Beholder and Zara.
There was a long moment of silence… as eyestalk seemed to observe each and everyone of them… peering past their flesh, and perhaps into their souls, to see the truth of their intentions…
Slowly it drifted to Thorwalian. His hand nervously clenched the giant slayer sword, which he still kept sheathed. “So tell me, barbarian, a story…”
Slightly taken aback, Thorwalian observed the Beholder to see if it had asked such a question in jest. If it had, it made no motion that it was a jest. Not that Beholders were ever one to have a sense of humor, but was it trying to get him off guard?
Thorwalian spoke of his haunted dreams, of a mage in red robes, with furry hands. In his dreams, it crushed the world, blew out the stars, and all with the simplest of ease. The Beholder seemed very interested. Thorwalian also spoke of how the dream showed an image of Zara. The beholder moved closer to Zara and asked it the same question. She continued the tale, almost from where Thorwalian had left off, about how her god, Eth, was within a gem stuck in her palm; and how it granted her visions, which sounded much like the dreams that haunted Thorwalian, of the strange red robed mage. She explained that Jerrod was a paladin of Eth. The Beholder took interest in that, and moved closer to Jerrod, who’s every instinct was to strike and kill the foul creature. But he knew better. Asking the same question of Jerrod, Jerrod began to explain how he came into the service of Eth, and explained how the god was in the gem as well. Jerrod also mentioned that Maddi was seeking a gem of magical nature, to revive her family, which were all brutally slain. Moving to Maddi, the beholder asked the same question of her. She spoke of the gem that would bring her family back to life once she found it. She mentioned something of being exiled, because of her quest; much like the mysterious Kanmah was exiled. Moving to the dark elf, the Beholder asked of it, how it was exiled. Kanmah, at first did not speak. But the presence of the Beholder soon had him spilling out the tale that led to his exile from the elfin nation.
The beholder then drifted to the center of the room and thought before speaking. “I am the Guardian of the Rivers. Through these rivers, you can journey to other worlds. I am here to collect knowledge. To learn what is going on in each world; guard it from invasions from other worlds. My task is never ending. I have taken in what you have all told me.” He seemed to pause. “Take only a bit of water and begone. You have given me knowledge about this world. I, in turn, offer you what you seek. Come again, and it shall not be on peaceful terms.”
The beholder drifted back upwards, towards where the rivers ran.
He seemed to be gone, but they knew they were being watched. Filling up one flask, the most they could, they quickly hastened out of the room…
Returning to the Galeb Duhr, they offered the magical water to them. They watched in amazement as the water, once spilled upon those infected, began to shine like a bright diamond, cut to perfection. The entire room seemed to light up, as if the sun were rising in the cavern itself.
When it was over, the Galeb Duhr stood there… in perfect health. They thanked them, and went on towards the roc nest. Reaching the top, they finally got Jerrod’s steed, a baby rock, whose wing span was long then all of them side by side. The beautiful creature recognized it’s new friend and master and screeched loudly. Taking to the sky the beautiful bird of immense size, headed back toward the castle, where it would be trained…
Taking most of the day to travel back down the mountain, they spoke with the king who informed them that he would train the roc himself to be a perfect steed for the paladin of Eth. However, the training would take about a year…
Moving on, Thorwalian and the others made their way through a forest, when they discovered a hunting party of elves, all crucified to a tree. Horrified, they quickly removed the elves, already dead, from their horrid position. Laying them down side by side, they offered the proper burial for them…
Something snapped in Thorwalian.
All his life he had known elves to be honorable folk. Who could do such an evil act? And why? Thorwalian clenched his giant slayer sword… it didn’t matter anymore. He only knew one thing.
Revenge.
Revenge for what was done to Riva Startrail.
Revenge for what was done to the Elves.
Revenge for every wrong done.
They moved on, seeking tracks for the murderers of the elves.
It was during one night, when Thorwalian approached Jerrod. He looked around. “Greetings my friend.”
Jerrod looked somewhat surprised. Thorwalian had hardly been one to talk to the paladin, let alone call him friend. He watched, questioningly, as Thorwalian removed the girdle around his waist; the one enchanted with hill giant strength. “Take this,” Thorwalian offered, holding out the girdle.
“Why?” Jerrod asked. “I don’t understand.”
Thorwalian smiled, and looked away, staring off into the heavens. “I see how you fight for Eth. I see how you fight for a cause. I have a natural strength, perhaps blessed by the gods. I do not need this. And I want you to have it. To help you. To help you in your cause in fighting for your belief.” Without saying another word, Thorwalian began walking away. “A barbarian should not need magical enhancements for his strength. If he is weak, he should shape his body to be the ultimate fighting machine.” He chuckled in the darkness. “Eth be with you,” he whispered under the night’s wind, so faintly that no one heard. Hardly even himself.
