Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Hav0k 06-23-05, 05:09 PM	So I am in the midst of writing the Autobiography of my Drunken Master Kender (Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel), and so far have completed the Foreward (written by his nephew) and 13 chapters. Each chapter is only a page or so long.. so I was wondering if anyone here would like to read it through and perhaps critique / help me with it? If anyone is interested at all, I will post it all here :)
MT-296 "Dagger" 06-24-05, 01:56 PM	A lawful kender?!? Do post it! Im interested in anything kender related.
Gilganarz_the_reporter 06-24-05, 08:39 PM	that much backstory is always entertaining... when its' about a drunken master or kender, it's hilarious. When it's about both, it makes the gazebo joke seem old and pathetic. Post away!
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:30 PM	Wow I'm suprised anyone is actually interested. Well I will start posting then with my next post (gotta switch computers). MT - he isn't lawful anymore (he was only lawful for a brief period of his life). A monk who becomes unlawful doesn't lose any monk abilities, but cannot take any more levels as a monk.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:35 PM	Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel Forward by: Dilimli Drunkensquirrel, White Wolf Rider of Ergoth. The Original White Wolf Rider of Ergoth. The first Kender to beat the nomadic X'ier tribe champion at the drinking games. He who loved the plains, the women, the orcish fat chicks, and everything life had to offer. To some he may seem surreal, to others... he may seem like every other drunken (and sometimes nude) midget. Uncle Kegchugger wasn't always an enigmatic drunkard, however... oh no. His beginnings were quite humble and his rise to "power" was just as tough as the next kender's. In these pages, Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel's tale will be told as he would tell it... looking back on his life from the heaven's above. Here, then, is the autobiography of my wonderful uncle, Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel. Sincerely, Dilimli. Chapter One - Life as A Young Kender My life as a young kender was as average as any others, I suppose. Raised in Kendermore (quite a few years before the dragon attack, mind you), I learned early the meanings of freedom and liberty. My parent's loved me, they did, and even as a babe they insured that I made my own mistakes. Indeed, they loved me as much as any parent could love a child. It wasn't until the age of three, when I first realized how different my name was from the rest of Kender Society, that I thought that my parents absolutely must despise me. My name was borninthebackofacartwhereiwasconceivedan dgivenafinegnomeinventionofmyfathersasab eingborngiftbutsuchabeautifulchildthatth eheavensmusthavesmileduponbothofmyparent sfacesonthenightofmybirth Drunkensquirrel. Yeah, you guessed it. My father was a gnome. My shortened name (for family and friends alike) was simply "Borth". I kept my mother's last name, thank Moradin. Anyway, growing up was simple. Lots of friends, tons of love, lots and lots of gadgets to play with... everything was fine. Uncle Trapspringer even came over one day to visit. While he was in the home, he acted mightily funny. He never picked up anything to examine it, didn't seem to care what was in our pouches, and spent most of the time out in the latrine. His one-day, no words visit changed my life forever, though. As he walked out to the latrine for the upteen time that day, he forgot to take his canteen jug. Me being the curious Kender that I am, had to take a sip. "FIREWATER!!!"... this was my first thought as I threw myself backwards, gasping for breath and feeling my insides seemingly burn away. Soon the feeling past, however... and being such an interesting feeling, I was soon quick to try again. This pattern went on for several minutes, until much to my dismay, the canteen was empty! This was the last thought I had before I saw the world click upside down before my eyes. A few hours later, my father opened my eyes for me. I seemed to be laying in a pool of my own urine and feces. Father was understanding enough, and taught me all about Ale and how it should only be drank in moderation (as well as entering a short monologue about the fuel efficiency of it). Shortly after, I learned first-hand how a bit of ale can split one's head better than the mightiest of greatswords. After this experience, nothing ever seemed to be the same. Father (Iwanto Jacobson) decided that a fine gnomish woman would be far better for him than a kendermaid (something about his machine parts always coming up missing... clumsy dad). He left for Mount Nevermind quickly enough, and that, I beleive, was the last time I saw him. He left just a few days after the "Ale Incident". This tore mother up... and after that day her emotional outbreaks kept getting worse. I was a workhorse for my mother until my teenage years, when I decided it would be better for both of us if I left. Out the door I went, never to return. Chapter Two - Teenage Me I left the house at about age fourteen. Mother was slowly dipping into an isolated state, and her emotional issues were just too overbearing. I left with basically the clothes on my back, "carry-all" that I made myself (it was a barrel with two ropes attached to go on my back), my father's old handaxe, and my lucky ring. I had about 2 GP to my name... back then that was enough to get my by for maybe a month, if I was lucky. I bunked with a friend (Kireli Thumbpopper) for the first couple nights, before deciding to go find a job. Back then I knew Kendermore like the bottom of my lucky canteen. I knew nearly all the kids my age, and a sizable portion of everyone else. I was in good shape, and had never been in any serious trouble... so really, I was the ideal employee. It took about a week before I met a mysterious little fellow... a good bit smaller than me, who was interested in hiring company for his hunting business. Later I was to find out that this fellow was halfling. He was getting up in his years, and said he could use a young gun like me to help out... carry the weapons, haul the carcasses and what not. It didn't seem like to interesting to me, until he said he was offering a silver a day to anyone who would just do the job and not complain. I was hired. Now, hunting with "Rallos Daggerwhistle" was truly an experience. He never used bows, never used spears. When we went out on a hunt, he took a two rations (he never forgot one for me), and a dagger. When I approached him and asked why he didn't take along a few more of the luxuries that could be had, here is what he had to say: "Lad. Don't take me for a poor man, and don't take me for a fool. I've enough money to spend the rest of my life in comfort, but I don't need it. I learnt a while back that these woods... right here outside Kendermore.. can be more of a home than any palace or castle. You learn the way of the wild, and mother nature'll take care of ya just fine. The reason, son, that I don't take anything else with me is that I wouldn't want to offend Mother Nature by not puttin full trust in her". I was enlightened by the end of his monologue, and the next time we went on a hunt, I had my Canteen o' water and my fathers old handknife. Quick was I to learn the ways of the wild, and soon Rallos introduced me to a man who, like Uncle Trapspringer, changed my life forever. ---theres the foreward and first two chapters. I'm putting the others up in a bit.