Need suggestions [Archive] - Wizards Community

Need suggestions [Archive] - Wizards Community

Post/Author/DateTime Post
Ving "Fish" Flotsam
08-16-04, 04:54 PM Hey guys. This is the story I've come up with for "Glyndane" my true neutral half-orcish Wizard. I'm pretty happy with it, but I'm having trouble with the last part where he decides to visit the orcish tribe. I really want him to find Orcs and attempt to live with them (and fail, being branded as I describe), but the details of it that I've written just aren't satisfying me. Does anyone have any suggestions, even if they're completely unrelated to the idea I have? It's a long story, so thanks in advance to anyone that bothers to read it all:

The birthing was relatively painless – relatively, considering the torments this young woman endured on a daily basis. Indeed, it was to inflict these abuses that the Orcish tribe had kept the battered Half-Elven prisoner-of-war alive and in their company those many months. She had traveled with them for a great time, or was dragged along, more accurately, as they followed their warpath. She refused to give up the child to them, even if it was a product of their violations – it was an almost insignificant act of rebellion against her captors she realized, but even such a small act felt like a great victory amongst the hopelessness that was now her existence. If they discovered him he would simply be slain outright, or worse (and perhaps more likely), eaten alive. He had stayed remarkably quiet as though aware of the peril he was in. His mother realized there existed only one way to make his survival even the smallest possibility. It wasn’t until after his mother had tossed him aside into a snowdrift when she was sure it wouldn’t be noticed, and the tribe was well out of earshot, that he began to wail.
The gods, and his Orcish hardiness, must have shined on him those days. The coarse blankets he was wrapped in proved enough to keep him alive, and the poorly maintained, rarely used road the Orc tribe had passed along was frequented again only two days later. Refugees fleeing from the small township nearby which had been ravaged by the invading tribe a day before traveled south along that frigid road, which would eventually bisect a major trade route leading to Cormyr. Amongst them were a small number of Clerics of the God of Life, and it was one of their number that heard the babes’ muffled cries. Even their compassion might not have sufficed had they noticed the Orcish blood in his features, but those attributes did not become prominent until later years, and the greenish tint of his skin was indistinguishable, so blue he was from the cold. When the fact of his race was realized, he was luckily in the care of individuals less despising (or at least less recently assaulted by) those stricken with Orc in their heredity. He grew through his infancy in the care of Cormyr’s mighty Temple of Life amongst a large number of orphans. He had survived his abandonment relatively unscathed, though the frostbite he had suffered on his exposed right leg left him a limp that would remain through his life, so deadened were the nerves in that limb. Though the caretakers and clerics of the temple were not unkind, he was no idiot by any means and he clearly read the suspicion and disdain on their faces that many of them assumed would never be noted by one of such a typically unintelligent race. The older orphans would have harbored no such restraint even had they realized his astuteness, and Glyndane (a name he chose for himself, preferring it to “the Half-Orc”) was made to feel unwelcome very, very early in his life. He left the orphanage at fifteen, turning to what he thought to be the only choice for a Half-Orc with no skills to speak of (not realizing that the ability to read and speak several languages was an ability few could claim, so easily had it come to him): recruitment into the city guard; a life spent patrolling the streets of Cormyr.
Little did he realize, having no such thing ever shown him amongst the pacifistic clerics, just how difficult the martial skills were. His initial trials, immediately after applying for duty, were a thing of jokes for weeks to come. Evidently no one had ever seen a Half-Orc fight so poorly. Yet when the Dwarven armsmaster made a vicious comment to his second-in-command about Glyndane in his races’ language and Glyndane responded with one equally vile in that same Dwarven tongue, the Lieutenant of the Mage’s division took notice. Glyndane was offered a place amongst the newest recruits testing for that section of the guard. Many tests followed. If Glyndane conceived of the martial exams to be simplistic, they were nothing at all compared to the endless tests of intellect, concentration and memorization demanded of the Magi. The Lieutenant, though devoid of the prejudice towards Half-Orcs that the majority of his peers held, was not inclined in the slightest to grant Glyndane any favoritism on behalf of his circumstances. It was only after grueling studies and examinations that Glyndane was given rank in Cormyr’s division of Magi. Even then, after he had thoroughly proven his capabilities, even graduating into official duty with marks higher then a great many of his peers, Glyndane remained the butt-end of jokes amongst the city guards. His equals mocked him, his superiors constantly underestimated him (giving him only the most routine duties where little chance stood for his craft to be needed) and his underlings showed deliberate hesitation before obeying his orders. After one year of service, Glyndane declined reenlistment and left Cormyr with nothing but distaste for the ways of humans.
