Orphan Flashbacks


Play-by-Post


This is a place to develop scenes from your character's past, either by yourself or other players. Feel free to add any details, as long as it doesn't contradict the story proper.

You may portray interaction with Mevitari in your stories, but be sure not to make him too mean. He does ultimately care about the children even if his methods are sometimes harsh. He understands and regrets that sometimes he goes to far, like with the child who had to carry rocks and ended up running away.

Of course this is all optional and you may fill in whatever you desire at your leisure.


Male Minotaur Warden lvl 1

*three years ago.*

"Leave those kids alone" Tulgeikh yelled at the local kids picking on the small group of orphans, "I'm the only one that's allowed to hurt them."

Aldred, the leader of the 'gang' of street tuffs, lets go of the collar of the kid he was hitting and turns on Tulgeikh. "What ya gonna do gobbo, there's five of us?"

"This." Tulgeikh hits Aldred with a vicious haymaker and follows up with a savage bite that takes off the tip of Aldred's ear. Aldred runs off screaming with bloody hands clutching his wounded ear.
With their leader running away screaming the rest of the 'gang' loses nerve and runs after him.

Tulgeikh grins and spits out the ear tip and turns to the sobbing orphans and growls at them, "Quit crying and pick up the shopping, now!" "Hurry up or I'll give you the same as I gave Aldred."

Tulgeikh's grin fades as he thinks of the punishment Mevitari will give him for fighting, "No good deed goes unpunished I guess." he mutters to himself as he softly kicks the orphans to hurry them up.


Male Halfling Sorcerer lvl2

*Two years ago*

"Come on, I can't afford to spend the night in this area," Ostran says while running. He looks back at his companion, Garth, running as fast as he can while carrying his pack.

"You know, you are lucky your too small to carry such a heavy load," replied Garth. Garth also had a gift for magic and, as he was two years older and had more experience controling it, helped Ostran channel 'The Storm' as Garth dubbed it.

As they rounded the corner, they saw an all to familiar sight. A group of young men terrorizing a figure. They had her (Ostran could tell it was a woman by her curves) cornered in an ally. He had to help her or they would beat and rob her... or worse.

"Hey," he yelled. "Leave her alone!" As he glared at them, he started calling forth 'The Storm'. His eyes turned solid white and lightning arc'ed between his fingers. He raised his hands to unleash 'The Storm', when the leader pulled his thugs back.

"Alright. Leave her alone boys. There will be others," he said confidently. "Funny thing about Lower City, you never know who you will run into."

As they run off, one of the thugs tears away the woman's cloak... no, not a woman but a female half-elf. She was as beautiful as she was well dressed.

"Thank you, I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in," she replyed shakily. Just as Ostran opens his mouth to speak, the bell warning those in the Lower City that the gates are closing. "Oh no, I have to go. Bye" She runs off into a croud of people heading for the gate.

"Who was she and why was she here?" asked Ostran. He spots a glint of light reflecting of a small pin. 'Is this her's?' He wonders. Ostran picks it up and runs off for the gate with Garth. Will he see her again. Sharn is a big city...


male-ish Warforged Fighter 1

*four and a half years ago*

There was the sensation of wet – there was a babbling, moving quality to it, like before in the killing fields when the blood could run to the ankles – rivers of it, lakes, a little piece of Shavarath misplaced on material prime, a little piece just baking in the sun, a lighted maelstrom of death and tears and cries and pleasure, oh yes, pleasure – a creeping feeling of life in those killing fields, deep life that rose in the gut and climbed higher and higher until it shouted, “yes, you are alive, they are dead but not you, not you, not now, not yet, you’re alive!”

Then the sensation of light, grey at first, then green and shaded. A glade. Trees above, grass, snowflies twisting in the soft wind on their insect errands. The Clockwork Man could only watch. Then he could move his fingers and then his toes. The wet was water, not blood. Smooth stones under the clear mix. He was laying half in half out of a shallow creek, the wind playing with the leaves.

“It’s awake,” a voice said from behind. The Clockwork Man sat up, this he could do.