He leaned against a tree and smiled to himself. He wondered if his dream from last night meant anything. He had visions of large creatures, composed of flesh and muscle, coming from the darkness and attacking Jerrod as the others slept… and he dreamed of Jerrod’s death… but the dream had changed… when Jerrod laid there dead, and a belt appeared… at first open, then when it closed around itself… it shined brightly above the body of Jerrod… and suddenly he stood strong again, the belt around his waist… Had it been a dream to give Jerrod the belt to save his life? He thought of it a little longer before he drifted to sleep…
That’s when he was suddenly kicked by Jerrod, hissing about sounds coming toward them. Morgan and Thorwalian were quickly on their feet, their weapons drawn as ogres suddenly burst through the brush!
Thorwalian’s eyes focused on the largest ogre. Not because it was the strongest opponent, by the symbols on the ogre’s mace. There had been etchings. Four fresh etchings, which were no doubt, the marks made in there for four recent kills. The elves! These had been the ones who murdered the elves!
Thorwalian rushed into battle. The ogre swung his mace, the arc was wide. Ducking below the wide swing, Thorwalian found himself at the ogre’s side. This was not going to be a quick kill. He wanted this ogre to suffer as the elves did. It was a thought that consumed him so much, that he forgot all else around him.
In the heat of battle, with his first strike he focused. Shoving his giant slayer through the back of the ogre’s kneecap, then shoving the blade back and forth, he popped the ogre’s kneecap clear off. Muscle, blood, and flesh exploded from the ogre’s knee. The ogre, now crippled, screamed and dropped his mace. His howls of pain echoed through the forest. Thorwalian grabbed the ogre and pulled him close. “Feel revenge. Know its pain. That’s for Riva. That’s for the elves. That is for Revenge.” Shoving the ogre away from him in disgust, he looked toward his companion. “Morgan! Now!”
They say that Thorwalian and Morgan are a single fighting machine. That sometimes they share their thoughts, without so much as speaking a word between them. And this time was no different. Morgan drew his rapier and smiled back and Thorwalian. “My pleasure, my friend.” With a quick gesture, Morgan made a circle. The ogre screamed as his right eye was cut out from its very socket, without even touching the ogre’s horrid brain. Maimed and blind the ogre howled.
“Shut him up,” Thorwalian hissed, as he moved back.
“My pleasure, and now the Coupe De Grace!” Without even looking, Morgan shoved the rapier right through the ogre’s skull, and jingled his blade about, destroying the ogre’s other eye, brain, and everything connected above the ogre’s shoulders.
The ogre leader collapsed dead.
The other ogres looked around, and questioned whether or not to fight on, seeing their leader slain so brutally. Before they even thought of it, Thorwalian struck down the ogre that had been attacking Jerrod, delivering a deathblow. Another moved to take its place, and between Jerrod and Thorwalian it stood no chance. Another, still questioning whether or not it should attack, finally rushed the mage. However, tripping over one of its dead companions, it fumbled its weapon, landing in front of the mage, who was also a fighter. It never saw the deathblow that came through the back of its neck, while it laid there, sprawled out on the floor.
Victory had been theirs…
But that would be short lived…
As companions and friends they traveled the land together, in hopes of making a difference in the world. Friends had come and gone, replaced and joined by others, sometimes only briefly.
Jerrod, the honorable paladin, and follower of Eth departed to keep watch over a local church that had been constructed in the name of Eth. Jerrod’s company was replaced by a strange wizardess named Adel.
Morgan had returned to his home land to take care of some unfinished business that he was reminded of by encountering a unsavory group of others. Of them all, this was the one that Thorwalian regrettably missed the most. Though he would never admit it to himself, or anyone else.
Recently, they took up looking for a woman’s child. Having tracked the little girl, who was gifted with the ability to glimpse the future to a rather unusual keep – there inside, they encountered numerous undead.
Most fearful was a vampire, who also had an undead child of his own. After an epic battle where a Keth Monk by the name of Durnin and a fighter companion named Maxx, they had taken down the vampire and burned its coffin – the little girl was recovered by Apollonia.
With the vampire’s destruction, the castle reverted back to it’s true nature – a beaten down castle. The silk was replaced by tattered cloth, the marble floor, now broken stone. The garden, now dead grass overgrown by weeds. In one of the “feeding cells” they freed the only man that was alive, a mage.
Having recovered the girl, they returned to the village, where a mother missed her daughter dearly.
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