Having attempted life amongst those of half his blood, the humans (not aware that he was, in fact, only one-quarter human), he saw no opportunity for acceptance outside the other half. He ventured into the plains to the west in search of the Kith-Uk Orc tribe. He was aware of the risks to some degree, but how could he trust completely the disdain, the tales of evil, told to him concerning Orcs? Had he not received his fill of undeserved disgust on account of that part of him?
He came to realize that oftentimes stereotypes need be considered, if not necessarily believed outright and completely. He knew, immediately, what a fool he had been to come. It was probably only his now-pronounced Orcish features and his caution in preparing spells wisely that saved his life. As a number of the armed, imposing Orcs charged him, he raised his arm and caused the entirely limb to glow a ghastly green-white with a simple cantrip. “Shaman am I!” he cried out in Orcish, there being no word for “wizard” in that language (for obvious reasons – it would probably have been employed less often then “love”). The barbarians slowed and finally stopped, confusion halting their bloodlust. He was taken before the reigning tribal shaman, a spindly Orc that spoke the crude language shrewdly. The shaman was in fact a complete fraud who’s “communications” with the Gods were but semi-clever deceptions that had kept the weak Orc alive and prosperous amongst his brethren for many years. Now a true shaman had appeared and could threaten his position! There was only one option, and the shaman ordered it immediately. Glyndane was assaulted viciously, crude Orcish script reading “Not Orc” (that being perhaps the most vicious insult to be given by an Orc) branded into both of his cheeks. He was then let loose to run so that the tribe could then chase him down in a sort of cruel game that the shaman knew his tribe would be pleased with. The shaman had not, however, conceived that the puny Half-Orc would have run with magical haste and (barely) stayed ahead of both arrows and spears.
Glyndane nursed his wounds as he traveled. He was wandering aimlessly, along the same road he had encountered after evading the Kith-Uk. For nearly a full year he has done so, moving from town to city to village, even staying briefly at a large monastery found along the way, with no great purpose in mind.
Morka
08-16-04, 07:49 PM The orcish encounter is not completely bad, I especially like the "false-shaman."

I would have made him stay longer with the tribe. The orc aren't so stupid to evict a mage who knows many of their ennemy's tactics, and who is willing to share is knowledges with them. What if instead of bringing him to the shaman, the few hunters who found Glyndane bring him to the tribe's leader? This smart orc knows how to recognize valuable information, and what Glyndane has to share is really valuable. The false-shaman indeed sees is position seriously threatened, but he can't act as long as Glyndane is under the chieftain protection.

Now there should be an event to end this situation. Perhaps does Glyndane refuse to see orcs torturing prisonners, perhaps does he spot a female prisonner hiding another young half-orc, making him understand his own conception? In the first case, the orc leader could get enough of this weak half-orc and let the false-shaman launch the hunt you described, in the latter case, he could flee with a female prisonner and/or her son.
Ving "Fish" Flotsam
08-17-04, 08:30 PM That's a really good idea. I'm going to have a mutiny erupt between the leader and the shaman over this, dividing the tribe (with Glyn getting caught in the middle, of course).

