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Nashal

12-08-2009, 11:59 PM

In the dead of night, a fire crackles under a starless sky. Even the moon dared not illuminate the forest. Sat upon a felled tree's trunk next to the fire was a kerra, wrapped up in a cloak to protect against the night's chill and a hood drawn over his head to hide his eyes. A paw reaches out to lift an uncorked bottle of some form of drink up to his lips. One swig was enough for him to begin the story for any who had arrived to hear it. Exhaling slowly and setting the bottle down, he speaks. "You're free to leave whenever you choose, but stay and I will tell you the tale of a kerra with the berserker's spirit." It all began when a gnoll raiding party came across a traveling wagon on its way to the city of Qeynos. The two within thought themselves safe so close to Qeynos. They were husband and wife. The first to die was the father, his death was merciful. An arrow struck him in the head, slaying him instantly. The second arrow was not as accurate, and struck the wife in the neck. There was no stand against the assailants, it was a quick murder. Moments later, the creatures moved in on the wagon. Before they commenced to pick it clean of its contents, the leader of the group discovered a basket nestled between the two bodies of the wagon's former owners. Lifting the sheet from the top of the lump in the basket, the gnoll's eyes grow wide as it finds a cub fast asleep. Quickly, it bundles the cub back up in the blanket and takes it from the basket. So it wasn't as obvious, it took a few other objects and slung them over his shoulder. It was not an act of mercy, it was simple animal nature. The child was food. In an hour the bodies had been looted, disposed of, and the cart was being driven back to the main camp.A sentry watching through the holes of the cave entrance's gate snaps around, an excited bark from him causing the messenger to spring to his feet and dart off deeper into the cave to spread the word. The sentry unbars the gate and swings it open as the wagon makes its way through, closing the gate behind the carriage. One gnoll from the group breaks off and hides around a corner. He waits a moment, making sure none had seen him before turning to enjoy his stolen prize. He would have, too, had he not run face-first into the gangly shaman of the tribe. The shaman narrows his eyebrows before his gaze falls on the bundle held in the gnoll's arm. With a hoarse screech, the shaman scares the gnoll back out into the main cave chamber where the wagon had ended its journey. Still screeching as all attention is turned to the gnoll in question, the shaman points his staff menacingly at the hidden child. Biting his lip, the gnoll drops the other loot off his shoulder and kneels down to present the bundle with outstretched arms. The shaman cautiously peels the cloth back. As the last fold is taken off, he gives a yelp and draws his paw back sharply. Looking down, he notices the kerra child with its one coming fang tooth bared, and his own paw now bleeding from the single puncture wound in his finger. A look of wonder crosses over his face as he moves forward once more, chanting quietly as he reaches slowly for the cub's forehead. The cub growled, but did not bite a second time as the shaman presses the forming blood spot to the cub's forehead. Taking the uncovered cub from the cloth, he dismisses the others from their dazed and quiet state before stalking off to the den of the chief, chanting under his breath.With the chieftain’s approval, the cub was raised under the shaman’s supervision. At a young age, he was introduced into the art of combat. It was a primitive fighting style the gnolls practiced, one which relied too heavily on improvisation and lacking any true discipline. The kerra was only ten years of age at the time and showing promise. The shaman had high hopes that this was the one to be their champion, even if he were an outsider. With their wooden training swords carved to resemble actual weapons, the young would spar and train under their handler’s supervision. The wounds they received, though far from lethal, were painful enough to keep them from making the same mistake twice. There came a day when the young trainees would be pitted against one another. To win would be to advance into training with real weaponry. The rules were simple, with their wooden training weapons, they would put to use the things they had learn, and when a blow that would result in death with a real weapon was struck, the duel was over. Childhood rivals selected one another. The chief had paired his own son, a headstrong child on the verge of being overconfident, up against the kerra outsider. He was not fond of him, he was not akin to the gnolls. The others fought their duels until the end until finally the time had come for the chief’s own son to face down the outsider. The fight was fierce, but short. It ended with the chief’s son shouldering the outsider, knocking him onto his back and stepping up, swinging the wooden sword to deliver a harsh hit to the side of the kerra’s neck, a decapitation. There were noises of