Hey all. So I thought I'd share this little project. I'm playing a campaign right now called Skyloft. The general background is that a powerful artificer managed to create flying ships, and a mysterious organization known as the Venture Core is leading an expedition to a large archipelago of floating islands. While we play, I decided to create characters that run adjacent to the main story. I rolled these three main characters and actually roll the rights between them. So if you have some time and would like to read the first installment of what I have, please fell free. Thank you!
Part 1: Before the Ships Sailed
Greb.
“Boss took me out here to finish you once and for all,” Greb grunted at the cornered gnome who was bloodied, battered and terrified. Moonlight crested the top of the trees; it was well past midnight and the pale bone-lit moon lit up the night.
“I- I- I...I’m sorry,” the halfling blubbered, falling to his knees.
Greb drew his axe. The halfling trembled in fear.
“Sorry about this,” Greb said, stepping towards the halfling. "It's the only way. We gotta make it look realistic.”
“What?” The gnome sputtered.
“Oh. You thought I was gunna kill you? Naw, not unless you come back to the city. And the minute your stubby little feet cross over the line, I’ll know.”
He took a large, boar-like sniff in the air in emphasis.
“But I gotta make it look realistic. Boss needs to see a finger or a toe; something. Maybe a pinky? I can chop that off real quick . I could also do a toe, but that’s a little more tricky... I’d have to use a dagger. Honestly, the axe hurts less.”
“Uh...do I have a choice?”
Greb took a deep sigh.
“Look, man. I dragged you here in a burlap sack. You puked all over my polished plate armor imported from the Zarguian Empire. This is a hell of a deal, compared to where things stood for you three minutes ago.”
The gnome’s tears started to dry. He righted himself, brushed the dirt from his rags, and offered out his hand.
“Okay. I’ll do it!”
“Eh. I don’t have anywhere to be today,” Greb said, pulling out two bottles of Fire Whisky from his sack. “Here’s the deal. You drink this bottle, get drunk as the black of midnight, and while you're asleep, I’ll chop off your finger. Then, you get the hell out of town.”
The two drank until morning, sitting in the grove of pines, playing cards, dancing, and telling stories. Finally, the Halfling fell into a deep sleep. Greb cleanly cut off his pinky, wrapped it, cauterized it, all while the Halfling slept. Greb had put a little more than firewhiskey in his bottle; a few drops of Drazamel Essence to keep the Halfling asleep.
Greb put the finger in a pouch with a half dozen other various body parts; ears, pinkies, toes--anything not of vital importance. This wasn’t the first time he struck this deal. Greb knew that one day his boss would catch on, one day someone he spared would come back or Lars would somehow piece his deception together. But as he walked the half day journey into the city, Greb had a clear conscience and thought only of massive steaks and endless streams of ale.
--
When things fell apart, Greb was in a pretty good place. Not literally. His rented shack was right next to the dockside latrines, buzzing with flies, and shingles slid off during storms, down the slanted stilts of the pier into the harbor. He got pretty good at killing rats.
During the day, he slept until midafternoon. Once he woke, he downed a pint, ate some raw meat, and drank a half dozen raw eggs mixed with goat milk. After, he walked out to the end of the docks and dived into the water, and swam laps, weaving in and out of the docked shantyboats and barges.
At night, he walked from his shack to the grubby strip of taverns. His favorite, the Soapy Gob, was trashed, floors coated with blood and piss, but had the best steaks, bloody and oozy, almost alive. Every night, he waited for Lars to tell him who to rob, who to take money from, what marks he could move in on, and who to kill.
But as Greb devoured a slab of raw meat, he had no idea that tonight, a contract was out his blood.
Saeel.
A bargain. She had agreed to the terms of a bargain many times. In the good times, mostly as the arbiter. 150 gold a week kept a scurrilous scandal in the dark. 500 to make someone disappear. 1000? You could disappear as well.
There was always a price. In gold or in blood. And she was rich in both.
But she was spread thin. Every day she woke up, the day itself was a bargain, a deal to delay her own demise. “If I rob the loan shark on the corner I can settle my debt with Maul; Higraff will want restitution for robbing the shark, so I’ll fence a load for Yimir and skim a few rubies off the top, then I’ll pay Yimir back by taking out that twerp Kenku who’s been pilfering Yimir’s trade routes--”
She juggled deftly for much longer than most could. Then, she crashed.