Thanks for the help. :)
Ving "Fish" Flotsam
08-23-04, 03:48 PM Here's the revised paragraph that I came up with. Thanks again, I like this much better. :)

He came to realize that oftentimes stereotypes need be considered, if not necessarily believed outright and completely. He knew, immediately, what a fool he had been to come. It was probably only his now-pronounced Orcish features and his caution in preparing spells wisely that saved his life. As a number of the armed, imposing Orcs charged him, he raised his arm and caused the entirely limb to glow a ghastly green-white with a simple cantrip. “Shaman am I!” he cried out in Orcish, there being no word for “wizard” in that language (for obvious reasons – it would probably have been employed less often then “love”). The barbarians slowed and finally stopped, confusion halting their bloodlust. He was brought before the tribal leader and openly confessed his purpose in seeking out the Kith-Uk tribe. The leader, though a massive Orc possessing only a slightly greater intelligence then most of his underlings, recognized the great value inherent in having a second shaman amongst their number: the first, though he had the ear of the Gods themselves and dispensed their blessings onto his warriors, had no talent for practical magic whatsoever. The shaman was, in fact, a complete fraud; a spindly yet shrewd orc that had prospered amongst his betters through deception alone, through “communications” with the Orcish pantheon. Now a true shaman had arrived and could threaten his position, expose his deceptions! The fact that Glynthalas would have no desire to usurp his place did not occur to him – the shaman certainly would, had their roles been reversed. He began to plant seeds of doubt into the leader’s mind, who at first would hear nothing of it: Glynthalas -had- made life easier for the tribe through his abilities. Yet as the weeks wore on and Glynthalas began to feel his disgust for the ways of the savage beings (even as the tribe began to treat the wizard as one of their own, ironically), the shaman’s warnings – the God’s warnings – grew more intense. The leader’s reluctance to be rid of Glynthalas waned. When Glynthalas, in a genuine last attempt to bring some civilization to the bloodthirsty creatures, attempted to introduce an agricultural system into the tribe’s way of life, the shaman knew the moment had arrived. “The Gods” screamed to him, he relayed before the entire tribe in an impromptu gathering held on the spot. The teachings of the Half-Orc were blasphemy and would bring ruin upon them all. He met no resistance from the leader who agreed that there existed only one option. The shaman ordered it immediately. Glynthalas was assaulted viciously and crude Orcish script reading “Not Orc” (that being perhaps the most vicious insult to be given by an Orc) was branded into both of his cheeks. He was then let loose to run so that the tribe could then chase him down in a sort of cruel game that the shaman knew his tribe would be pleased with. The shaman had not, however, conceived that the puny Half-Orc would have run with magical haste and (barely) stayed ahead of both the arrows and spears of his people.

Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Ving "Fish" Flotsam 08-16-04, 04:54 PM	Hey guys. This is the story I've come up with for "Glyndane" my true neutral half-orcish Wizard. I'm pretty happy with it, but I'm having trouble with the last part where he decides to visit the orcish tribe. I really want him to find Orcs and attempt to live with them (and fail, being branded as I describe), but the details of it that I've written just aren't satisfying me. Does anyone have any suggestions, even if they're completely unrelated to the idea I have? It's a long story, so thanks in advance to anyone that bothers to read it all: The birthing was relatively painless – relatively, considering the torments this young woman endured on a daily basis. Indeed, it was to inflict these abuses that the Orcish tribe had kept the battered Half-Elven prisoner-of-war alive and in their company those many months. She had traveled with them for a great time, or was dragged along, more accurately, as they followed their warpath. She refused to give up the child to them, even if it was a product of their violations – it was an almost insignificant act of rebellion against her captors she realized, but even such a small act felt like a great victory amongst the hopelessness that was now her existence. If they discovered him he would simply be slain outright, or worse (and perhaps more likely), eaten alive. He had stayed remarkably quiet as though aware of the peril he was in. His mother realized there existed only one way to make his survival even the smallest possibility. It wasn’t until after his mother had tossed him aside into a snowdrift when she was sure it wouldn’t be noticed, and the tribe was well out of earshot, that he began to wail. The gods, and his Orcish hardiness, must have shined on him those days. The coarse blankets he was wrapped in proved enough to keep him alive, and the poorly maintained, rarely used road the Orc tribe had passed along was frequented again only two days later. Refugees fleeing from the small township nearby which had been ravaged by the invading tribe a day before traveled south along that frigid road, which would eventually bisect a major trade route leading to Cormyr. Amongst them were a small number of Clerics of the God of Life, and it was one of their number that heard the babes’ muffled cries. Even their compassion might not have sufficed