“Tamp! Tamp, it’s getting up!” Said the voice.

“Shut up, Randall. It’s broken, it’s dead,” another voice said.

“Would you just look! It’s getting up!”

“Well, good morning! Thing’s not dead. Huh. How bout that, Randall? Thing’s not dead.”

The Clockwork Man felt a kick to his back, not violent but not considerate either.

“You a ‘forged? Huh? Are ya? You a warforged? You a soldier? Huh? Well? Come on then, are ya?”

The Clockwork Man looked behind him to see two ill natured looking men – a dwarf and a skinny human, both evil of smile and cold of eye.

“Where am I?” asked the Clockwork Man.

“Where is he, he asks,” said the dwarf, “Randall, this cob don’t even know where he is!”

“You’re in a bad place, you old tinker, am I right? I says to him, you’re in a bad place,” said Randall. “I says to him…”

“Shut up, Randall,” said the dwarf.

The dwarf is the one named Tamp, the Clockwork Man gathered. The dwarf was holding the Clockwork Man’s axe – the same axe that had seen so much blood it was stained at the edges. He was also holding the Clockwork Man’s traveling pack.

“What are you doing sleeping in a twice-damned creek?” Asked Tamp.

“I don’t know,” said the Clockwork Man.

“I don’t know, he says,” said Randall.

“I can hear him, you twit. What’s your name then?” Asked Tamp.

“Cogmin of the 435th Infantry.”

“Well Cogmin of the 435th,” Tamp threw the traveling pack into the water, “I’m sure you have more gold than this.” Tamp opened his hand and there: everything Cogmin had in the world, twenty gold pieces.

“Return my axe to me,” said Cogmin and began to rise but before he could Tamp was on him, a boot placed in his chest.

“Now, now, don’t get up on my account,” said Tamp, “just relax and tell me where the rest of your gold hides. On your person?”

Then the sensation of anger, the sweating stone of it in the belly, the drowning pin of calm, the grey light of it covering everything inside of Cogmin, covering the fear, melting that ice, the rivers of flow, oh the rivers of it! Like before. Like the killing fields. Just a piece of Shavarath.

Then the blood. First he tore the dwarf’s jaw from his skull. And then he drowned Randall in the creek.

Afterwards, Cogmin looked at his hands and they were new. Other parts of him were new. He used to be a solid thing, like other warforged, now he was full of moving parts, he could feel them inside. On the outside too, clear plaques of amber covering exposed gears and levers that tilted and spun, turning, turning. But to what end?

What did this? What am I? What was I? Cogmin asked himself.

All he could remember at that moment, the only good thing, was Lazam. The young man. Lazam, his only friend. Sharn. He could remember the idea of Sharn.

Cogmin looked over at the bodies. More bodies. Today’s a new day, he thought as he picked up his axe and his pack and his gold. Sharn can’t be too far off. He’d ask directions from the first person he found. He’d find a way.


Outside the cave, a ferocious storm beat the rocky mountain. Inside the cave, a woman lay on her back, covered is sweat. Torches on the floor lit the cave dimly. A bowl of blood and other gunk lay nearby. Deeper inside the cave, a baby cried.

The woman, an otherworldly beauty with shiny and long jet black hair, was also crying. Another woman, this one equally beautiful, walked up to her.

"The baby has been cleaned and swaddled and looks in good health."

"I think...I think I'm dying. The baby tore something inside."

The second woman leaned down and began running her hands through the beautiful black hair. "I'm sorry this has happened to you."

"He has no father. His father died fighting the enemy. I'm all he has and now I am about to go." With this, the woman coughed up blood.

"I wish I was a healer," the second woman said matter-of-factly and continued to comfort the beautiful young woman by running her hand through the hair.

"Please do me a favor. Promise me you'll name the child Mevitari."

"Mevitari: he who will find the Path."

The first woman gave way and died. The second woman continued to run her hands through the black hair a little longer, without crying, then stood with a sigh. She began to clean the cave for the passing on ritual.

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