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:41 PM	Chapter Three - What Cain Oriss Said "Cain Oriss is the name, and Mother Nature hath blessed thee." He said these words, yet he didn't say them. He spoke them, but not in any language I had ever heard. Yet I understood him... somehow, someway. I knew what he said to me, and instantly I found the correct syllables to put together. The correct phrase to answer this strange being... and in a language that not only had I never spoken, but never knew existed. "Ceil Axx tum yerheilos muchassa eirr Borth" Hello. I am the Kenderchild Known as Borth" The man, Cain Oriss, was tall. Unearthly tall, and green, and just... BIG. A half-orc, I knew by pictures in my fathers diary. He wasn't at all unkept, uncouth, or rude to me, as I had first perceived half-orcs to be. Instead, he was polite, kind, and very patient with me as he taught me the rest of a secret language that I soon learnt to be Druidic. Apparently, as I had put my trust in Mother Nature these past months, so had she put trust in me. She sent this messenger of faith to me to teach me the true ways of the wild. Rallos dismissed me to Cain, and I lived with him in a cottage that was made of a living tree. He taught me how to absorb the power of mother nature, and how to transform this power into raw, useful magic. Cain kept me under his tutelage for a few months before he said I was ready to protect my own section of Mother Nature's body. So, according to Cain's instruction, I travelled until I felt like the land needed a protector. Chapter Four - Meet Ergoth and Cyrus I travelled for much longer than I was expecting. Several months at least... but I did not keep track of time. I stopped at several cities and made plenty of money hunting and selling good meat at markets. My father's axe rotted away from being out in the open constantly, and it needed to be replaced. I bought one with a water-treatment on it... guaranteed not to dryrot. I bought this axe in a town in Eastern Ergoth, and it wasn't too long after that when I discovered a place where Mother Nature was in extreme need of protection. Travelling towards Western Ergoth, I came upon a plains that was dieing. It didn't look like it was dieing yet, in fact, most of the plant life was healthy. As I crossed these plains, however, it seemed to call out to me. The sun was a little too harsh.. the water a little too stale. The plant life would not survive under these conditions. Indeed, upon a closer look, the soil was slowly drying. I stayed here for a while, making my camp under the stars. The lack of wildlife was astounding, and I could not pinpoint the reason. I remember distinctly the night that I discovered I could not sleep. I lay awake half the night... a bad feeling coiling around inside of me, until I decided to take action. I walked around the plains for hours... looking here, there.. in patches of trees, under boulders... I needed to find the source of this burdensome prenominition. Soon I came across a Wolf mother. She barred her teeth and tryed to be intimidating toward me, but she would not get closer or back away. After coming to my wits again, I noticed a crudely-made arrow jutting from her right flank. From the blood flow going down her leg, the arrow must have hit an artery. I suddenly was drawn into deep pity for this animal... and at the same time she dropped to her stomach, casting me a look that begged for help. I walked over and tryed my hardest to remove the arrow, but there was no way to move it without inducing further injury. I was caught between to evils... let this animal die slowly, or put it out of it's misery. I realized what I had to do. My heart had never before grieved so heavily as I slowly rubbed the back of this beautiful animal. The wolf nearly purred as it went to sleep under my attention. Soon she was deeply unconscious... a mixture of pure exhaustion and her wound, most likely. As soon as I saw her eyes roll back, I snapped her neck. The sound of the bone snapping ocurred in sync with the flow of tears that started from my eyes. The tears weren't because this animal had died, and not because I killed it. I did not kill it, I had merely stopped it's killing. My tears flew for the bitter pain that I would bestow upon whoever lodged this arrow in the animal's leg. I lay beside the wolf mother for quite sometime, absorbed in grief. Then I felt a nudge against my side... and nearly tore myself in two, thinking I had not finished the job, but merely put the animal through more pain. As I opened my eyes, however, i was overcome with happiness. The wolf mother did not die in vain.. she died protecting one of the most beautiful wolf cubs that, to this day, I have ever set my eyes upon. A ball of snow-white fur with eyes as black as coal looked up at me. It had no clue what was happening... and it came closer. It go so close so that I could see my breath pushing it's hair back. I picked it up, and it howled with joy as I petted it. It had no fear of me. I took it from it's deceased mother, and on the walk around the plains, named him "Cyrus". Chapter Five - Retribution About an hour or two after I had adopted Cyrus, the most stunning sunrise that I can remember began. The sun splashed the sky with light pinks, dark reds, and through the middle... a golden-silver color. Cyrus and myself had only walked a few miles when this began, and we both sat at the same time to enjoy the view. And then it happened. An arrow thudded into the ground beside me. Cyrus began to jump from shock, but was quickly pulled down by his tail. The tip of which was pinned to the ground. I was not in the lack of action, for in the next few seconds I had Cyrus unpinned and in my arms, and I was hauling ass for a patch of trees a few dozen yards away. Halfway there I felt an arrow thud into my thigh.. but alas, my adrenaline was working for me that day. I slowled not one bit until we plummeted into the undergrowth. Silently, we both held still and waited to see what enemy had attempted our lives. Over the hill that we had just run down came one of the ugliest creatures I had ever seen. A half-man half dog creature... a Gnoll. It had a shortbow held out in front of it, and appeared to be scanning our tree patch. It came closer and closer, but never seemed to notice our hiding spot. The nasty creature got within five feet, still scanning the brush. Finally he must have decided that we must have went for another hideaway, because he turned around and headed along the brushline. I didn't hesitate a second. Mind you, it took a moment to get my Throwing Axe unstrapped, as I did so, Cyrus let out a howl that as I remember, was quite astounding for such a young pup. I was close enough to watch the gnoll rais his hackles before turning and notching an arrow. He wasn't halfway through turning our way when my axe left my hand. To this day I like to think that the only sight of me that the gnoll enjoyed was sadly split in two by the flight of his death.