About Raynard DeschainDEFENSE
OFFENSE
STATISTICS
The Gunslinger, A Brief Background. Gilead was as beautiful a kingdom as any, one which Raynard Deschain was happy to call home. Born to wealthy parents, Raynard never wanted for anything, but he always had a desire for adventure, one that could not be satisfied by simply exploring around the outskirts of his home or the depths of the forest which surrounded it; he needed more... The Gunslingers were a dead breed, yet Raynard had always been infatuated with the idea of them; The great peacekeepers and diplomats of his time, flickers of light in a world where darkness was beginning to creep over all. Raynard had heard rumors of a man - one who was familiar (if not proficient) with the ways of the Gunslinger - who lived in a small cabin on the edge of the forest, just outside of Gilead, he decided that he wanted to see if this rumor had any base in truth, and set off towards the outskirts of town.
The cabin itself was small, it lay in a small clearing in the forest just inside the outer perimeter (Raynard had wondered why he never noticed it before. After all, it was not the first time he had ventured into these woods). A small stream snaked it's way along the outer edge of the property, a fallen tree lay across it as a makeshift bridge - probably there for some time, judging by the overgrowth and thick layers of moss covering the trees surface, the same moss was also covering large sections of the walls and roof of the cabin - Raynard made his way across, and approached the steps. He hesitated for a moment as he reached for the wooden knocker on the door, but knocked anyway, inside he could hear the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. He was squat and muscular. Easily a man of at least 350 pounds, standing a mere 5'10" with a bald head, one eye, and covered with scars from head to toe. He made no expression as he stared at Raynard with that cold, dead eye. After what seemed like an eternity, the man who had answered the door spoke, his voice deep and hoarse. "I've not had visitors in my neck of the woods in quite some time, maggot. What is your business here?" "I-I-I had heard rumors around town, of a man who lived alone in a cabin on the edge of the wood." Raynard responded with a shaking voice "and that this man may also posses the knowledge I seek."
"I wish to learn of the Gunslingers." The mans face twisted slightly, it was almost unnoticeable underneath the scar tissue on his face. "Gunslinger, theres a word I've not heard in far too long. I had thought the Gunslingers were all but extinct, fallen in distant battles or cast into exile to be forgotten about." "My family is one of the wealthiest in Gilead" Raynard explained. "My father is a trader and travels near and far, bringing me back books from his travels. Of all the stories I've read, the tales of the Gunslingers have always stood out to me, as if it was my destiny to devote my life to gaining as much knowledge as possible about their lost ways." "Lost ways, though not entirely lost" the man grunted "I posses the knowledge you seek, but wether or not you are fit to receive it remains to be seen, boy. How old are you?" "15, sir. The name is Raynard Deschain, it is a honor to meet you." "well met, Raynard Deschain of Gilead, I am Curtlan Undras. You may call me Curt."
"I know I can do it!" Raynard exclaimed "I will devote myself to learning anything you have to teach me!" "Will you?" Cort asked him intently "are you willing to devote yourself fully to the training or face exile? Such is the way of the Gunslinger, and it is the only way I will agree to take you as an Apprentice." "You have my word, my life in Gilead holds no interest for me anymore, I seek to expand myself. I will make one last trip back into town to gather my journal and what belongings I can carry, as well as the money my parents have been saving for me. Once I leave the town... I will never set foot inside its walls again." "So be it" Curt agreed "You may make camp here in my clearing. Go and gather your things, make your peace with your parents if you must, but know that it will only make leaving town that much harder. I will be expecting you at first light." It was still dark when Raynard awoke, he was still dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the night before in the woods - he didn't feel he needed to change, he was, after all, about to be LIVING in the woods for Gods knows how long - his pack lay at the foot of his bed, he had stuffed it the night before with whatever odds and ends he thought he might need during his time with Curt (some fresh clothes, a length of rope, flint and steel, compass, a map of Gilead and the surrounding woods, and the pouch of gold coins his parents had been saving for him) he grabbed it and set off yet again towards the outskirts of town; he skipped saying goodbye to his parents, they wouldn't understand. Light had just started to peek over the mountains to the east when Raynard crossed the stream leading up to Curt's cabin, he reached out to pull the knocker, but instead he was greeted by Curt who had opened the door ahead of him. "Well, you're punctual, so there's that. At least I wont have to stripe you bloody for being late on your first day, Apprentice." Curt permitted himself a small smile.
