Tuesday, May 26, 2009

weeeeeeeird.

I woke up every hour last night. It wasn't from the normal noises around my house at night, but from conversations I was having with myself. I had a weekend a bit too full of Dnd, to much role-play, to many different voices.
Was the creepiest night ever.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Delar

Halfling Rogue
Chaotic Neutral

I have few memories of my homeland, the comforting, wonderful glow of the horizon at dusk, the smell of oak, the flash of fire flies, and calm tune of the reeds. The image is burned into my memory and every night, I imagine it once again.

I had only spent a year alive on that heaven on earth before my family and I were taken by slave drivers. A Grimlock slave-driving tribe arrived in the darkest hour of night, bound my mother, father, and my two brothers. In a struggle to force my older brother onto the caravan, my brother was stabbed through the chest and died instantly.

By the next morning, my small tribal village was loaded onto the Grimlock’s caravan. The morning sun lit the sky red, the trail now lined with the blood of my neighbors, and relatives.

After a month, the Grimlocks reached the rest of their tribe. They settled in the north out skirts of the Shining Planes. There, my family and I slaved for 10 years, moving around the planes every year, under the rule of the Grimlocks, harvesting crops of wheat.

From time to time, when new bands of Halfling slaves arrived, the Grimlocks would slaughter one of my tribe members, feasting on him later that evening. The Grimlocks would invite unsuspecting members of the Halfling tribes to these feasts, taking pleasure in knowing that the Halflings would be unknowingly consuming one of their own race.

Knowing of the Grimlock’s supernatural sense of sound and fearing the punishment of death or worse, my family would be unable to speak of my homeland, or anything in their native Halfling tongue. I didn’t learn to speak, Halfling or common till age 15.

On the tenth year of the Grimlocks migration around the Shining Planes, they were attacked while on the trail by a small band of human fighters, rangers and barbarians. I caught a glimpse of the attackers, tall and fearless. The driver of my wagon was caught unaware, suddenly impaled by a warrior’s arrow, falling from the wagon seat to the dusty trail. The Grimlock guards took up arms, bearing their brutish morning stars and maces, charging into battle.

The clash of battle was more easily observed now with the guards of my wagon dead. I peered out the window of the wagon, now seeing the Grimlock horde, charging from the long stretching caravan. Most wagons were left with one brute Grimlock guard, with the exception of mine. I reached for the door only to discover it had been locked from the outside.

Suddenly, the wagon began to move again, this time with lightening speed and in perpendicular direction to the trail. The wagon passed by the battle scene as I caught another glimpse, witnessing a human barbarian fall as the rest of the human liberators leaped back on to their horses and rode along side my wagon, now pointed NW. I peered out again to see the Grimlocks haunting figures return to the wagons, the majority, still unmoved on the trail.

Over the next ten days, those in my wagon, (ages 3-13), never met their liberators. The most we ever saw of them was the serving of breakfast lunch and dinner when an arm would pass through the now covered window, baring large satisfying meals.

For the first few days, the Halfling slaves refused to eat anything offered by an authority figure, hearing tales of Grimlock’s cannibalistic feasts. Though by the 6th day, I was too starved to be untrusting, enjoying the mysterious liberator’s offerings.

By the beginning of the tenth day, me and many of the other’s began to wonder if these mysterious men had less impure motives than they had once believed. I had been spending each nightfall sharpening a small piece of wood on the rough metal frame of the wagon.

Noon of the tenth day, the wagon was covered in black cloth yet again, blocking the windows. I could hear the sounds of a large city, the loud and boastful market, the smell of fish and produce, the wooden wheels passing over uneven stone.

Then, the wagon went dark and silent. Light ceased to pass through the black cloth covering the windows. Finally, the doors opened and most of those in my wagon darted out as quickly as possible, meeting the black covered figure of a human rogue, whirling a rapier in his hand.

He stood in a completely dark room, save the one column of light that mysteriously shone down from the ceiling, illuminating his presence. He began to speak, then seeing that none of us had any response, as we had no understanding of Common language, nor that of Halfling, she shook his head.

Another human figure, wrapped in white cloth, came out of the darkness and whispered to him. The black clothed man made a small hand gesture to the white clothed human and the Halfling were encouraged to fallow this figure, most exited the chamber from a small side door to the left but I doddled behind.

I slowly approached the rapier twirling man. He stopped for a moment, and looked down at me. He reached out his hand as if to give a hand shake. I was unaware of this custom.

I stared at him, though these possible new captures had proven somewhat trustworthy, I seemed to hate this man. In his dark garb I felt he was the true cause of all my anguish and grief. He had held me in the wagon for days on end, and though he seemed responsible for taking me out of slavery, he had also taken me from my family.