The morning of the end, she woke and rose from her bed. She pulled on her leather amour and put flowing black robes over; pulling her black, rolling hair tight into a bun.
She met her bodyguard, Erasmus, a stout Dwarf mercenary, at the door of her apartment.
“Mornin’,” he grunted. “How’dya sleep?”
“Haunted by the wails of my fallen foes,” she said, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. “How’s my grumpy little guy today?”
Erasmus blushed. When she hired him, she only really wanted him as muscle, a dispensable protector from the thugs. But he had become more. So much more. Even after all these mornings, Erasmus still blushed.
“I gotya tea,” he said, handing her a mug.
“Thank you, darling.” she said, walking. Erasmus followed alongside. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
‘First up, we got a meeting with some dealer who ripped of Mavi. He’s going to bring us a bit as tribute so we call off the price on his head. Then, we got a meeting with Harvier, and we can use our cut from his job to pay off Ros. And then Lars has something for you. Something big, I think.”
She cringed. Lars. Some of the scum she dealt with were straight up sociopaths who reveled in pain and violence. Some were charismatic hustlers; some were caught in a bad situation. Lars was worse. Talking to him was like cannonballing into a vat of pig grease.
“Do we know what pig-boy wants? Permission to bathe?”
“No, Erasmus said, eyeballs darting from pocket to pocket, looking for the glint of a blade as they walked through the crowded seaside streets, heading towards their office; a corner table at the Gilded Trout.
The afternoon was spent wheeling, dealing, sliding envelopes and coin pouches and threatening and Erasmus only had to punch a thug a few times to get him to cough up the baggie of Drakeroot in his sleeve.
At last came Lars. A slimy ogre of a human with a belly that swung as he walked. He smelled like manure permanently.
“Lars. What do you want?”
She was not going to pretend to be kind to Lars. She was not going to be diplomatic. He was in the worst games that could be played; he had his toes in the acid of every dark bile of a deed this city burped up.
Lars had a slimy, high pitched voice that rang high in the air like the buzz of an insect.
“You’re going to kill someone for me.”
She scoffed. She nudged Erasmus under the table and he woke from nodding off and he scoffed along with her.
“Why would I kill someone for you? Who is it? A toddler? A priest?”
“No,” he said. “One of my own. Greb.”
She knew Greb. He had a reputation as a mean guy. A real mean guy.
“Why would I stick my head in your noxious circle?”
“Because I’ll pay you enough to pay off Tritan, and then some.”
Her days were numbered with Tritan, the leader of the Kenku Conglomerate. Soon, he and his flocks of Kenku would take what she owed them, whether she had it or not.
So, she agreed. A few hours before Greb entered the Soapy Bog, she paid the bartender to lock the door behind him. They hatched out the plan. Erasmus would hide behind the bar and wait until Dreg was distracted; then, he would hop over the bar and slice his throat. Easy, right?
------
Greb
Greb let the blood of the steak run down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, and took a long sip from his keg. He didn’t see the door lock behind him, or the bartender slip into the back room.
He didn’t notice any sort of disruption until Erasmus leapt over the counter, swinging his steel greatsword directly at Greb’s head. In a split second, Greb swiveled his head back, slipping off his stool, and the blade of the greatsword cut through his armor and gashed deeply into his side.
Greb saw his blood on the floor,and his eyes grew wide as his pupils darted around the room like a cornered animal.
A set up. That goddamn greasy shitbag Lars.
Greb let the anger pulse through his body like a hot wind, and in one fluid motion he ran his great axe through Erasmus’s chest, cutting through the chain mail, finally spilling his enemy’s blood on the floor.
As he left the rage pulse through him, he, in another fast motion, sailed his axe at Erasmus again. Halfway through his swing, his beaded eyes caught the glimpse of a diminutive shadowy figure still seated at the corner table of the tavern, watching the fight unfold.
-----
Erasmus.
It had been some time since Erasmus had taken a blow that strong. The orc was fierce.
In wartime, as the archers volleyed and the shields went up and he watched his kin and friends cut through, souls claimed and blood let onto the earth, he would harden his boots as if planting himself into ground like a boulder; he would let the anger let the animalistic instinct take over and he would lash and strike and flail.
But he knew better, now. Now, he hardened. He sharpened his mind. He thought of a plan.
Greb, frenzied and lashing, allowed himself to be distracted for a split second by the shadowy tiny person in the corner. Erasmus had seen the creature as well, and a younger version of himself would have let loose his grip. Instead, he hardened.