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:43 PM	Chapter Six - Goblins Attack! I spent a very, very long time on the plains. I don't know how, but I managed to grow a very thick beard - something no known kender has ever accomplished before. I beleive I can place some of the honor of this event on my gnomish side. Living in the wild developed my muscles very well, and soon I was completely indepedent. I no longer went to villages to get my axe sharpened, I caught my own fish, harvested my own natural fruits... and raised my own wolf. Indeed, Cyrus was becoming quite the alpha male. He was getting sizable, and still nowhere near full grown. As onerous as he was however, he still held his keep in the small dwelling I had created. It was one day that I had sent Cyrus out to have fun chasing (and hopefully bringing home) some rabits that I came across a most curious man. He was a human from the looks of him, and bald at that. Wearing simple robes and walking as if he had not a care in the world. I yelled to him, inviting him over to the dwelling. He walked over solemnly and we greeted each other. As it would turn out, this man (Jim Brown) was a monk of colorless robes. They didn't really have any hard-core beleifs, besides that one should live life as they wanted. He was explaining the only rules they have to me: No women, No mind-effecting substances, and to respect one another, when he caught my attention. The next sentence was "everyone lives together in the temple. We have a local hunting grounds and our own farm. Hasn't been a problem in several hundred years". I was becoming more and more interested in the monastery lifestyle. Jim stayed for about two weeks - I offered him the best of everything I had. This included MY bed, MY water, MY food, and Cyrus's rabbit. After staying a week, he invited me to come live at the temple, to learn the ways of the monk. At first, I refused. I still had plently of questions, and there was no way I could leave Cyrus behind. We were brothers. Jim consoled me, however, by making it very clear that the actions of the past week had proved that I would be a worthy addition to the monastery, and that arrangements could be made for my canine friend. I accepted the invitation. Jim made sure all of my questions were answered on the walk back to the monastery. He told me that when I arrived they would render me clean-shaven and weaponless. They would strip me of all posessions, but in return teach me how to use all that I was born with as the ultimate weapons. Jim was very foreward about everything, and I could tell that he did not hide the slightest detail. He had just finished telling me about the dietary habits of most of the monastery's members when I heard a very peculiar sound coming from behind a few boulders about fifty yards to our right. Jim and I both silented ourselves quickly enough, and Cyrus was fast to trot to my side. I lifted up to my tiptoes trying to see further in that direction, but alas... being a kender does have it's negative sides. Jim whispered "Goblins." into my ear. My hand went to my axe. It had never failed me before, I was positive it wouldn't now. When I went to unstrap it from my waist, I felt Jims hand stop my own. I looked up to him, and he simple shook his head. He astonished me with a dexterous feat unlike any I had seen before. In the blink of an eye, maybe less, he had springboarded himself into the air and was now crouched ontop of the boulder. When a group of about six goblins hopped out from behind the boulder, Jim was instantly in the middle of them. I lost track of the monk as he twirled, nearly making a visible whirlwind with his speedy attack. In less than a few moments, all of the goblins were out cold, lying in a circle. He motioned me to follow him as we trotted through the plains, eventually coming to a well-hidden set of buildings. "Welcome home." Chapter Seven - Home Well, it certainly looked homely. Jim took me on a tour of the place, and then introduced me to the "master". He was a very lithe old man who, despite his age, looked like he could hold his own in any bar room brawl. He spoke very little... often answering questions with mind-boggling questions or simply one word. He seemed nice enough, however, and I liked him. I took to my room for only a few hours before jim came in with the razor and bucket of warm water. He was quick with the razor... it set me on edge how quickly he guided it's edge across my scalp, face, neck, and throat. When he was done, I looked down at my freed hair. It was suprising to see how much lighter my head seemed... my beard must have been at least a foot long, and thick enough to inspire jealousy in many a dwarf. My hair was scraggly, and probably reached my lower back. Jim, uncaring, took it all from me in a few short moments. Then, in his usual straight foreward way, taught me the most useful method of meditation. I was a quick learner, as I had nothing better to do. Soon Jim left, and told me to fetch him when I felt that I was ready for training. I meditated for what seemed like hours on end. I focused on various things... my life up to this point, what I wanted life to be like, what I expected from the monastery... all of it was quite fullfilling. I daresay I would have been in that trance forever had it not been for Cyrus nudging me, making me aware that it was well past time for sleep. I lay on the simple matress for only a few moments before unconsciousness took over. The next day training began... and it was hell. Each day, training seemed a bit easier. Until in the mornings, I enjoyed the muscle-stretches and kata's that we performed. Even sundays, when we were all allowed to sleep in as we wished, I would wake at the same time and go through the daily ritual. I began to love the Monastery life. I lived at the monastery for almost three years before I took my first soul-searching adventure. I was instructed by the master to search the world around me until I found something more satisfying than meditation. So I left the monastery. Chapter Eight - Success or Failure Before you read on, know this: I do not claim to be perfect. I do not claim to be a good individual, but neither will I accept the title of evil. I am as weak and as strong as any being can be. My force of will is the same as most peoples. As with any man, I too am vulnerable to the seduction of the female, of the greed, and of the power. Now, to continue my tale... I left the monastery with a new kick in my step. Cyrus was a fully grown wolf now. His fur had become a bit darker, but still white. If his eyes had changed at all, they had