Fiddling with the wooden shiv I had fashioned in the wagon, I slowly slid it down my sleeve and into my hand. The man unwrapped his face. He had a look of welcoming and kindness. He chuckled a bit and turned his outreach hand, now palm up, asking for my weapon.

With surprise, and even some fear, I trembled and quickly handed him the shiv, darting out of the room along with the others, the playful chuckle of the dark clothed man rang out through the chamber.

Caught up with the others, a human in white cloth took us to what were apparently our rooms. So tired from the journey and scared and confused from the appearance of these strangers, most did not sleep that night.

In the morning we were awoken and shone the rest of the underground establishment, there were vast libraries, rooms for military training, and endless rooms inhabited by many different races and classes. Most were human, though the curious Halflings noticed some of their own kind as well as Dwarves, Gnomes, and Half-Elves.

Over the next few years, The Brotherhood earns the young Halflings’ trust. Supplying safety, shelter and education. All Halflings are first taught Common, the endorsed language of The Brotherhood.

Once the Halflings and The Brotherhood could communicate, the Halflings were introduced to the High Rogue, Bronsith Adderfell, the rapier wielding man from the day the Halflings arrived. He is a kind man, very wise and caring. He established The Brotherhood of Broken Chain to combat with pirate slave drivers and once the group gained enough popularity, constructed the underground training ground and focal point of the Brotherhood in Alaghon. (see the Brotherhood of Broken Chain for more info)

The Halflings were given the option, stay with the brotherhood and begin training to serve its great purpose, or return to the world outside. Most of the Halflings had memories of their family and friends in a life of slavery that were to horrible to endure and so decided to return to the outside world, now freed with no hope of saving the rest of their family from slavery. I watched as my broken-hearted brethren left the underground sanctum, to distraught and depressed to pick up the life as a warrior of freedom, pouring out into the streets of stone Alaghon.

We were once simple folk, living in heaven on earth, enjoying life, love and family, turned to pain and darkness by slavery, now told we were free again. Free, yes, but to what existence. None had memory of home. It was too much to bare for a kind hearted Halfling.

I was an acceptation. I almost walked out that door. Bronsith slowly pushed aside a large stone tablet to reveal daylight. My Halfling brethren cried and embraced on another, both in joy and in sorrow. I began to walk. Out into a new life. It wasn’t home, but it was freedom.

Just as the others passed through, I stood before the doorway. A ray of bright light reached my eyes. I was reminded of the sunlight creeping over the hills of my indescribable homeland, a flute played off in the distance, I remembered the calm tune of the reeds.

I was just about to take my first step into that pleasant freedom when the stench of old meat reached my nose… rot… decay… the smell of blood. I saw my brother’s eyes go dark as his body flailed on the muddy trail, the salty smell of my father’s tears as he was forced to bury his own son.

I stopped.
My freedom wasn’t enough.



Character Traits:
• Fearless
• Out Spoken
• Focused
• Curious of other races and classes
• Love & trust of Humans

Brotherhood of Broken Chain
“Favor death to the chained.”
CG/CN
A group of abolitionist sorcerers, rogues, warriors and barbarians, The Brotherhood are located in Alaghon in Turmish and focus on fighting back against all forms of slavery and oppression. The organization is run by one High Rogue, Bronsith Adderfell and four advisors. A relatively small group, The Brotherhood have branches in Turmish, the Heartlands, Sembia and the Dragon Coast. In the capital city of Alaghon, the Brotherhood have always been at struggle with the veiled slave trade of the Turmish people as well as the slavery influences of the pirates of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

The organization not only acts directly against slave drivers and owners, it also acquires wealth through thievery of the rich and aristocratic who take their freedom from granted. With his wealth, The Brotherhood hires mercenary for some of the more dangerous abolitionist tasks. It also invests in adventuring parties and individuals who are willing to make it profitable for The Brotherhood.

Alaghon is a city of stone, and once the underground sanctum was completed, some of the Turmish people were worried that it might conflict with some of the metropolises economic interest in slaver. Though the slave trade is illegal in this town, it the sale of a few dangerous outsiders to the pirates is usually ignored by the authorities.
Fortunately for the Brotherhood, the sorcerer members of the organization cast a mass spell upon the hidden entrance to the sanctum, allowing the Turmish people to live out their lives, unaware of a once well know addition to the town structure.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

fail

lose faith in self. cry deeply.

like a boss

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Teehee

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Awesome.

iPod Touch sketch. So great.

Monday, March 23, 2009

I gotta get out of this town.

When you say you're, “embarrassed” of me for making immature decisions, I begin to think less of myself because you do. 
I may be taking on more responsibility and making more decisions for myself, but I still respect your opinion more than any other. 
Save the few times I've experienced a death in the family, you are the only person who has ever made me cry.