Greb’s swing went wide, he missed, and Erasmus sliced down his left arm. Angered by the sight of his own blood, Greb swung, wide again, lodging his axe into the wooden side of the bar.
Erasmus didn’t want to kill the orc. Erasmus also didn’t want to kill his first kill ever, a human solider of the Red Banner who fell when Erasmus, barely a man, stabbed her clean in the chest and watched her fall into the dirt while he defended the Far Outposts.
But Erasmus put thoughts of mercy aside and drew his two handaxes, designed for deft work, for carving out the end of a life. Greb swung widely, and hit Erasmus in the side, cracking a few ribs. As Greb smiled, teeth bared, readying himself for a kill, Erasmus ran, jumped on a table, and cracked his right axe down on top of Greb’s head; the top of Greb’s skull split like a dropped plate.
Greb fell.
Erasmus leaned against the bar, clutching himself.
“Damn,” he said, calling to Saeel, “Haven’t fought one this good in years.”
Saael came out from the tavern kitchen. She preferred to not see the dirty work.
She looked at Greb’s body, a dead heap of an orc. “Should we take a pulse? Make sure he’s not going to come back to life?”
“I’ll just chop.”
Erasmus readied his great axe.
The real execution.
As he lifted up to swing, an arrow shattered through the front window of the tavern, sticking deep into Saeels’ chest. Her eyes widened and she fell limp.
The days blurred by; each the same as the last. Constant danger, constant fighting. But they never kissed death. Now, Erasmus inched closer to terror, closer to the frantic anger of the orc he had just killed. It’s not that he feared death. He feared losing Saeel.
He had a split second before guards stormed in; he grabbed Saeel’s body, launched it over his shoulders like a sack and dashed out the back of the tavern as the guards streamed in, arrows hitting the walls behind him like a deadly game of darts.
---
Greb
Greb emerged from his small death, and as his vision blurred and righted, he saw a small gnome man with silver hair and a wild beard leaning down over him.
“Relax, boy,” the gnome said. “You’re all right. You’ve been out for about two weeks.”
Greb wanted to know where he was, who the gnome was, and if he had lost the fight against the dwarf, but the only thing he could muster up to say was his thanks.
“Boy, you saved someone close to me as well,” the gnome said, smiling, holding a disembodied and slightly decomposed finger. “This belongs to my son. Thank you.”
“Is he in the city? He can’t, Lars will kill-”
“He isn’t in the city, no. And neither are you. I took you out of that dreadful place and brought you to Rosebrook, about a week’s journey up the coast.”
Rosebrook. Greb had heard of it, sure. Fancy place with wizards and the kind of large, wooden ships that the ambassadors and royalty sailed in on.
“You’re safe, boy. And you’re healing well.”
Greb felt better. Almost good enough to get up and fight. He tried to rise, but fell back in pain.
“I said well,” the gnome snapped, “not fully healed! Get in bed.”
Even when the gnome snapped, he was still kind, like a teacher scolding an unruly pupil.
“I suppose you are wondering who I am. My name is Jaas. I am a magical tinkerer, a master of the arcane. You showed my screw-up son Lees a kindness I have not forgotten.
I want to be clear that I am not holding you here, Greb. You are free to leave whenever you wish. But I also recognize that you are away from home, unable to return, and likely wondering what your next step should be.”
Greb hadn’t had much of a chance to think about his next steps. But the gnome was right. He didn’t have much of a future; he couldn’t go back to his city. He didn’t want to get back into the criminal life.
“Sure,” Greb said. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m part of an organization. We have an expedition planned to a place that holds great potential. Unfortunately, I have to be vague. But my employer, the Venture Corp, plans to sail a great fleet of ships to this new land.
I am a pilot--er., captain of such a ship. And I need a bodyguard. I don’t want a typical sellsword cutthroat; I want someone who can hold their own in a fight but that still has a conscience. And I believe that you fit the bill, Greb.”
Greb knew he should think about it, weigh the pros and cons. But he didn’t. Almost instantly, he agreed.
___
Saeel
“Our safe house isn’t safe, Erasmus,” Saeel rattled hoarsely. “Those Dawes Twins are up to something, I know it.”
For about three days, Saeel and Erasmus had been laying low in a tiny room behind a butcher shop on the outskirts of the city. The Dawes Twins, both fat and swinelike with greased mutton chops were supposed to be keeping a secret.