approval from the crowd as the chief’s son turned to his father, grinning in his victory. The look was quickly replaced by shock as his body jerks and he looks down to find a wooden sword protruding from his abdomen. The defeated kerra that violently ran him through stood still clutching the sword with both paws, fury burning in his young eyes. The chief, after recovering from his own shock, stands and snarls menacingly. Instantly, the kerra is beset by guards and hauled off. Two days later, after the chief’s son had died and been buried, the kerra was hauled from the cell he was thrown in and brought out before the entire clan gathered in a large chamber within the cave system. There he was branded, a mark of great dishonor and treachery burned into the upper right of his chest. After a speech, filled with the snarling language of the gnoll chief, the kerra was taken to the cave’s entrance and hurled bodily from its gates.A slight drizzling rain dampened his fur and somewhat soothed the burning scar left on his chest as he started to walk, holding himself in a vain attempt to keep himself warm against the rain. It took a number of days, but surviving from chance finds of edible plants he found the walls of Qeynos. A scout of the city had found and brought him in. The orphanage would not accept the claimed ‘savage’ child found outside the city, so he resided in the guards’ quarters and there trained himself in the use of weapons and armor. It was not formal training, but the guards rarely came back to the barracks, for all were out on shifts, so the boy was free to take up spare arms and armor, and practice in the training grounds. Pushing the dark memories of his childhood away, he found happiness in strengthening himself, learning how to move and fight in armor, as well as sharing small portions of the guards’ meals while learning the common language during the off-time bantering of the men and women of the guard. Seasons passed and the kerra became more familiar with Qeynos. Eventually, however, the time came when the guard could no longer house him, and he set off to seek more opportunities to further improve his talents.His search lead him to a guild. They accepted him after he had proven his strength in combat. With them, he became a dungeon crawler. Whenever they heard of an undead infestation, or ruins overrun with creatures, they would prepare and set off, returning stronger and more wealthy each time. One report in particular told of a portal into a separate realm, opened by a heretical mage. It was told the realm held the very essence of chaos, nightmares and evil. The guild only sought to explore it for whatever otherworldly treasures it may contain. Fully prepared, they stood before the gateway in an abandoned crypt. A disk in the middle of the gateway showed an almost normal land on the other side. Around the disk writhed tendrils of power. One by one, the guild filed through the portal. For what would seem like eons, the guild had disappeared into the other realm until finally the disk shook. Those posted to guard the entrance stood ready to face the evils that may come forth. Quickly, however, the guild poured through the entrance once more, now short a couple members. Last through was the kerra, the only one with more fury painted on his face than the panic the others seemed to have. Turning, he gave a roar and lifted his greatsword he had ventured in with, and brought the massive sword down upon the disk, shattering it with a blast of energy that threw those in the room back against walls or to the ground. The guild had seen enough adventure for the time being, and returned to the Lion’s Mane Tavern within Qeynos. Weeks later, the guild seemed to have all but recovered physically from the event, however the kerra had definitely changed. There were periods when anger would bring about a change of color in his eyes, or the formation of glowing cracks within his flesh. Though these effects went away when the anger was quelled, most of those around him had doubts. It did not take long for him to be banished from the guild. They took no action to hunt him down or report him to authorities, but they all had good reason to believe his soul had been tainted within that chaos dimension. Now outcast once again, he ventured off into the wilderness once more to temper his chaos-bound soul and his troubled mind. He would return a mere two years later, calm but with definite traces of insanity. These traces were hard to notice, often mistaken for a slightly obscure sense of humor. Now he searches for something. He knows what he needs, but he does not know where or how to attain it. His doubts have lead into questions of where his allegiances lie. Would he find something or someone to calm his troubled mind and offer good times within walls of Qeynos, or would he have to find that someone or something in Freeport to focus his fury into a devastatingly powerful force?As the hooded kerran finishes his story, he takes another swig of his drink, setting the bottle down. “That kerra’s name is Nashal, and he has returned to a guild that abandoned him, and a land that had forgotten him.”