Up north in a town called Fabernum, there was this thursar I want to tell you about--goes by the name of Rachnaw, but some folks call him the Runt. At least that title is an apt description (due to his stature) and Rachnaw learned to accept it, like one might accept balding or a chronic rash. Now, there was a lot about Rachnaw that didn't make a whole lot of sense, which made him a good fit for the strange town of Fabernum--of course all this just makes the story more interesting. They call Fabernum the griefer capital. Rachnaw didn't find it to be that, exactly. But he'd admit there were some nasty customers there. Of course, Rachnaw hadn't seen much of the world, and couldn't tell you Tindrem from Morin Khur. But I digress, and Fabernum is where this story unfolds. Now the story of Rachnaw the Runt begins when he drifts into Fabernum, and it took place in the time after the big guild Odinseed had stopped making it their headquarters, and instead of protecting it, would sometimes raid it. I only mention it because sometimes there's a man, well in this case a half-breed mix of Khurite and Risar... but let's just call him a man, and I am talking about the Runt here. Sometimes, there's a man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that's the Runt in Fabernum. And even if he's a short, ugly man--and Rachnaw was most certainly that--there's a man, sometimes... but that is enough of an introduction.
Often, the stories life gives us are not ones we could have anticipated. In fact, to anticipate our beginnings is an impossibility. A person could not chose their parents, place of birth and so on and so forth. But begin we must, and we play the hand we are dealt. Rachnaw new this all too well. Somewhat bestial looking, even for his kind, he played the role of the outcast since birth--not a beginning he would have chosen, but the only one he knew. I've already mentioned he was short, and a bit chubby too, but let's not be mean. Anyway, Rachnaw was not going to win any beauty pageants, and his lowly social status as a thursar just added to that heavy load. Life was hard, and no one knew that better than Rachnaw the Runt.
Rachnaw blew into Fabernum like so much dust, though he had somewhat of a purpose. He was there to find work in a crew called the Sewer Guard. The Runt had to smile to himself, as he thought most would suppose that the sewer would be a fitting place for him. At any rate, the Sewer Guard were watchmen of sorts, who patrolled the "subterrain" areas of Fabernum and other parts of the north--and most importantly they offered work. On the day he arrived, he first set out to explore the town and began to set himself up a bit. Rachnaw could craft some basic equipment, so added these to his meager possessions. He had learned (i.e., was forced to) to mine from the time he was a child, so he went out to gather granum. He know enough to take that granum, crush it, and through processes he didn't rightly understand turn it into cuprum. With this cuprum he could make a suitably formidable club.
After those chores, the Runt took a few tasks from the local constables to clean up the excess bush pig population, and some of the walking dead that were spilling forth form the local graveyard. Who or what was causing the dead to rise was unknown to even the wisest, so Rachnaw didn't think too much on it. It was work, so he shouldered his truncheon and started out to smash moldering skulls for a few coins.
Just when Rachnaw was going to try to locate his Sewer Guard contact, wouldn't you know it--a commotion hit Faberum, like someone had poked a hornets nest! A force had come to raid, just past the bridge to the west, and the Fabernum militia was frantically preparing to engage it. Now Rachnaw had a strong survival instinct, which perhaps was the only reason he had made it to his early 20s in the first place. I don't want to say that some in his situation would have likely given up before hand, but I am saying it because it's true. So, seeing the obvious danger, he joined with the militia to repel (he hoped) the threat. However, it should be said that the Runt was no great warrior. Sure, he had Risar blood, and his hard life had made him tough. However, he lacked much experience in battle... at least the kind that included things like tactics and organization and any real martial skill. Regardless, he marched out with the militia that day.
The battle commenced largely on the bridge itself, which was no more than 10 feet wide. Some skirmishes spilled out around its edges, but most of the carnage took place on those old, blood-soaked boards that spanned the shallow lake. To describe such a thing would make little sense to one who had not grown up in Myrland, because it was as much spellcraft as it was sword and spear. Explosions of fire, and cracks of lightning rained down from the sky. Fighters in steal armor and gleaming weapons would charge in, whilst being supported by healers who could mend wounds with magic from a distance. The whole thing smelled of sulfur and gore, and it was a type of chaos that could only happen when men meet to kill each other. Rachnaw was now one of those men.
When the Runt went to meet the raiders at the bridge, he noticed one stood out from the rest... and this was quite the literal take. This figure was massive, a giant compared to those around him. Rachnaw, ever the survivor, knew he had to stand his ground and to show any sort of weakness was death. So, he set out to engaged the giant, who seemed to be leading his force across the bridge. The cacophony of battle, Rachnaw heard the giant call out, "Rachnaw. Rachnaw! Do not opose my men." How this huge warrior knew his name he did not know, but his warning went unheeded. With all his might, Rachnew whipped his club down on the mess of raiders in front of him. Some of his blows landed true, but those that did would simply dent the armor of the opposition felled no one. These were equipped and experienced soldiers, not just desperate scrappers from the thursar slums that Rachnaw knew. But, somehow, fate would have it, that the Runt fought is way to the giant.