only grown darker. Within two days of my leave of the monastery, I realized I had forgotten my razor, for the godly speed of my facial hair growth was starting to prove itself. I felt dirty for not being clean-shaven. I atoned everyday by waking hours ealier and making my runs harder. I beleive I even began to wear down Cyrus, judging by the fact that he would now nap during our usual play time. I was again becoming more attuned with the wild. A few months after leaving the monastery, an idea hit me. Perhaps what must be more satisfying than meditation cannot be found in the wilds. Perhaps I needed to travel to cities... to meet new people and discover new things. This is exactly what I did when I awoke the next morning... started heading to a the largest city around - Raventower Metropolitan. The first feeling I had when arriving at Raventower was of being overburdened. Everything was so BIG. It was overwhelming for a Kender such as myself. I managed however, and kept camp right outside of the city. When I was wandering through the city, Cyrus seemed more than happy to stay at camp and keep guard (or to sleep, as I were my suspicions). I met many merchants who were happy to accept my gold (the monastery returned it upon my leaving). I came, by chance, to a very shabby looking tavern. I went into the tavern and ordered water (it was free), and a bowl of soup. It didn't take but a few minutes for a drunken dwarf to spin in his barstool and place his eye on me. As I recall, his words were: "Hey Kender... Whattaya think yer a' doin tryin to act a regal dwarf with that beard n' all... you know good slime!" As I remember it, a very well-made mug flew across the bar and, with aim that I am still jealous of, clocked me on the forehead. Thank Moradin it didn't render me unconscious, or I may not have been able to enjoy the very unpleasant look upon the dwarf's face as he leapt across my table (quite a feat for someone his size) and began strangling me. This dwarf outmatched me greatly, and at once I realized that I was likely to die in this very pool of alcohol that the dwarf had just vomited around me. Just as the black edges of unconsciousness began to invade my vision, the dwarf was sent flying by a rather well-placed kick from a human stranger. "Thoretor! How many times have I told you to stay away from the Ale! It makes you unreasonable!". The human helped me up and introduced himself as Gregory. He asked if I had any money to my name, and I told him about how much I had. He was quite kind, and offered to teach me how to handle myself in a fight for only.. I beleive it was five coppers. After this very interesting turn of events, it crossed my mind that I might never see the monastery again. I beleive I had fullfilled my quest... but would never return to report my success.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:45 PM	Chapter Nine - Dirty Fighting Gregory turned out to be a very interesting human. I paid him five coppers a week, and he spent most of his "off-time" (don't ask me what he did) teaching me how to handle myself in a street fight. His teachings were somewhat less and somewhat more than the monastery's teachings. His focus was purely physical. I enjoyed learning from him, because he seemed a bit layed back, but still professional. I felt that I had learned nearly all I could from him at the end of the third month, and he seemed fine with me leaving. I left ten gold peices on his dresser as a tip. I've not seen Gregory since the last time he taught me. It didn't take long for someone else to pick the scruffy kender out for a fight. This time it was a smaller specimen of the Half-Orc society. I was walking home after spending some time chatting with the local weaponsmith, when I get pulled into an alley rather aggressively. He was a scrappy looking fellow, one might say, and demanded I give him my gold. I asked him what he would use if for, but he didn't seemed interested in conversation. After he shook me -quite wholly- a few times, I realized that this guy was nothing but a bully. I remembered the first thing that Gregory had taught me, as well as the first thing the monastery had taught me.. and taught this bully both of them with a flurry of kicks to his groin. His eyes rolled white, and he quite quickly passed out. I decided that he must have done this routine several times, and he was a bad guy, so I took his coin purse as well as a few cheap peices of jewelry he had in his pockets. I went back to the inn that I had first visited, feeling very proud of myself, and rented a room with my enemies money. In the morning, I went down to the bar and ordered myself some eggs and ham with a large milk. I sat next to the window, and was observing the crowd when a very familiar face passed by. I did a double-take, and indeed, I was correct! Jim the monk was in this very city! I raced outside (forgetting my meal, and the payment) and looked around for him. I could not pick him out of the crowd, and decided that I would look for him later. First I wanted to check out more of the city. On the upper-half of the metropolitan (a place I had not visited yet) was much nicer taverns. One called the "Drunken Arena". I walked into this tavern to discover that all of the furniture was nailed to the ground, and various blunt weapons were hung all over the walls. My head was nearly knocked off as I walked in by a very angry half-orc swinging at a dwarf who had apparently picked this fight. I barely ducked the blow, and before the half-orc knew what was happening, both of my hands had a firm grip on the tender of each of his breasts. I pulled him quickly down to my level, and planted a headbutt firmly on his nose. The half-orc staggered backwards, but was not yet subdued. He threw the club at me, which painfully glanced off of my right shoulder. I charged him, and he ducked low and tried to trip me. Really, he should have known better, because I simply leaped and bit his cheek... rather harshly, and planted two good fists right on his two good eyes. My fists won that confrontation, and the Half-orc fell backwards, very unconscious. Chapter Ten - The Drunken Dwarf Slowly I came down from the mid-battle adrenaline rush that I had entered. The pain in my right shoulder grew, and I came to realize that it was probably out of it's socket. A clapping came from behind me, and I turned to see the dwarf (very inebriated) who was originally fighting the Half-Orc. He had a huge smile on his face, and was in the midst of toasting my victory. He told me to take a shot of his brandy whilst he fixed my shoulder. I took the shot. The godly drink was insanely delicious. I nearly went into a frenzy wanting more. By the time I realized what I was doing, I was down to my second pitcher of the tavern's strongest brandy. The world was spinning so gracefully, and then everything went black. I woke up sitting at a table with a dwarf, a human, and a half-elf. They were all smiling, and soon began to inquire as to my fighting history... my training and what-not. They were very nice about it all, and