”Nay.” Algric said with finality. ”Our business here be done. Ye’ve done enough. I’ll remain here. Make a life for meself. I’m nay oath-bound, like him. Wouldn’t want me honor tarnished though, if I was.” He said, glancing at Kazador.
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Algric turned to Kazador, his tongue kept in check in large part by being in the presence of another Rune Warden. One who was, presumably, of unbesmirched honor. ”Thane. It is good that these are delivered, but did you not swear and oath to assist these umgi* in their quest? I can act in your stead from here. There will be no worry of any of our heritage being held in unworthy hands.” Umgi: * umgi is the Dwarven word for humans. It derives from the word umgak, which translates to ‘shoddily made’. Interestingly enough, the Dwarven word for elves is elgi, which derives from elgram, which means ‘weak’ or ‘thin.’ And the word for orc is urk, which also means ‘enemy.’ This shows the Dwarven mindset in general when it comes to other races
As they walked down the tunnels, Algric visibly relaxed. He took several deep breaths before saying ”Can’t imagine any of ya see me as a friend. And the feeling is mutual. But, thanks. You’ve done our people right. Bringing *all* of this back to us.” He put emphasis on all, and gave Kazador a disgruntled look. He wasn’t happy about the relics of Kazad Gravr being in non-dwarven hands, but had apparently decided to let it slide. He was happy enough just to be back in dwarven lands, and to have brought the crates.
Algric stood by, opened his mouth to say something, only to shake his head sadly.
Algric, for his part, had been sitting cross legged with his bow across his legs. Startled, he jumped to his feet, bow in hand. He looked around wildly, trying to gauge the danger present.
”MY duty is clear. I’m staying with the weapons.” Algric said, sounding upset with someone or something. It wasn’t exactly clear, though the way he looked at the orcs gave a clue. ”Do what ye want.”
(1) Yes different times
Algric stood silent, his eyes closed. He nodded his head, turned, and quickly walked out. At that moment he desired naught but to be alone. There was much to think about. Both of the past and the future.
Algric shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. ”So...I get to ask questions? Is that it. And me boy will answer? I...ask him. Ask him if he knew that I loved him. Ask him if he can forgive an old fool for waiting until he was dead to say so. Ask him if he is at the Forge. Ask him if it is as they say, and she is there too.” He was shaking slightly, unable to look the captain in the eye. ”That’s...that’s it. Can he hear us?”
Algric came out in better shape. He too was bruised, but luckily that was the extent of his physical injuries. He got to a safe distance and turned around, staring at the remnants of his home with tear filled eyes.
Algric ran with all of his might as his home fell around him. He had once thought that this would be the only place he would ever see. That he would never see the tyrannical light of day, due to the safety of his home. Now the very same home was a very real possibility of being what would kill him.
Algric sprinted down the passage, huffing and puffing as he dodged falling rocks.
And Algric...
Algric ran as fast as his hasted legs could carry him. A large piece of the ceiling fans dangerously close to crushing him, but he dodged out of the way at the last second.
Algric ran, with rocks raining down upon him the entire time. Cursing loudly, he kept looking around in uncomprehending horror.
Loved the story, Brolin. And congrats, you managed to get Algric to actually open up to someone. That wasn’t something I expected to happen.
Algric walked in silence, suffering the human’s story with stoicism. But despite himself he was taken in by it. When Brolin was finished, he glanced over. ”Never heard that story before. If ye weren’t a bone talker, I’d think ye a liar.” He fell silent for a moment. He tried to think of the moral of the story, but he couldn’t focus on that. It felt so...hollow. Here, walking through his home, with nothing but the ghosts of regret to fill them, everything felt hollow. Everything except bursts of emotion, lashing out at anything he could to momentarily forget. Slowly, and with his voice low, he said ”Eh...manling. Ye can talk to the dead, right? I...can ye pass a message to me? For my son. Tell him that I’m sorry. That the last thing I said to him shouldn’t have been to yell...that...just that I’m sorry.” He finished, weakly. Glancing around to make sure that the others didn’t overhear. The day that the attack happened, his son had made a warped bow. He had called it a disgrace. To the clan, to the very craft itself, and to the lad. He had said such hurtful things, hoping that it would spur the beardling into working harder. It was how his father had taught him, afterall. And he had turned out fine. It had seemed so important at the time. But now? Now it seemed so pointless. He had never even told the beardling that he loved him. It wasn’t his people’s way to show such weakness. That was shown by actions, not by words. So why then, did it hurt so much? He looked at Brolin with a small spark of hope in his eyes. ”And that he was loved. Can ye do that for me?”