“I know,” Erasmus said, peering out of the cracks in the wooden slats into the pig farm. “Do you feel well enough to run?”
“Not real-” Saeel started before Erasmus picked her up, covered her mouth, kicked down the door to the room and fled towards the woods, arrows once close behind, peppering the trees next to them.
Erasmus carried her for about a mile before she pounded on his back to be let down.
“I can run,” she said. “You can’t carry me forever~”
Erasmus grabbed her and placed her in front of him, tears forming in his eyes. “Yes, Saeel. Yes I can. Yes I can carry you forever. And I will carry you, into the river Stixx, into the Underdark. I’ll carry you until my bones dust out from underneath me, until I collapse and fall forever. I will carry you. It is not work. It is love.”
She placed a hand on his cheek, firm, and pulled up his gaze to meet hers.
“I love you.” A search dog brayed in the distance. “But we need to run.”
Saeel and Erasmus ran until Saeel could no longer run; until she hunched over next to a tree, vomiting blood.
“We need to get you to a healer,” Erasmus said.
“We need to survive,” Saeel said, gently correcting him as the two began to move further into the deep woods as the moon began to set a white gleam in the sky.
Erasmus
After a few hours into the night, Erasmus thought that it could be safe enough to let Saeel sleep for a few hours. She leaned up against a tree and fell asleep instantly, too quickly.
As he patrolled the area, his thoughts lingered on her. She always kept them alive; she strung out the deals, she convinced the buyers, she sold the product. He hit things, killed things. But if it weren’t for her he’d be another scrub sellsword rolling in his filth at a tavern. She saved him. It was time for him to save her.
Cutting through the quiet of the forests, rattling and clanking of goods jostling on a wagon, about 1000 feet to his left; through the trees, he made out a faint lantern and the footsteps of horses. They must have blindly stumbled close to a trail.
He snuck through the dark, unnoticed, towards the wagon. He could make it out; a farmer’s wagon driven by a half asleep old farmer and his wife, pots and pans clanging with each dip or rock in the road.
He thought about approaching, maybe buying the wagon, bribing the old farmers. But he knew enough to realize that almost everyone from the city knew they were wanted, and had a small fortune of a bounty on his head.
Erasmus’s stomach dropped slightly. A small voice of mercy gnawed at the back of his mind, pleading. But Erasmus was a soldier. This was war. He drew his great axe, and made quick work of them, clean and painless (or so he told himself). They were both dead before they had a chance to scream.
He stashed their decapitated bodies in a gully well off the trail and gently roused Saeel. Thankfully, she didn’t ask questions. She got in the wagon and they rode the trail to Rosebrook for days, in peace.
---
Greb
Greb didn’t know when the ships would set off, but he was having a pretty good time. Jaas lived in his study, fervently preparing for the voyage, leaving Greb to his own devices. It was a safe city, unlike the place he ran from.
Or, perhaps Greb was far enough removed from the seedy underbelly to run into trouble. Either way, it was nice to not fear being stabbed every time he left Jaas’ manor.
Greb walked to the market of the town. He stopped, and browsed some simple magical trinkets peddled by a gigantic turtle before headed to the Corner Club.
He walked in. Another orc greeted him, grey, shirtless, scars running down his old body.
“Hey, it’s the new friend,” the grizzled orc said as Greb walked in. “Want to fight?”
Greb nodded. “Sure do. Been itching to try out some techniques.”
It was midafternoon, and a joyful crowd began to pour in from the docks, heading to the bar and then down stone steps to seats around a pit set about 10 feet into the ground.
Greb wrapped his fingers with a bandage. “We up first, Misk?”
The old orc nodded. He wrapped his scarred fists in tandem.
Greb followed the old Orc down into the tunnel that led down into the pit.
The two bowed to each other, and Greb landed his first punch. The crowd cheered.
Tales from Skyloft
Hey all. So I thought I'd share this little project. I'm playing a campaign right now called Skyloft. The general background is that a powerful artificer managed to create flying ships, and a mysterious organization known as the Venture Core is leading an expedition to a large archipelago of floating islands. While we play, I decided to create characters that run adjacent to the main story. I rolled these three main characters and actually roll the rights between them. So if you have some time and would like to read the first installment of what I have, please fell free. Thank you!
Part 1: Before the Ships Sailed
Greb.