invited me to stay the night in the tavern with them and party. This was an offer I could not refuse! I figured Cyrus would be okay one short night by himself, so I got comfortable in my chair and began a delightful conversation with these fellows. The conversation went from ice-breakers to fighting style. All three of them seemed to not fight unless inebriated. Something about "loosening the mind and muscles" or something. They explained their theory to me, and I must admit, it made sense. They decided to test me... and I got my ass thoroughly wooped in a matter of seconds. With a smile, they helped me up and brushed me off. They recommend that I teach myself their style (as each of them had done) by going bar-to-bar and picking fights while inebriated... and decided which method worked for me. So again, Cyrus and I packed up left town, heading for another tavern in another day. For nearly two years we did this. My win percentage started going out the roof. Cyrus and I depended more and more each other as each day went by... we were brothers with roots as deep as they could go. Then, at one small tavern, I ran into a very pale human who would be the first in a long time to defeat me in a bar fight. Chapter Eleven - Jim? I tapped this bastard on the shoulder, and he responded quicker than most barroom opponents. He whipped around and grabbed my wrist quicker than I could act. When I looked up into his face, I saw a pale, unhealthy human. He was bald and ugly, and smelled of death. I recognized him, however, as he spoke a few words that I realized must be arcane. His hand lowered in front of my chest, and just as the word "Jim?" escaped my mouth, he sneered and I landed, clothes charred, on the wall twenty paces from where I was standing. I was quite suprised, but not too badly injured. I lifted my head just in time to see Jim hovering above me. "Filthy Kender. You've ruined my life, and so shall I ruin yours." His fist had a slight glowing quality before it smashed into my face, which made for some interesting dreams. When I awoke, I was quite groggy and still very "out of it". Looking around, I saw the black cape of Jim's back leaving me. I was laying in some sort of muck... looked like swamp water to me. Just a small puddle, but leeches were always a danger in waters such as these. I rolled to dry land, and fell unconscious once more. The next time I awoke, I was in the the hands of a fairly big half-orc warrior. He seemed intent on his job of carrying my somewhere, so didn't immediately notice that I had woken up. When he did, however, his problem was solved as he smacked a sap across the side of my head. Again, I did have some pretty good dreams. These guys are just too much. For the first time since I left home almost, my dreams were mainly about my mother. Distinctly I remembered how she acted after father left, and soon these thoughts led to remembering that first day that Uncle Trapspringer visited. It seemed to awkward, how dreaming of that splitting headache seemed to almost meld into my next wakening experience.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:47 PM	Chapter Twelve - Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel Yes, the large orcish hand that was coming into constant contact with the side of my face meshed very well with my rememberance of the splitting headache that my first taste of ale gave me. Unfortunately for me, the half-orc wasn't bright enough to realize that slamming me in the head was most probably going to end up working against his goal of waking me up. However, he stopped pounding my head when I opened my eyes and made it clear that I was paying attention. He smiled broadly at me, and I realized I was vertical...instead of horizontal usually associated with being unconscious. I was tied to a plank. How fun. The half-orc was blessed with understandable common speech, so I knew the basics. I was a prisoner. I was to stay a prisoner until I proved myself. Proving myself seemed to be funny to this orc. Last but not least, I only get one meal a day. The only thing I really regretted about this situation was that I'd lose my usual morning - evening - night, and all the in-between drinks that I had been getting accustomed too. Oh well... this was one kender who was quite easily adapting. Then the clan's champion was introduced to me. If my mouth wouldn't have been so dry, I could have damn near choked on laughter. The so called "Clan Champion" was a fat beast of a half orc. He couldn't have much strenght, and he'd be easy to work around. Then I saw the reason he was the champion. On this fat orc's back was strapped a keg. From the sloshing sound, it must have been about half-full. On the side of the keg was the word "Champion's Glass". Heh... we had ourselves a drinker. I was kept a prisoner for what I calculated to be about a month before the guy who originally introduced me to my loss of freedom decided to ask a few questions. He went through the usual.. Name, age.. whatnot, but then they got interesting. He wanted to know if I was ready to challenge the champion. I figured it was my turn to ask questions, and indeed, my suspicions were correct. Proving myself was a matter of beating the champion at "Plumbing the Barrel's depth". I accepted the invitation to challenge, and was untied and led outside, to the center of a ring of half-orcs. They placed a barrel of the foulest, nastiest smelling ale I had ever seen in front of me. they weren't cheating however, because judging by the champions "whiskey face", he had the same stuff. They explained in decent common how the challenge worked. We both drank until both of us passed out. The one to drink the most wins. The half-orc stomped, and the champion began chugging. They held me back from my keg, so I supposed that I had to let him go until he passed out, then it would be my turn. It was amazing. The fat bastard put almost half the keg away before swaying, then got down to three-fourths of it before falling over, out cold. The led me up to my keg (which looked slightly more full than the champion's had been), and a foot stomped. That was my signal. I started as quickly as possible... hoping to down as much as possible before it could start getting to my bloodstream. I chugged, and chugged... and the effects started getting to me. I swayed a few times, but kept myself chugging. I was resolute, and just kept going. I felt my tongue scrape the bottom of the keg before I felt my eyes roll back, and I fell out of the keg. Everything went black. I had no dreams during this sleep, it was dark enough to call it a temporary death. When I woke up, a few half-orcs came running over to me. I moved, and was immediately in extreme pain. Looking down at my skin, it was nearly black.. so sunburnt it was. The half-orcs looked astonished... suprised that was I alive. From their ranting, I took that I was out cold (and they left me here!) for nearly eight days. They helped me up, and very carefully took me indoors to a bed. A shaman readily greeted me, then sapped me on the head. In my dreams I