Algric lives! Thanks Mel for the PM, glad it wasn’t needed. :) Even though this NPC is still very grumpy and will he leaving us soon.
Algric helped drag the box, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow come close to death. But why? He couldn’t put his finger on it. He put it down to exhaustion. Mentally he felt ready to collapse. Veering from wanting to cry and to scream in rage, at that moment he just felt numb. He felt weak. He felt powerless. Kazador, fool that he was, was going to retrieve the artifacts. Retrieve them...so he could give them to elves! And humans! And he hid behind an idiotic religious conviction in doing so. Which meant that he wasn’t just a fool, but a heretic as well. But what could he do? Leave them to fall into the hands of orcs...or elves? The idea would have made him laugh if it wasn’t so tragic. As Kazador went in, Algric prayed to Torag that the roof would collapse on him. That it would bury him with his folly. Better to let the artifacts be claimed by the mountain than to gift them to outsiders.
RIP Algric. I wasn’t sure where he would go from this. He certainly wouldn’t want the artifacts to go into non-dwarven hands. And taking crew from the ranks of the orc tribes, whom he blamed equally for his family’s murder, wouldn’t have gone over well. In a way, him dying here simplifies things. Even though it is sad that he is gone. Poor bugger. I’ll get a post up tomorrow during my commute.
Algric though...
But in all seriousness, it’s a cool idea. I second the half-orc angle, so there won’t be an issue with locals trying to kill them wherever we go. You could also “buy” them from the tribe. Something which they would likely be alright with in principle. That and getting rid of half-orcs in exchange for gold/Weapons is something they may well see as a win.
Thinking back to his own cowardice during the battle, of how he had given up to the inevitability of death and of the displeasure of his god...Algric quietly said ”I’ll stay with him too. I can help should he grow tired. And we can defend each other, so if something does happen all of ye won’t be trapped.”
Algric, who had been there looting the bodies, stared at Kazador in incredulity. ”An angel? Ah...and ye...” He looked at Kazador, his face slowly turning to that of disgust. ”Whatever.” He said, darkly. ”Let’s just go and get done what we came for. I’ll guard the rear as we go.”
As the two bantered, Algric began looting the bodies of the two dead mages.
Algric looked over, his mouth agape. The elf...wasn’t dead? He listened intently to the conversation. A Wayfinder and an Ioun Stone? The elf was full of tricks, it seemed. And secrets too. Still, it was good that he wasn’t dead. He hoped. Now that the vault was to be opened, it would be time to see if Kazador’s trust was correct or not. Algric still wasn’t convinced that the Turion and Mel wouldn’t stab them in the back once they had gotten inside. And after what he had seen, he didn’t know if they could be stopped. Certainly not by that fool, Kazador. That dwarf would be lucky if his throat wasn’t slit in his sleep. The elven people had fooled his with false friendship before. Why would this be any different? He looked away from the battered mage towards Kazador, who was still searching the next room. With a sunken heart he stood there, not wishing to be part of either group. Rather, he offered a short prayer of protection from his former thane’s naivety and elven trickery.
”Just shut yer mouth and shoot the elf!” Algric yelled back, the stress evident in his voice.
Algric, on his part, did even worse. He looked around, trying to determine what was going on. Paralyzed by indecision, all he could do was fumble with his arrows.
Algric cautiously inched forward, holding his bow and wildly looking around for the mage.
His heart was beating so fast that he thought it would jump out of his chest. His burst of rage had cooled into fear. This was not a foe they could beat! The mage had been bitten, stabbed, shot and grappled...and was still throwing flames around. Even the anti-magic-field failed to contain the elf! Algric had been sure that they had won. But then the elf *flew* out. And what could cause that but magic? Nothing natural flew! Proof that the elf could overcome their defenses. It was all just a matter of time until the elf killed them all. The best he could hope for was to die with a weapon in his hands. M So consumed was he by this fear, that the fletcher was as far from perceptive as dwarvenly possible.
Algric, for his part, helped Mel. She seemed like she knew what she was doing. At the very least, she and Turion had proven their loyalty beyond any doubt. It was just that elven magic was beyond his understanding in every way. Torag’s Hammer he was just a fletcher! Fighting was not his calling. This is what the Rune...he glanced over at Kazador, who was still trying helplessly to get in. For a moment he felt sympathy. His own brush with death at the hands of the elf’s magic was a glaring example of what had caused the downfall of their people. Too stubborn to admit fault of his own, he instead relented just enough to see his former theme as a failed artisan. A dwarf who had tried and failed at his craft. Someone underserving of honor or praise, but perhaps, also underserving of outright scorn. Perhaps. That last point still remained to be seen.