“Boss took me out here to finish you once and for all,” Greb grunted at the cornered gnome who was bloodied, battered and terrified. Moonlight crested the top of the trees; it was well past midnight and the pale bone-lit moon lit up the night.
“I- I- I...I’m sorry,” the halfling blubbered, falling to his knees.
Greb drew his axe. The halfling trembled in fear.
“Sorry about this,” Greb said, stepping towards the halfling. "It's the only way. We gotta make it look realistic.”
“What?” The gnome sputtered.
“Oh. You thought I was gunna kill you? Naw, not unless you come back to the city. And the minute your stubby little feet cross over the line, I’ll know.”
He took a large, boar-like sniff in the air in emphasis.
“But I gotta make it look realistic. Boss needs to see a finger or a toe; something. Maybe a pinky? I can chop that off real quick . I could also do a toe, but that’s a little more tricky... I’d have to use a dagger. Honestly, the axe hurts less.”
“Uh...do I have a choice?”
Greb took a deep sigh.
“Look, man. I dragged you here in a burlap sack. You puked all over my polished plate armor imported from the Zarguian Empire. This is a hell of a deal, compared to where things stood for you three minutes ago.”
The gnome’s tears started to dry. He righted himself, brushed the dirt from his rags, and offered out his hand.
“Okay. I’ll do it!”
“Eh. I don’t have anywhere to be today,” Greb said, pulling out two bottles of Fire Whisky from his sack. “Here’s the deal. You drink this bottle, get drunk as the black of midnight, and while you're asleep, I’ll chop off your finger. Then, you get the hell out of town.”
The two drank until morning, sitting in the grove of pines, playing cards, dancing, and telling stories. Finally, the Halfling fell into a deep sleep. Greb cleanly cut off his pinky, wrapped it, cauterized it, all while the Halfling slept. Greb had put a little more than firewhiskey in his bottle; a few drops of Drazamel Essence to keep the Halfling asleep.
Greb put the finger in a pouch with a half dozen other various body parts; ears, pinkies, toes--anything not of vital importance. This wasn’t the first time he struck this deal. Greb knew that one day his boss would catch on, one day someone he spared would come back or Lars would somehow piece his deception together. But as he walked the half day journey into the city, Greb had a clear conscience and thought only of massive steaks and endless streams of ale.
--
When things fell apart, Greb was in a pretty good place. Not literally. His rented shack was right next to the dockside latrines, buzzing with flies, and shingles slid off during storms, down the slanted stilts of the pier into the harbor. He got pretty good at killing rats.
During the day, he slept until midafternoon. Once he woke, he downed a pint, ate some raw meat, and drank a half dozen raw eggs mixed with goat milk. After, he walked out to the end of the docks and dived into the water, and swam laps, weaving in and out of the docked shantyboats and barges.
At night, he walked from his shack to the grubby strip of taverns. His favorite, the Soapy Gob, was trashed, floors coated with blood and piss, but had the best steaks, bloody and oozy, almost alive. Every night, he waited for Lars to tell him who to rob, who to take money from, what marks he could move in on, and who to kill.
But as Greb devoured a slab of raw meat, he had no idea that tonight, a contract was out his blood.
Saeel.
A bargain. She had agreed to the terms of a bargain many times. In the good times, mostly as the arbiter. 150 gold a week kept a scurrilous scandal in the dark. 500 to make someone disappear. 1000? You could disappear as well.
There was always a price. In gold or in blood. And she was rich in both.
But she was spread thin. Every day she woke up, the day itself was a bargain, a deal to delay her own demise. “If I rob the loan shark on the corner I can settle my debt with Maul; Higraff will want restitution for robbing the shark, so I’ll fence a load for Yimir and skim a few rubies off the top, then I’ll pay Yimir back by taking out that twerp Kenku who’s been pilfering Yimir’s trade routes--”
She juggled deftly for much longer than most could. Then, she crashed.
The morning of the end, she woke and rose from her bed. She pulled on her leather amour and put flowing black robes over; pulling her black, rolling hair tight into a bun.
She met her bodyguard, Erasmus, a stout Dwarf mercenary, at the door of her apartment.
“Mornin’,” he grunted. “How’dya sleep?”
“Haunted by the wails of my fallen foes,” she said, ruffling his hair and kissing his cheek. “How’s my grumpy little guy today?”