could feel the spells being binded into my soul. I woke again, fully healed. No burns, no scratches, no hangover. The shaman looked at me, and handed me the axe. With a smile that was too graceful for a half-orc, the orc Shaman said: "We name you Kegchugger. Your throwing axe, it shall always come back." Chapter Thirteen - Fat Orcish Chicks The orcish people are actually very nice, once you take the time to get to know them. They helped me around the village, learning all the places and homes. The shaman, two days after my recovery, took me to see the champion. The champion greeted me with a smile, and patted me on the back in a most uncomfortable way. He stated loudly "Now you, new champion, bed my wife". So I took a doubletake. You would have too. Apparently, it was tradition for the newest champion to "bed" the previous champions wife. My head went spinning in such an awkward situation. It continued spinning when I was led to the bedroom, and met his wife. At least four hundred pounds of very green half-orc. I am suprised that I had the fortitude to go through with this, but I politely asked the champion "Several bottles of your best, please...". I drank. I drank and then drank some more. And in just a few minutes, laying on the bed in front of me was the most beautiful nymph you've ever sat your eyes on. So quickly did I join her in the fornication. When I awoke the next morning, I was nearly dead, and not because of the hangover. The champion's wife managed to roll over. Fighting my way out from under her wasn't too hard, but I was trying to do it without waking the beast. It was during this moment that I came up with a theory. To this day I teach it to all I see, and I call it the "Alcoholic's Fat Orcish Chick Solution". You can't have the alcohol and the beautiful chicks. You get a hot one adn drink, she'll get ugly quick. However, if you get an ugly one and drink, you get the best of both worlds... completely trashed and a beautiful female! I left the room, and went back to my bunk in the shaman's quarters. I slept on the floor that day... Cyrus had taken over the bed. For the next couple months I lived with the Half-orcs, going out and hunting with Cyrus, doing various chores. It wasn't too long until I found out that the Champion's wife was pregnant... and no one but myself had bedded her in the last couple years. Oh ****. I met up with her a few times and discussed how I would father the child. I would not be around long enough to be a good father, but I would take the child and tell him or her that I was it's uncle. I'd take it from the orcish community, and teach it the ways of the wild. After I made sure it could survive, I would leave it to it's own. Dilimli Drunkensquirrel was born four months later. He was almost a perfect kender, having taken nearly no traits from his mother. A beautiful child. I was almost sad that he would grow up to his own accord. Chapter Fourteen - Leaving Momma Even a hardy drunken kender man like myself could not let a kenderboy grow up amongst half-orcs. The champion's wife, however, did not want to so readily give up her only son. I took it amongst myself to make plans for getting out of the village with the babe in tow. She let me keep Dilimli with me for half of each day - in the morning, when she was needed to do feild work with the rest of the tribe's women. Dilimli turned out to be somewhat of a child prodigy, he was speaking intelligently before his first birthday. This wasn't that uncommon amongst kender kids, but it was important to me that my son was so smart. His first couple months flew by and he spent more and more time in my tent. When I had to leave for a few minutes every now and then (when the latrine called), I would come back to find Dilimli softly cradled up against Cyrus's underside. They were quite close. I came back one morning to find that a young orcish boy had found his way into my tent. The flap was open, and I was still a few dozen yards away when I made out what was happening. The young orc had a stick in his hand and Cyrus stood between the boy and Dilimli. Upon seeing the next action of good ole' Cyrus, I made up my mind quite quickly that we were to get out of the village as soon as possible. The boy went to poke the stick at dilimli, only to get his wrist caught in the vicious jaws of my canine companion. A quick shake of his head, and Cyrus had dismembered the boys hand. The boy screamed like a banshee before bolting from the tent. I darted into the tent, grabbed my belongings, Dilimli, and winked at Cyrus. It was less than a minute before we were halfway out of the village. In just a few moments, I heard the hunting-horn blow... the game was on. My only thought while running through the forest was to keep Dilimli close and safe. I managed this better than most, and he was amazingly quiet for the amount of jostling he was being subject to. He seemed to understand the situation well enough. It wasn't long before I stopped... and stopped I did. Had I ran another inch I may not be here today. In front of my face hovered the business-end of a nasty-looking spear. My eyes followed the spear to it's weilder. A very stout looking wild elf made a friendly face, then motioned to Dilimli. This wild elf was no enemy. I figured he would hold Dilimli for me while I fended off the half-orc tribe. He took Dilimli and dissapeared quite quickly through the trees. I started back towards the village. I really needed to ensure that they would not continue to hunt myself or my son. It wasn't long before I could hear the heavy steps of a half-orc approaching. Loud, unstealthy creatures half-orcs are. I looked up, and to my suprise... I was surrounded. Quickly I reacted to the situation. I grabbed the nearest branch (it was still connected to a tree), and swatted the face of the orc in front of me. With him successfully pushed back, I let go of the branch and, quite on accident, handled the orc behind me as well. I thought I may might be on to something, but never got the chance to test my theory. A blow from behind knocked me several feet foreward. I managed to turn myself around halfway through my plummet foreward. Wow... my attacker was one big fellow. He kept charging... matching my pace of flight, and swung. My whole body was picked up again by the punch and knocked a good bit to the left. When I managed to stand up before my foe, his face was filled with terror. I shook a fist at him, and the big oaf took off with more speed than any half-orc should posess. Turning around to brush myself off... I saw that my wilf elf friend that I had met just a few moments earlier had managed to bring a few friends. All of them were smiling, and all of them had a bow pointed in the half-orc's general direction. I thought to myself: They got here just a few minutes too late... they missed my show of scaring away that orc! The wild elf stepped up to me, and held out my son in a gentile manner. He motioned to a shaman, and then said: "The taint of orcen blood has been removed from this child.". Indeed, Dilimli seemed a bit smaller.