Bang! Bang! the Runt's club rang out as he viciously assailed the huge man in front of him. The fully armored giant did not seem to notice the blows, and didn't even do Rachnaw the courtesy of returning them. It was a stark contrast, comical even if it wasn't so damned violent... the short stubby Rachnaw standing against the tall, athletic leader of the raiders. In the chaos, the Runt had over extended to meet the giant in battle, and he was ingulfed in the surge of raiders around him, and finally laid low by their many blows. As Rachnaw fell, the giant regarded him with something like sincere pity... not mocking, nor sneering... but a tinge of genuine regret, as if apologizing in that brief moment, with just the motion of his helmeted head and the look in his eyes. However, before the Runt could consider if he found this noble or infuriating, darkness overcame him.
Often, the stories life gives us are not ones we could have anticipated. In fact, to anticipate our beginnings is an impossibility. A person could not chose their parents, place of birth and so on and so forth. But begin we must, and we play the hand we are dealt. Rachnaw new this all too well. Somewhat bestial looking, even for his kind, he played the role of the outcast since birth--not a beginning he would have chosen, but the only one he knew. I've already mentioned he was short, and a bit chubby too, but let's not be mean. Anyway, Rachnaw was not going to win any beauty pageants, and his lowly social status as a thursar just added to that heavy load. Life was hard, and no one knew that better than Rachnaw the Runt.
Rachnaw blew into Fabernum like so much dust, though he had somewhat of a purpose. He was there to find work in a crew called the Sewer Guard. The Runt had to smile to himself, as he thought most would suppose that the sewer would be a fitting place for him. At any rate, the Sewer Guard were watchmen of sorts, who patrolled the "subterrain" areas of Fabernum and other parts of the north--and most importantly they offered work. On the day he arrived, he first set out to explore the town and began to set himself up a bit. Rachnaw could craft some basic equipment, so added these to his meager possessions. He had learned (i.e., was forced to) to mine from the time he was a child, so he went out to gather granum. He know enough to take that granum, crush it, and through processes he didn't rightly understand turn it into cuprum. With this cuprum he could make a suitably formidable club.
After those chores, the Runt took a few tasks from the local constables to clean up the excess bush pig population, and some of the walking dead that were spilling forth form the local graveyard. Who or what was causing the dead to rise was unknown to even the wisest, so Rachnaw didn't think too much on it. It was work, so he shouldered his truncheon and started out to smash moldering skulls for a few coins.
Just when Rachnaw was going to try to locate his Sewer Guard contact, wouldn't you know it--a commotion hit Faberum, like someone had poked a hornets nest! A force had come to raid, just past the bridge to the west, and the Fabernum militia was frantically preparing to engage it. Now Rachnaw had a strong survival instinct, which perhaps was the only reason he had made it to his early 20s in the first place. I don't want to say that some in his situation would have likely given up before hand, but I am saying it because it's true. So, seeing the obvious danger, he joined with the militia to repel (he hoped) the threat. However, it should be said that the Runt was no great warrior. Sure, he had Risar blood, and his hard life had made him tough. However, he lacked much experience in battle... at least the kind that included things like tactics and organization and any real martial skill. Regardless, he marched out with the militia that day.
The battle commenced largely on the bridge itself, which was no more than 10 feet wide. Some skirmishes spilled out around its edges, but most of the carnage took place on those old, blood-soaked boards that spanned the shallow lake. To describe such a thing would make little sense to one who had not grown up in Myrland, because it was as much spellcraft as it was sword and spear. Explosions of fire, and cracks of lightning rained down from the sky. Fighters in steal armor and gleaming weapons would charge in, whilst being supported by healers who could mend wounds with magic from a distance. The whole thing smelled of sulfur and gore, and it was a type of chaos that could only happen when men meet to kill each other. Rachnaw was now one of those men.
When the Runt went to meet the raiders at the bridge, he noticed one stood out from the rest... and this was quite the literal take. This figure was massive, a giant compared to those around him. Rachnaw, ever the survivor, knew he had to stand his ground and to show any sort of weakness was death. So, he set out to engaged the giant, who seemed to be leading his force across the bridge. The cacophony of battle, Rachnaw heard the giant call out, "Rachnaw. Rachnaw! Do not opose my men." How this huge warrior knew his name he did not know, but his warning went unheeded. With all his might, Rachnew whipped his club down on the mess of raiders in front of him. Some of his blows landed true, but those that did would simply dent the armor of the opposition felled no one. These were equipped and experienced soldiers, not just desperate scrappers from the thursar slums that Rachnaw knew. But, somehow, fate would have it, that the Runt fought is way to the giant.
Bang! Bang! the Runt's club rang out as he viciously assailed the huge man in front of him. The fully armored giant did not seem to notice the blows, and didn't even do Rachnaw the courtesy of returning them. It was a stark contrast, comical even if it wasn't so damned violent... the short stubby Rachnaw standing against the tall, athletic leader of the raiders. In the chaos, the Runt had over extended to meet the giant in battle, and he was ingulfed in the surge of raiders around him, and finally laid low by their many blows. As Rachnaw fell, the giant regarded him with something like sincere pity... not mocking, nor sneering... but a tinge of genuine regret, as if apologizing in that brief moment, with just the motion of his helmeted head and the look in his eyes. However, before the Runt could consider if he found this noble or infuriating, darkness overcame him.
To his genuine surprise, Rachnaw the Runt awoke in the Temple of Fabernum, ostensibly with a heartbeat and breath in his lungs.
To be continued...
(You may notice that I pretty much ripped off the Coen brothers for the first paragraph of this short tale--it seemed appropriate.)
To be continued...
(You may notice that I pretty much ripped off the Coen brothers for the first paragraph of this short tale--it seemed appropriate.)