Erasmus blushed. When she hired him, she only really wanted him as muscle, a dispensable protector from the thugs. But he had become more. So much more. Even after all these mornings, Erasmus still blushed.
“I gotya tea,” he said, handing her a mug.
“Thank you, darling.” she said, walking. Erasmus followed alongside. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
‘First up, we got a meeting with some dealer who ripped of Mavi. He’s going to bring us a bit as tribute so we call off the price on his head. Then, we got a meeting with Harvier, and we can use our cut from his job to pay off Ros. And then Lars has something for you. Something big, I think.”
She cringed. Lars. Some of the scum she dealt with were straight up sociopaths who reveled in pain and violence. Some were charismatic hustlers; some were caught in a bad situation. Lars was worse. Talking to him was like cannonballing into a vat of pig grease.
“Do we know what pig-boy wants? Permission to bathe?”
“No, Erasmus said, eyeballs darting from pocket to pocket, looking for the glint of a blade as they walked through the crowded seaside streets, heading towards their office; a corner table at the Gilded Trout.
The afternoon was spent wheeling, dealing, sliding envelopes and coin pouches and threatening and Erasmus only had to punch a thug a few times to get him to cough up the baggie of Drakeroot in his sleeve.
At last came Lars. A slimy ogre of a human with a belly that swung as he walked. He smelled like manure permanently.
“Lars. What do you want?”
She was not going to pretend to be kind to Lars. She was not going to be diplomatic. He was in the worst games that could be played; he had his toes in the acid of every dark bile of a deed this city burped up.
Lars had a slimy, high pitched voice that rang high in the air like the buzz of an insect.
“You’re going to kill someone for me.”
She scoffed. She nudged Erasmus under the table and he woke from nodding off and he scoffed along with her.
“Why would I kill someone for you? Who is it? A toddler? A priest?”
“No,” he said. “One of my own. Greb.”
She knew Greb. He had a reputation as a mean guy. A real mean guy.
“Why would I stick my head in your noxious circle?”
“Because I’ll pay you enough to pay off Tritan, and then some.”
Her days were numbered with Tritan, the leader of the Kenku Conglomerate. Soon, he and his flocks of Kenku would take what she owed them, whether she had it or not.
So, she agreed. A few hours before Greb entered the Soapy Bog, she paid the bartender to lock the door behind him. They hatched out the plan. Erasmus would hide behind the bar and wait until Dreg was distracted; then, he would hop over the bar and slice his throat. Easy, right?
------
Greb
Greb let the blood of the steak run down his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, and took a long sip from his keg. He didn’t see the door lock behind him, or the bartender slip into the back room.
He didn’t notice any sort of disruption until Erasmus leapt over the counter, swinging his steel greatsword directly at Greb’s head. In a split second, Greb swiveled his head back, slipping off his stool, and the blade of the greatsword cut through his armor and gashed deeply into his side.
Greb saw his blood on the floor,and his eyes grew wide as his pupils darted around the room like a cornered animal.
A set up. That goddamn greasy shitbag Lars.
Greb let the anger pulse through his body like a hot wind, and in one fluid motion he ran his great axe through Erasmus’s chest, cutting through the chain mail, finally spilling his enemy’s blood on the floor.
As he left the rage pulse through him, he, in another fast motion, sailed his axe at Erasmus again. Halfway through his swing, his beaded eyes caught the glimpse of a diminutive shadowy figure still seated at the corner table of the tavern, watching the fight unfold.
-----
Erasmus.
It had been some time since Erasmus had taken a blow that strong. The orc was fierce.
In wartime, as the archers volleyed and the shields went up and he watched his kin and friends cut through, souls claimed and blood let onto the earth, he would harden his boots as if planting himself into ground like a boulder; he would let the anger let the animalistic instinct take over and he would lash and strike and flail.
But he knew better, now. Now, he hardened. He sharpened his mind. He thought of a plan.
Greb, frenzied and lashing, allowed himself to be distracted for a split second by the shadowy tiny person in the corner. Erasmus had seen the creature as well, and a younger version of himself would have let loose his grip. Instead, he hardened.
Greb’s swing went wide, he missed, and Erasmus sliced down his left arm. Angered by the sight of his own blood, Greb swung, wide again, lodging his axe into the wooden side of the bar.
Erasmus didn’t want to kill the orc. Erasmus also didn’t want to kill his first kill ever, a human solider of the Red Banner who fell when Erasmus, barely a man, stabbed her clean in the chest and watched her fall into the dirt while he defended the Far Outposts.