had they noticed the Orcish blood in his features, but those attributes did not become prominent until later years, and the greenish tint of his skin was indistinguishable, so blue he was from the cold. When the fact of his race was realized, he was luckily in the care of individuals less despising (or at least less recently assaulted by) those stricken with Orc in their heredity. He grew through his infancy in the care of Cormyr’s mighty Temple of Life amongst a large number of orphans. He had survived his abandonment relatively unscathed, though the frostbite he had suffered on his exposed right leg left him a limp that would remain through his life, so deadened were the nerves in that limb. Though the caretakers and clerics of the temple were not unkind, he was no idiot by any means and he clearly read the suspicion and disdain on their faces that many of them assumed would never be noted by one of such a typically unintelligent race. The older orphans would have harbored no such restraint even had they realized his astuteness, and Glyndane (a name he chose for himself, preferring it to “the Half-Orc”) was made to feel unwelcome very, very early in his life. He left the orphanage at fifteen, turning to what he thought to be the only choice for a Half-Orc with no skills to speak of (not realizing that the ability to read and speak several languages was an ability few could claim, so easily had it come to him): recruitment into the city guard; a life spent patrolling the streets of Cormyr. Little did he realize, having no such thing ever shown him amongst the pacifistic clerics, just how difficult the martial skills were. His initial trials, immediately after applying for duty, were a thing of jokes for weeks to come. Evidently no one had ever seen a Half-Orc fight so poorly. Yet when the Dwarven armsmaster made a vicious comment to his second-in-command about Glyndane in his races’ language and Glyndane responded with one equally vile in that same Dwarven tongue, the Lieutenant of the Mage’s division took notice. Glyndane was offered a place amongst the newest recruits testing for that section of the guard. Many tests followed. If Glyndane conceived of the martial exams to be simplistic, they were nothing at all compared to the endless tests of intellect, concentration and memorization demanded of the Magi. The Lieutenant, though devoid of the prejudice towards Half-Orcs that the majority of his peers held, was not inclined in the slightest to grant Glyndane any favoritism on behalf of his circumstances. It was only after grueling studies and examinations that Glyndane was given rank in Cormyr’s division of Magi. Even then, after he had thoroughly proven his capabilities, even graduating into official duty with marks higher then a great many of his peers, Glyndane remained the butt-end of jokes amongst the city guards. His equals mocked him, his superiors constantly underestimated him (giving him only the most routine duties where little chance stood for his craft to be needed) and his underlings showed deliberate hesitation before obeying his orders. After one year of service, Glyndane declined reenlistment and left Cormyr with nothing but distaste for the ways of humans. Having attempted life amongst those of half his blood, the humans (not aware that he was, in fact, only one-quarter human), he saw no opportunity for acceptance outside the other half. He ventured into the plains to the west in search of the Kith-Uk Orc tribe. He was aware of the risks to some degree, but how could he trust completely the disdain, the tales of evil, told to him concerning Orcs? Had he not received his fill of undeserved disgust on account of that part of him? He came to realize that oftentimes stereotypes need be considered, if not necessarily believed outright and completely. He knew, immediately, what a fool he had been to come. It was probably only his now-pronounced Orcish features and his caution in preparing spells wisely that saved his life. As a number of the armed, imposing Orcs charged him, he raised his arm and caused the entirely limb to glow a ghastly green-white with a simple cantrip. “Shaman am I!” he cried out in Orcish, there being no word for “wizard” in that language (for obvious reasons – it would probably have been employed less often then “love”). The barbarians slowed and finally stopped, confusion halting their bloodlust. He was taken before the reigning tribal shaman, a spindly Orc that spoke the crude language shrewdly. The shaman was in fact a complete fraud who’s “communications” with the Gods were but semi-clever deceptions that had kept the weak Orc alive and prosperous amongst his brethren for many years. Now a true shaman had appeared and could threaten his position! There was only one option, and the shaman ordered it immediately. Glyndane was assaulted viciously, crude Orcish script reading “Not Orc” (that being perhaps the most vicious insult to be given by an Orc) branded into both of his cheeks. He was then let loose to run so that the tribe could then chase him down in a sort of cruel game that the shaman knew his tribe would be pleased with. The shaman had not, however, conceived that the puny Half-Orc would have run with magical haste and (barely) stayed ahead of both arrows and spears. Glyndane nursed his wounds as he traveled. He was wandering aimlessly, along the same road he had encountered after evading the Kith-Uk. For nearly a full year he has done so, moving from town to city to village, even staying briefly at a large monastery found along the way, with no great purpose in mind.