"I will never forget it." Raynard said confidently
"Who, me? With this fat ass and my one eye? Not exactly, I was never fit to be a Gunslinger. My father was a Bondsman in our city, training apprentice Gunslingers how to be men and how to wield a gun, between watching him throughout my entire childhood and the few lessons he was able to teach me, I secured a decent understanding of the training myself. When I was older and went to war, I found those skills I had learned came in quite handy, I suppose I could be regarded as a 'gunslinger' in my own right, just without the illustrious title. My father had passed away while I was at war, and when I returned home I took his place as a Bondsman, training a new generation of Gunslingers, before being defeated by an apprentice and forced here in exile... which is where you see me today."
Over the next year, Raynard trained endlessly in the woods with Curt the Bondsman. He imagined that the training would be strenuous, but that was an understatement. Lessons in hand-to-hand combat, weapon use, hunting and tracking skills, navigation techniques and battle planning were all a regular occurrence (with the odd lesson on diplomacy here and there). Curt, it seemed, was not so interested in the philosophical aspects of being a Gunslinger, but was more orientated towards the physical aspects of instruction. His training was augmented by daily violence for the slightest hint of shortfall or weakness and over time Raynard was performing flawlessly. He was surpassing every apprentice that he had ever seen, and in such a short time, Curt had a feeling that the time for Raynard's trial was rapidly approaching. They were both sitting around a fire they had built in the clearing outside the cabin, Raynard was carving a bit of wood while Curt sat in silence, watching flames dance and sparks drift into the night sky above. "We need to talk, boy." Curt said sternly, without so much as glancing in Raynard's direction "Your progress is unheard of, in all my years of training, I have never witnessed an apprentice of your ability" his voice remained stern and matter-of-factly "The time for your trial is nearing, and you must be ready to face it." "I am ready." Raynard said, his voice brimming with confidence "What is required of me?" "The day you came to me, while you were walking along the forest's edge, did you notice anything... out of the ordinary?" Curt was looking at Raynard intently now. "Yes, as I neared the border of the woods from the town, right before I spotted your cabin. I had this feeling that something was..." Raynard paused "That is was just wrong somehow, I can't explain it, it's like something is out there that shouldn't be... like it doesn't belong. I felt it again today..." His voice trailed off. "I have also felt it, right before you arrived a year ago and today as well, a similar feeling of something 'not belonging.'" Curt explained. "I don't know what it is, or if it's even a 'what', but I think it has something to do with your accelerated training, and I think getting to the bottom of it would be a fitting trial, and a fitting trial requires a fitting weapon..." Curt paused "A weapon you must craft yourself."
"you are as ready as you will ever be, Raynard Deschain of Gilead, I have taught you all I can in the time that was given to us, you must walk the rest of the path on your own." Curt managed a faint smile through the scars on his face. "Let's go inside, I have all the materials you need to craft your weapon, but I will have to ask for that pouch of gold in return, nothing's free after all, kid". Raynard laughed in agreeance, they walked inside and after a short while, Raynard began his work. It took him a week to craft the double-barreled pistol he had chosen as his sidearm, the weapon which would last the rest of his days and outlast him long after he was dead. It was beautiful, deep blue tempered steel, quenched in bears blood, smooth pieces of sandalwood adorned the grips. There was no revolving chamber, so he would be forced to rely on only 2 shots to get the job done before reloading, he had built in a separate action for each barrel, allowing him to fire one at a time or both at once. It was heavy, Raynard thought that if he had not been training and conditioning for the last year, he might have had issues wielding it. "Truly a fine weapon, Raynard. You have done well". Curt proclaimed approvingly. "I believe you are ready to journey out into the woods and track down the source of this disturbance. I have but one lesson left to teach you... remember my words, young Gunslinger... ...You do not aim with your hand. He who aims with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. You aim with your eye. You do not shoot with your hand. He who shoots with his hand has forgotten the face of his father. You shoot with your mind. You do not kill with your gun. He who kills with his gun has forgotten the face of his father. You kill with your heart..." "Stand tall, Raynard, and be true, your trial begins now. May the Gods bless you". Journal entry, June 30. It’s been 3 days since I set out from Curt’s cabin in the woods. Travelling east deeper into the forest has been relatively easy thus far; freshwater has been easy to find, there are plenty of streams where I have been able to fill my waterskins, and I’ve even managed to kill a couple of rabbits with my new weapon, what I don’t eat I will preserve. It would seem that the skills Curt has taught me are serving their purpose. Journal entry, July 4. The last 4 days have been getting steadily more difficult. The terrain has become rocky, and the runoff of water from higher up on the mountain has made the rocks wet and treacherously slippery with moss. I was able to top up both waterskins and manage a few more kills before coming to the start of this slope, which is a good thing, because I haven’t seen a stream since yesterday and the game is becoming scarce. I’ve got enough meat and water left for the next few days, hopefully I come