But Erasmus put thoughts of mercy aside and drew his two handaxes, designed for deft work, for carving out the end of a life. Greb swung widely, and hit Erasmus in the side, cracking a few ribs. As Greb smiled, teeth bared, readying himself for a kill, Erasmus ran, jumped on a table, and cracked his right axe down on top of Greb’s head; the top of Greb’s skull split like a dropped plate.
Greb fell.
Erasmus leaned against the bar, clutching himself.
“Damn,” he said, calling to Saeel, “Haven’t fought one this good in years.”
Saael came out from the tavern kitchen. She preferred to not see the dirty work.
She looked at Greb’s body, a dead heap of an orc. “Should we take a pulse? Make sure he’s not going to come back to life?”
“I’ll just chop.”
Erasmus readied his great axe.
The real execution.
As he lifted up to swing, an arrow shattered through the front window of the tavern, sticking deep into Saeels’ chest. Her eyes widened and she fell limp.
The days blurred by; each the same as the last. Constant danger, constant fighting. But they never kissed death. Now, Erasmus inched closer to terror, closer to the frantic anger of the orc he had just killed. It’s not that he feared death. He feared losing Saeel.
He had a split second before guards stormed in; he grabbed Saeel’s body, launched it over his shoulders like a sack and dashed out the back of the tavern as the guards streamed in, arrows hitting the walls behind him like a deadly game of darts.
---
Greb
Greb emerged from his small death, and as his vision blurred and righted, he saw a small gnome man with silver hair and a wild beard leaning down over him.
“Relax, boy,” the gnome said. “You’re all right. You’ve been out for about two weeks.”
Greb wanted to know where he was, who the gnome was, and if he had lost the fight against the dwarf, but the only thing he could muster up to say was his thanks.
“Boy, you saved someone close to me as well,” the gnome said, smiling, holding a disembodied and slightly decomposed finger. “This belongs to my son. Thank you.”
“Is he in the city? He can’t, Lars will kill-”
“He isn’t in the city, no. And neither are you. I took you out of that dreadful place and brought you to Rosebrook, about a week’s journey up the coast.”
Rosebrook. Greb had heard of it, sure. Fancy place with wizards and the kind of large, wooden ships that the ambassadors and royalty sailed in on.
“You’re safe, boy. And you’re healing well.”
Greb felt better. Almost good enough to get up and fight. He tried to rise, but fell back in pain.
“I said well,” the gnome snapped, “not fully healed! Get in bed.”
Even when the gnome snapped, he was still kind, like a teacher scolding an unruly pupil.
“I suppose you are wondering who I am. My name is Jaas. I am a magical tinkerer, a master of the arcane. You showed my screw-up son Lees a kindness I have not forgotten.
I want to be clear that I am not holding you here, Greb. You are free to leave whenever you wish. But I also recognize that you are away from home, unable to return, and likely wondering what your next step should be.”
Greb hadn’t had much of a chance to think about his next steps. But the gnome was right. He didn’t have much of a future; he couldn’t go back to his city. He didn’t want to get back into the criminal life.
“Sure,” Greb said. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m part of an organization. We have an expedition planned to a place that holds great potential. Unfortunately, I have to be vague. But my employer, the Venture Corp, plans to sail a great fleet of ships to this new land.
I am a pilot--er., captain of such a ship. And I need a bodyguard. I don’t want a typical sellsword cutthroat; I want someone who can hold their own in a fight but that still has a conscience. And I believe that you fit the bill, Greb.”
Greb knew he should think about it, weigh the pros and cons. But he didn’t. Almost instantly, he agreed.
___
Saeel
“Our safe house isn’t safe, Erasmus,” Saeel rattled hoarsely. “Those Dawes Twins are up to something, I know it.”
For about three days, Saeel and Erasmus had been laying low in a tiny room behind a butcher shop on the outskirts of the city. The Dawes Twins, both fat and swinelike with greased mutton chops were supposed to be keeping a secret.
“I know,” Erasmus said, peering out of the cracks in the wooden slats into the pig farm. “Do you feel well enough to run?”
“Not real-” Saeel started before Erasmus picked her up, covered her mouth, kicked down the door to the room and fled towards the woods, arrows once close behind, peppering the trees next to them.
Erasmus carried her for about a mile before she pounded on his back to be let down.