Morka 08-16-04, 07:49 PM	The orcish encounter is not completely bad, I especially like the "false-shaman." I would have made him stay longer with the tribe. The orc aren't so stupid to evict a mage who knows many of their ennemy's tactics, and who is willing to share is knowledges with them. What if instead of bringing him to the shaman, the few hunters who found Glyndane bring him to the tribe's leader? This smart orc knows how to recognize valuable information, and what Glyndane has to share is really valuable. The false-shaman indeed sees is position seriously threatened, but he can't act as long as Glyndane is under the chieftain protection. Now there should be an event to end this situation. Perhaps does Glyndane refuse to see orcs torturing prisonners, perhaps does he spot a female prisonner hiding another young half-orc, making him understand his own conception? In the first case, the orc leader could get enough of this weak half-orc and let the false-shaman launch the hunt you described, in the latter case, he could flee with a female prisonner and/or her son.
Ving "Fish" Flotsam 08-17-04, 08:30 PM	That's a really good idea. I'm going to have a mutiny erupt between the leader and the shaman over this, dividing the tribe (with Glyn getting caught in the middle, of course). Thanks for the help. :)
Ving "Fish" Flotsam 08-23-04, 03:48 PM	Here's the revised paragraph that I came up with. Thanks again, I like this much better. :) He came to realize that oftentimes stereotypes need be considered, if not necessarily believed outright and completely. He knew, immediately, what a fool he had been to come. It was probably only his now-pronounced Orcish features and his caution in preparing spells wisely that saved his life. As a number of the armed, imposing Orcs charged him, he raised his arm and caused the entirely limb to glow a ghastly green-white with a simple cantrip. “Shaman am I!” he cried out in Orcish, there being no word for “wizard” in that language (for obvious reasons – it would probably have been employed less often then “love”). The barbarians slowed and finally stopped, confusion halting their bloodlust. He was brought before the tribal leader and openly confessed his purpose in seeking out the Kith-Uk tribe. The leader, though a massive Orc possessing only a slightly greater intelligence then most of his underlings, recognized the great value inherent in having a second shaman amongst their number: the first, though he had the ear of the Gods themselves and dispensed their blessings onto his warriors, had no talent for practical magic whatsoever. The shaman was, in fact, a complete fraud; a spindly yet shrewd orc that had prospered amongst his betters through deception alone, through “communications” with the Orcish pantheon. Now a true shaman had arrived and could threaten his position, expose his deceptions! The fact that Glynthalas would have no desire to usurp his place did not occur to him – the shaman certainly would, had their roles been reversed. He began to plant seeds of doubt into the leader’s mind, who at first would hear nothing of it: Glynthalas -had- made life easier for the tribe through his abilities. Yet as the weeks wore on and Glynthalas began to feel his disgust for the ways of the savage beings (even as the tribe began to treat the wizard as one of their own, ironically), the shaman’s warnings – the God’s warnings – grew more intense. The leader’s reluctance to be rid of Glynthalas waned. When Glynthalas, in a genuine last attempt to bring some civilization to the bloodthirsty creatures, attempted to introduce an agricultural system into the tribe’s way of life, the shaman knew the moment had arrived. “The Gods” screamed to him, he relayed before the entire tribe in an impromptu gathering held on the spot. The teachings of the Half-Orc were blasphemy and would bring ruin upon them all. He met no resistance from the leader who agreed that there existed only one option. The shaman ordered it immediately. Glynthalas was assaulted viciously and crude Orcish script reading “Not Orc” (that being perhaps the most vicious insult to be given by an Orc) was branded into both of his cheeks. He was then let loose to run so that the tribe could then chase him down in a sort of cruel game that the shaman knew his tribe would be pleased with. The shaman had not, however, conceived that the puny Half-Orc would have run with magical haste and (barely) stayed ahead of both the arrows and spears of his people.