Move Algric where we you need to. Heck, he’ll go after you. Can stand right in the doorway so he can’t get back into the magic zone if you like. Throw him at Kazador and the dwarf will then attack the mage.
Algric broke free once more, and moved to the hallway opposite of Kazador. He couldn’t see the elf, so he couldn’t shoot or grab the foe. He had no spells to cast. He had no way of fighting back, and he could *feel* the disapproval of his god. It was, all in all, a bad situation.
Algric opened his eyes. Knowing that he was still going to die, he resolved to at least go down fighting. It was the only way to see his family again.
Stuck in the mage’s spell, Algric felt despair grip him. What could he do against such power? He realized that he was going to die here. Looking up at the ceiling, the cold reality filled his heart. The same villain that had led to the murder of his son was going to kill him. And no amount of rage was going to stop that. So he lay down, closed his eyes...and prayed. Prayed that Torag would have mercy on his soul. Prayed that when he died he would see his family again. And prayed that his god would bring about justice for all that transpired here.
Having broken free, Algric fired off another shot.
It turned out that shooting at an invisible enemy while being assaulted with magic was...difficult.
”Then get out of the damn way.” Algric yelled as he ran in, and looked around wildly for any sign of the mage.
With Orcish axe, Algric went into a frenzy. He hacked away at the elf, screaming obscenities. Every blow harmed him as well, but the pain just made him swing all the harder. He was a fletcher, and an archer only because it let him test his wares. Fighting like this was not his trade, it was not in his blood. But his anger was such that even an orc veteran would have been hard pressed to hold him back.
Just have Algric Grapple the little mage then, to drag him into the zone. Leaves Nelly space then, right?
And adding in a bit of context for why Algric is such a bastard. GM, hope you don’t mind me filling in his backstory. I feel that it makes him more than just a tool to tell Kaz’s tale.
Algric snarled at the powerful mage ”Bloody elf! My son is dead because of ye!” All of the anger, grief and despair caused his voice to break. He ran at the mage, hands outstretched. ”He was only a boy!” Seeking to get his hands around the mage’s throat, the dwarf leapt. He had vented his anger at the orcs for their direct role in the death of his family and loss of his home. And Kazador’s shame had caused the fletcher to snap, blaming the thane for his failure of duty. But-for Kazador’s weakness, Algric felt that his family would yet live. And now he had the elves responsible for the atrocity within sight. The rational part of him knew that the elven mage would have a trick up His sleeve. They always did. But he wasn’t thinking straight. At that moment he hated everyone and everything, and all he could do was lash out lest he begin blaming himself as well.
Meh. Either his rope or the one down there doesn’t matter. Also yeah...he’s a representation of the crushing burden of expectations put on Kazador. Based purely on clan, he was a thane. Given all of the deference and respect possible. All of it unearned. But then...was is it his fault that an orc rolled high on CMB? No. Was it the right move to retreat and come back to retrieve it? Yes. And is it his fault that two mages who both outlevel him can force him to make a will save that needs 20+? No. But society doesn’t care. If a Smith makes a shoddy sword, then he is judged on that. If a mason makes an unsafe tunnel, he is judged on that. It’s their craft. Kazador is just unlucky enough that excuses aren’t accepted. And just as society as a whole would judge him poorly, so does Algric. It sucks. But part of Kazador being around all of these non-dwarves is learning to learn and accept his failures. Hopefully that won’t include losing all of his people’s heirlooms. IC he’d rather die heroically than see that.
Algric came towards the corner, ready to shoot...only to find Kazador in a pit, bloody, battered, and terrified. The dwarf he once called thane was in the process of swatting at the air, babbling about ghosts. Algric looked down in disgust. ”Bloody pathetic. What a story I’ll have to tell.” He muttered as he pulled out his rope and threw it down. ”Come on up.” He said louder. ”You’re embarrassing all of us at this point.”
While the others prepared to lasso the powerful mage, Algric readied his bow. He planned to shoot the other mage from the safety of the null-magic zone.
”Bloody daft...” Algric muttered, while preparing his arrows.
”Would’ya rather it be a test of courage? Or honor, perhaps?” Algric responded. With a hard edge to his voice he added ”Perhaps a test on how fast someone can run?”
Algric stumbles in, coughing and wheezing. This stopped though, as the majesty of the place settled in. The irate dwarf’s anger fled as he stared in wonder.
Algric had been silent throughout this, glaring daggers at everyone and everything. This silence was broken by a fit of coughing as he inhaled the fog.
”A...a wall? I don’t understand.” Algric did not sound amused. |