“I can run,” she said. “You can’t carry me forever~”
Erasmus grabbed her and placed her in front of him, tears forming in his eyes. “Yes, Saeel. Yes I can. Yes I can carry you forever. And I will carry you, into the river Stixx, into the Underdark. I’ll carry you until my bones dust out from underneath me, until I collapse and fall forever. I will carry you. It is not work. It is love.”
She placed a hand on his cheek, firm, and pulled up his gaze to meet hers.
“I love you.” A search dog brayed in the distance. “But we need to run.”
Saeel and Erasmus ran until Saeel could no longer run; until she hunched over next to a tree, vomiting blood.
“We need to get you to a healer,” Erasmus said.
“We need to survive,” Saeel said, gently correcting him as the two began to move further into the deep woods as the moon began to set a white gleam in the sky.
Erasmus
After a few hours into the night, Erasmus thought that it could be safe enough to let Saeel sleep for a few hours. She leaned up against a tree and fell asleep instantly, too quickly.
As he patrolled the area, his thoughts lingered on her. She always kept them alive; she strung out the deals, she convinced the buyers, she sold the product. He hit things, killed things. But if it weren’t for her he’d be another scrub sellsword rolling in his filth at a tavern. She saved him. It was time for him to save her.
Cutting through the quiet of the forests, rattling and clanking of goods jostling on a wagon, about 1000 feet to his left; through the trees, he made out a faint lantern and the footsteps of horses. They must have blindly stumbled close to a trail.
He snuck through the dark, unnoticed, towards the wagon. He could make it out; a farmer’s wagon driven by a half asleep old farmer and his wife, pots and pans clanging with each dip or rock in the road.
He thought about approaching, maybe buying the wagon, bribing the old farmers. But he knew enough to realize that almost everyone from the city knew they were wanted, and had a small fortune of a bounty on his head.
Erasmus’s stomach dropped slightly. A small voice of mercy gnawed at the back of his mind, pleading. But Erasmus was a soldier. This was war. He drew his great axe, and made quick work of them, clean and painless (or so he told himself). They were both dead before they had a chance to scream.
He stashed their decapitated bodies in a gully well off the trail and gently roused Saeel. Thankfully, she didn’t ask questions. She got in the wagon and they rode the trail to Rosebrook for days, in peace.
---
Greb
Greb didn’t know when the ships would set off, but he was having a pretty good time. Jaas lived in his study, fervently preparing for the voyage, leaving Greb to his own devices. It was a safe city, unlike the place he ran from.
Or, perhaps Greb was far enough removed from the seedy underbelly to run into trouble. Either way, it was nice to not fear being stabbed every time he left Jaas’ manor.
Greb walked to the market of the town. He stopped, and browsed some simple magical trinkets peddled by a gigantic turtle before headed to the Corner Club.
He walked in. Another orc greeted him, grey, shirtless, scars running down his old body.
“Hey, it’s the new friend,” the grizzled orc said as Greb walked in. “Want to fight?”
Greb nodded. “Sure do. Been itching to try out some techniques.”
It was midafternoon, and a joyful crowd began to pour in from the docks, heading to the bar and then down stone steps to seats around a pit set about 10 feet into the ground.
Greb wrapped his fingers with a bandage. “We up first, Misk?”
The old orc nodded. He wrapped his scarred fists in tandem.
Greb followed the old Orc down into the tunnel that led down into the pit.
The two bowed to each other, and Greb landed his first punch. The crowd cheered.
---
hi i like to play dungeons and dragons
(Not really related: the main hub area of the Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword is called Skyloft.)
Come participate in the Competition of the Finest Brews, Edition XXVIII?
My homebrew stuff:
Spells, Monsters, Magic Items, Feats, Subclasses.
I am an Archfey, but nobody seems to notice.
Extended Signature
Huh, i didn't make that connection! Cool
hi i like to play dungeons and dragons
This is really nice! Good job!
Only spilt the party if you see something shiny.
Ariendela Sneakerson, Half-elf Rogue (8); Harmony Wolfsbane, Tiefling Bard (10); Agnomally, Gnomish Sorcerer (3); Breeze, Tabaxi Monk (8); Grace, Dragonborn Barbarian (7); DM, Homebrew- The Sequestered Lands/Underwater Explorers; Candlekeep
Also fun fact, Skyloft in Legend of Zelda is almost exactly how you described your Skyloft.
Orange Juice!
I was about to comment that lol...