Hav0k 06-24-05, 11:50 PM	Chapter Fifteen - Dilimli The wild elves used luck magic on both my son and myself. They kept us with themselves for a few days, then let us go with many a wish of farewell. It wasn't long before my son and I came again to the plains that, as a younger kender, I had loved. One-year-old Dilimli and myself lived in a lean-to in the middle of the plains for quite sometime. He seemed to absorb and learn everything he saw. He was more and more of a friend to Cyrus. By Dilimli's second year, he was running like the best of them, and hurling rocks hard enough to make anyone duck for cover. Twice it was that I came home to find he and Cyrus out. In a few hours they would return... Dilimli happily riding upon Cyrus's back. The smile on young Dilimli's face after those evening's riding the plains was enough to melt a stone giant's heart. Dilimli was halfway through his second year when he experienced his first tragedy. I walked into the tent after self-brewing some more ale one day to find Dilimli passed out in the dirt - not breathing. My heart skipped a few beats as I saw the upturned canteen that he had been drinking from. My first thought was that the poor boy had drank himself to death. I knelt in deep prayer, and opened my eyes to see the dirt below Dilimli pushing healing energy into him. His eyes opened, and he was alive. For the next several days I never left Dilimli's side, as he was terribly sick. Cyrus seemed to drop into a depression, and laid beside the boy. Neither of them left the tent for what seemed like weeks. Dilimli didn't really seem the same once he became active again. It was almost as if he had matured a good bit in a very short amount of time. His third year was approaching and I was growing tired of this place. I longed for my taverns and my women. I decided one night that I would start to prepare a pack for Dilimli, so that he would have a few months worth of supplies should I leave. I made him a keg-pack much like my own (I had inherited the champions), and filled it with salted meats. I left him canteens full of water, as well as three good quality buckets. He knew the location of the river, and how to fish. He wasn't great at it, but I had no doubt that he would survive. During the last few days before I left, Cyrus seemed to fall into a depression again. I swear he knew what I was about to do... and he was torn. He and I had adventured together for years, and he and my son had become the closest of friends. I made his choice for him one night. I sat beside Cyrus as he gnawed happily on a rabbit's leg bone, and patted his back as I spoke. "Cyrus. I'm weathered and professional. Dilimli is just starting his journey in this cruel world, and hopefully his story is much greater than mine. I want you to be there to protect him during his travels." Cyrus understood... of that I have no doubt. Immediately he dropped the bone and placed a paw in my hand. In a few moments, he pulled away and lay close to a sleeping Dilimli. "Goodnight fellows," I said, "I love you both". With that last goodbye, I left. Chapter Sixteen - Weaving Tales I left with a tear in my eye, I did. I had never wanted anything greater than to stay with Dilimli and Cyrus until my final days. However, I realized that it would not do for them to have a drunken oaf like myself around. I left and never looked back. From that point on I thought of Dilimli with every action I took. Everytime I went to a tavern I would weave stories of a great man named "Kegchugger Drunkensquirrel" who left his son to the wild... to grow up to be the mightiest of all Kenderkin. Of course... I never took the credit for being Kegchugger, so that the stories would seem more beleivable. It was my only hope that Dilimli would catch wind of one of these rumors one day, and perhaps realize that I was his father, not his uncle like I had previously made him beleive. It wasn't too long that the tales beat me to new inns and taverns. I'd get there and start the tale only to be interrupted by a "That's an old one" or "Already heard it, old Kender". This made me quite happy. I kept picking bar fights at each one I stopped in, and kept my reputation up. Even the half-orc barbarians of the cold lands would now refuse to do battle with me. I was old, but still in my prime and as fierce as any. It was a good twenty years until I finally stopped picking the fights. I was getting up in my years and very exhausted. The years of ale had taken their toll on my body. I died on the barstool one night, after hearing the happiest bar room tale I had ever heard. A young but travelled dwarf sat beside me at the bar. I had just finished telling the story of Kegchugger, when he looked pitifully at me, and said the following: "Old kender, your beard is respectable, as sure as any Dwarf's. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't doubt ye for an instant. However, being as you just got here today... well.. you've missed the very source of your tale by only three days. Three day's ago, this rider of the white wolf that you speak of was in here, drinking up a storm. As vicious as any kender if there ever was one. But, my old friend, you've misheard his name in your travels. I spoke to him meself, ye see, and it isn't "Kegchugger"... it's "Dilimli". Upon hearing those words, my heart was filled. I swallowed the last of my ale, and smiled at the dwarf. I told him he could have everything... and right when he was about to ask me what I meant, the great darkness engulfed me. I like to think he might have understood after that. Moderators: It just struck me that there may be (under ten) swear words in the story. I didn't originally write it to be on the boards, so I didn't think of editing it until just now. If you would like me to change those few words, just please tell me instead of frying my username or deleting the post. Thank you madams/sirs...
