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It is with regret that the death of Warick Samson, Freeman, is conveyed to the Society. Born the son of a slave in Oparra named Sam, Warick was named by his master. The doughty halfling made use of his nimble hands, personal toughness, and innate sense of self when enrolled in The Pathfinder Society by his master to serve the goals of the Taldorian nobles. Known early in his career as Warick, Son of Sam, this gentle and naive soul achieved his freedom scant days before his death, and was subsequently known as Warick Samson, and was in search of his missing master to sign his manumission at the time of his death to a hellish fire-breathing hound.
Warick completed 10 favors at the request of the Taldorian nobles who sought out his aid while completing over 20 missions on behalf of the Society. Warick was fearless in the face of adversity, although observed that he simply didn't realize that he was in danger. Naive, and tending toward literalism that was variously seen as amusing and exasperating at times, Warick's reliance on the luck of his race led him to acrobatically insert himself into the midst of his enemies in search of opportunities granted by their distraction from his more obvious compatriots. Warick's companions will remember him for his simple description of his capabilities, "I am a mighty warrior and I can use any wand," as well as is explanations when posed with questions beyond his ken, "I'm not allowed to learn things." Warick spent his days away from Society missions steadfastly working on his skills, without distraction from daily business ventures than many Pathfinders find themselves engaged in, with a single minded dedication, or as some have said, with a half-witted dedication. Warick himself merely described this difference from other Pathfinders by saying, "I'm not allowed to have a day job."
Had his death come later in life, he may have opted to return from the dead to explore his new freedom, but the trail for his missing master had gone cold, and his nearest and dearest friends remembered that he always had concern that his master would not live up to the agreement to free him on completion of 10 missions on behalf of the Taldorian nobles he served. It is thought that, having found freedom in the afterlife, he had little reason to return to this uncertainty that was growing in the back of his admittedly simple mind.
In his final moments, the halfling luck that had served him so well failed as he attempted to retreat, bloody and dying, from the mouth of a devilish beast who proved more capable than he thought.
Raise a glass of milk in memory of Warick, as he wasn't allowed to consume stronger drink until he achieved the freedom that he strived so hard for.
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Raise a glass of milk in memory of Warick, as he wasn't allowed to consume stronger drink until he achieved the freedom that he strived so hard for.
As funny as that last line was, I'm still kind of sad. With that said, I'm proud to have GM'd Warick's last task, and can't wait to see what other characters you'll bring to the table.
I love this. I wish more players took the time to do this. Most people I see die are too heart broken.
I want to play with you.
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Non-RP Note: I have worked with Warick many times. And his death, truly saddens me, in and out of character. He will be missed in the Solano/Yolo Pathfinder Society Lodge.
So Charlotte, fellow Pathfinder companion heads to the Temple of the Shinning Star in Absalom to give final prayers to Warwick.
In life, there is death. In death there is the redemption of one's soul to freedom. I pray to great Sarenrae for Warick's soul, that it may come to rest in a free and peaceful place. May he find his master, and share the adventures that he had, and may they both be at peace, free from all pain and suffering.
All the Tulsa and Roll20 games I'm GMing this week will feature a mention of Warick Samson's passing in the briefing. ^_^ Well done!
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"Me come back from that sad, sorry end. Me no...err, know of your killer, great beast that he was. Our own party had hard time, two of us, down and out. Me hear of the summoner finishing it off, a second to late to save me, but... I come back. It cost a pretty little gold piece."
Grog holds up his unquenchable goblet, high to the ceiling. "To Warwick Samson. He free now."
He drinks the water.
"Sorry, it not make milk. Or grog. Just tasteless water."
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Dear Warwick, though some of us knew you well, and some of us not at all, it is clear that his legend has only begun and will but continue to grow in time.
That reminds me of an old gnomish rhyme:
The fool he may be
to ever seek his doom,
for sallow death does loom,
he shirks shadows for light
leaps-to with a ready heart
open-armed into the fight.
But doom will take us all
sweet summers turn to fall
Thus the warrior must be
slave to a very special art,
in battle he'll be free
A cup of milk for the halfling!