across something before then. That feeling is also back now, stronger this time, it seems that the further up the mountain I go the stronger it gets. Journal entry, July 8. Thanks to some careful rationing I’ve managed to stretch my water supply to last the last 4 days, but I am dangerously low now, I found some greens growing in a shaded patch near a boulder yesterday, I remembered seeing the same thing growing on rock outcroppings in the woods near Curt’s cabin, I ate some and packed enough for a couple days in my pack (which, coupled with the last of the meat I have, should make a decent meal). I can see a faint light beyond the cloud layer now, perhaps I am reaching the summit of this mountain, it’s hard to tell. One thing I know for certain, every time I look in the direction of that light that feeling of wrong takes me over and I find it hard to look away, it is calling for me, and I don’t know what I will find when I get to that summit. Journal entry, July 10. I am close now, I passed through the cloud layer yesterday, which allowed me to collect some water that had condensed and formed pools in a few of the rock outcroppings along the summit path. The feeling is constant now, and I see that the light I saw from below the clouds was a path of torches leading up about a mile to the summit, and to what must be my reason for coming here. I am out of meat, and have a half-day of greens left, I will make camp off the path here and attempt to sleep for a few hours before making the final trek up the path. Journal entry, July 11. I managed to sleep through the night, which is no real surprise considering how exhausting the climb has been up to this point. I started up the path early this morning after eating what food I had left and drinking a bit of the water I had collected. As I near the end of the path I occasionally find it difficult to walk, I feel as if something is trying to draw me in, like suggestions being whispered from the shadowy corners of my mind July 11, cont. I have reached the summit, an odd circle of large stones is arranged in the center of the clearing, each measuring roughly 6 feet tall and 2 feet in diameter, strange runes scrawled across the surface of each one. Above the stones is some sort of pale blue shimmer of light, waving lazily above the stone-circle, tendrils of blue swampfire are emanating from each stone and appear to be feeding the larger mass of light. I can’t stop looking at it, it is all I can do just to write what I am seeing in this journal, the voices are a cacophony now, “GO, GO, THIS IS YOUR PATH” they say, relentlessly. The sky is darkening now, and a bitter cold has sapped the very strength from my bones. “GO, GO, THIS IS YOUR PATH, THIS IS YOUR PATH, THIS IS YOUR PA-.” *** The faint ripple of blue light envelops Raynard, and a thunderous clap sounds through the woods below the mountain as he is transported from this existential plane. Travelling through space-time has aged Raynard at least 10 years since we last saw him.
Journal entry, date unknown. I have some to in a small, grassy valley, surrounded on all sides by trees I do not recognize, I don’t recognize anything in this strange place. My head is splitting with pain, and every muscle in my body is stiff and unresponsive. Things about me seem different, I have… grown up, which is really the only way I can explain it; my hands are larger, shoulders broader, all the muscles in my body (although fatigued and in pain now) seem to be more developed, my hair is long and unkempt, it would seem that whatever happened to be on top of the mountain has also aged me prematurely as well, my best guess would be somewhere near a decade. All my gear seems to have made the journey as well, I should put it to use and try to find some food and fresh water. Journal entry, 1 day since last entry. I managed to refill my waterskins and shot what looked to be a small rodent of some sort, the meat was bland and tough but it will keep my energy up for the next day, hopefully long enough to either find more food or find someone here to help me. I have noticed a large, bustling city on the horizon, if I am to find information or anyone that has any idea what happened to me, I am betting it’s there. There has been someone watching me for the last few hours now, they think I am unaware of their presence, but they make so much noise a corpse could hear them approach, I don’t believe they are hostile, perhaps they can offer me some assistance. Journal entry, 1 day since last entry. The person watching me has finally made himself known, I was sitting around a fire eating the last of the meat I had when he approached, much quieter than before, and sat down right next to me, not even flinching as I drew my weapon and pointed it at him. He is an elderly man, at least 70 years of age, and somehow I am able to understand every word he has said to me; I can not only understand this language, but I also appear to be able to read and write it as well. He has invited me to stay with him for a few days while I gather my strength before attempting to head into the city. When I asked him why he would help a random stranger he had come across in the woods he simply smiled at me and said, “You aren’t the first person I’ve come across in that clearing, me son, and I would bet that you sure as s*$& ain’t the last.” Journal entry, 2 days since last entry. I have spent the last 2 days with the strange old man in the woods, he refuses to tell me his name or anything about his past, but the company and food he has offered me is making up for it. He has told me some basic history of the city, Chimera, and the island that we float on, which is called Tanis. He claims that he hasn’t set foot outside the forest in quite some time, but he remembers Chimera being a racially and culturally diverse cityscape, I should be able to find some assistance there, or at the very least, some information. The old man has given me use of a mule, I am to begin my trek into the city at first light tomorrow. |