MT-296 "Dagger" 06-25-05, 03:00 PM	........................................ ........................................ .........Wow. That was a great read! It's got to be one of the most orignal back stories out there!
Hav0k 06-26-05, 07:19 PM	MT - 296 , I am glad you liked it, mate. It took a bit of time to do it all, and he is a very interesting character. Well now, I hope some more people come to read it :D
Hav0k 06-29-05, 06:34 PM	No one else want to read such a long backstory? Heh, guess I can't blame ye.
Need_A_Life 06-30-05, 07:40 AM	Read 5 chapters so far. It's great but I'm going to print it for easier reading... I have just finished it and I love it even more than before.
Hav0k 06-30-05, 09:32 PM	Need_A_Life: Thanks mate! I'm happy some people are liking it.
ShiverTheBard 07-01-05, 03:58 AM	Sweet. Drunken Gnomes. What's the class levels of this character actually? It sounds like a Druid/Monk/Drunken Master. I would love to see how your class levels fit your story.
Hav0k 07-01-05, 11:57 AM	I'm glad you liked it mate, here are the class levels and how they fit the story: Druid1 (When he was hunting with the Ranger and then met Cain Oriss) Monk2 (When he became a member of the Monastery) Fighter2 (He learnt "Dirty Fighting" and the ways of the street) Drunken Master7 (He was inducted by Drunken Master's and then adventured throughout the bars)
Dippiey 07-01-05, 01:13 PM	I always say that an interesting character makes an interesting story. I believe that is what happened here. But now you have to tell the full tail of Dilimli!
Hav0k 07-01-05, 05:32 PM	The Story of Dilimli is intensely more interesting than Kegchugger's. He embodies the "Orcish Fat Chicks" theory, and is a drunken adventurer from the start. I will try to get that entire story out during the next week. (I ship out to the United States Navy on July 11th (I actually leave the 10th though))... so I won't have much time.
Hav0k 06-23-06, 03:08 AM	Wanted to BUMP this post just once to see if new players and old players alike still appreciate a good backstory. I did another one on a newer character. It's not funny, but its a good backstory if i do say so myself. Seeing how people react to this old long backstory will help the decision on whether or not I want to post the new one.
Amnarii 08-18-06, 05:58 PM	good stuff. 'nuff said.
herb4 08-18-06, 06:15 PM	OK, I give up....WTF is a "Kender?" It showed up all over the "1001 and one things to NEVER allow" post, and I'm lost. And while we're at it, what the hell is a "Pun-Pun?"
Amnarii 08-18-06, 06:30 PM	The simplest, yet not the best, description of a Kender is to think of it as the Dragonlance version of a Halfling. A slightly more accurate description of a (typical) kender is to blend the hyperactiveness and curiosity associated with gnomes and small children, the attention span of a gnat or a dumb blonde, with a kleptomaniac. In general, Kender talk very fast, act very fast, and find all kinds of new things in their pockets everywhere they go, with no idea how they got there. But, subconsciously, Kender are good-hearted, as they will typically leave something in place of anything which they inadvertently pocketed... so if you find a shiny but useless button where you left your ring of teleportation, a Kender may have been in your room. Most players make their Kender characters very annoying to the rest of the group, merely with their roleplaying ability as much as the annoyance of having a kleptomaniac in the party. DMs usually think that Kender characters disrupt a party dynamic. A google on Kender will most assuredly bring about much more intensive information. [edit: missed the second half of your question] Pun-Pun is a 'rules-lawyer', 'min-max', 'character-optimization' abuse of certain rules loopholes, which grants potentially infinite power to any stat or ability for more or less no cost. It can kill almost anything, and survive almost anything. The only things which stand a chance of killing a pun-pun, or of surviving one, are other similar rules abuses. Don't get me wrong - I am all about true min/max, character optimization to make my characters stronger and more fun for me to play. But not when it involves any abuse of rules (written word versus spirit or intent), or is an outright attempt to break the game. To me, those things are (while fun at the time) simple exercises in ego boosting ["My ability to use the letter of the law to abuse the system is better than your ability to do so."] To my way of thinking, 'true' min/maxing and character optimization is to use the rules to the best of your ability to achieve an In-Character goal. Not to get the 'highest xxx bonus possible' or any other mechanical, meta-game effect. If my background / desired future for my character requires he be able to lift a 1,000 pound object, I will try to make the rules work into that as best as possible without breaking the system. I won't just go in and try to find some loophole for an infinite strength bonus. Or, if my character should be able to (per story dynamics) fire 10 arrows in the span of a breath (one round), I will try to fit that within the mechanics as best as possible... not simply try to become a bow and arrow 'machine-gun' spewing 100+ arrows / round.