—The update includes Macabre's Childhood, schooling, the cursed dagger's story, and the reason for his "broken" heart—-
The candlelight gleamed like gold to the weary traveler, filled with joy that he'd found rest. Smiles filled the room, which smelled of stale air and meat. Taverns usually had quite a crowd during the night hours, but never this so much. Every corner of the room was filled, to the point where people crowded around the door. They all had come to have a look at this newcomer, this impressive looking traveler that happened into their town.
Sitting down at the bar, our character plopped down a few copper coins, and ordered his drinks. About him he wore a sword of magnificent craft, engraved with strange runes, with a saw-blade's serrated edges running down it. The hilt was even more impressive than the blade however, which was shaped into a thorny vine, down the pommel, at which there was a rose. Points and stares were directed at the sword, for even more so intriguing- the sword's hilt was a new kind of stone. Some foreign mineral they'd never seen before.
On his person the stranger wore a hooded black cloak, embroidered with red, in an elegant, yet frightening design. On the sides of the cloak, running down towards his ankles, were skulls, twisted into different contortions of emotion. Fear then began to set into the crowd, for they realized they could be in the presence of a very unkind person. When the traveler finished his drink, he stood, and in response the crowd backed up.
"I'll need a room to stay in tonight." He said softly. The bartender hesitantly replied, "Ok, that's twenty gold ah night." The traveler's face changed suddenly, and in a swift move he brought a knife from one of the customer's plates up to the bartender's throat. "Are you sure" That seems like a mightily unfair price." The traveler asked impatiently. "It's free." The stranger let his grip on the knife loosens, and walked up the stairs to a room. Silence filled the tavern the rest of the night, except for the few who dared to whisper amongst themselves.
Upstairs, the traveler, otherwise known as Tyorn the Grim entered his newly acquired room, shut the door, and took a deep breath. He had closed his eyes for just a moment, when he realized something. On his supposed newly acquired bed, was someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Glarnik. Glarnik was a petty man, a small hermit from outside the city.
"What sob story have you for me now old man." Tyorn asked irritated. "The King, your grace, has been decidedly mutinied. War has broken out in our home, and the lands have perished because of it. Whole fields of crops have been burnt to the ground, and homes destroyed." The quiet, fearful reply of the hermit said. "This is no concern of mine." Tyorn said coldly. "You shouldn't waste your time with those peasants. You're capable of so much more." "Well it just so happens your entire family is made up of those peasants as you call them, and already your brother's family has been slain." "I don't care. He was a rebel and a fool, he's no concern of mine." Tyorn replied once again, coldly. "You don't understand do you. The King was threatening to kill an innocent protester, one who only wanted to better the world by stopping public tortures." "And this justifies stupidity' The King will always be a King and will always abuse his power." Tyorn spat. "So, but it is also the citizen's responsibility to correct him." "What do you want me to do about it?" Tyron shrugged, easing up a little. The hermit tossed a sack of gold down on the bedside table. It fell open, revealing a numerous quantity of gold, gems, and diamonds. "I want you to kill the king, and all his men. All of the tyrants must be punished. This is a fund from which dying citizens have entrusted me, hoping that you would bring salvation to our city." Tyorn's eyes widened as he looked over the sack, and its contents. "You managed to bring this all the way from our city' Without being caught?" "Let not my struggle go to waste." "With this much bounty' I don't plan too." Tyorn said confidently.
~~~2 years later~~~
In the dead of night, Tyorn slammed through the door of the hermits house, sending his blood about the door. "My son," he said, taking off his garment, and unsheathing his dagger, "Take care of him, leave this place"and give these too him, when his time comes. He shall not know his father, but tell him what happened to his home. Tell him, that one day, he should return to restore balance"Or die trying. As you said"This is the citizen's job"For his father's honor, he must." Macabre, the child the hermit instructed to rescue, grew up in his father's footprints. He was trained to be a menace to his enemies, but a good friend to his companions. Filled with pride to be of the Grim family, he took up his role, and decided for his own that he wanted to apply to a combat academy. Sending letter after letter, he sought a teacher. Months after he'd stopped sending his pleas; a package arrived, addressed to the eager young man. In it, was the detailing of what would be expected of him, and a contract, so that if he died, he would not be a liability. Inside the small box that came with the parcel was a small jade ring, designed to look like a small talon, holding the stone. Inscribed on the stone were ancient runes, meaning "Blood lost is wisdom gained." A phrase which later became imbedded in the young man's mind, one which he would use at choice times the rest of his life.
His departure from home was one of sorrow, anxiousness, and more sorrow. Sad to leave the old hermit behind, he had almost forgotten his dreams, but was persuaded otherwise. "No use do I have for a lad like you anymore!" The old hermit had chuckled, "Go, learn your craft, and excel!" With this being the last thing Macabre heard of Glarnik, before being pushed out of the door, he made his way down the road. At his present age, being 9, the journey was perilous, for the academy he was too attend was in the lower sewers"far away from his home. He faced the denizens of the dark, slaying many a foe, proving that he had the skill to train as a pupil. Proving, to himself, that he was good enough for all tasks.
After a year of lonely peril within the dark, he made it up to the significantly (Compared to the Shadow Realm) lower sewer. Quickly finding the school, he began his education in martial arts, taking courses involving unique dagger practices and forms, in honor of his father. He learned there too how to unlock his mind, and use pscionistic powers. With his strengths and weaknesses in hand at 15, his schooling was complete, and the time for his further journey was at hand, if he chose it. The ring he wore symbolized his education, what he was going to learn, and according to his tutors, he was finished. Dare not, did Macabre take it off, knowing there was so much more to learn of the world, and his craft.
Macabre returned home after his years of training he returned home, to the lower depths of the Shadow City, where his home resided all these years. Taking local news from a barkeep he had stopped to get some food from, the mutinous war had still been raging on, and he learned that the forest where Glarnik had raised him was burnt down in the chaos. Bolting out of the tavern he returned to the place of childhood, to the place which now lay in ash and blood. Glarnik, was dead.
Now he was deadly, a patient killer with a quick hand, and a raging sorrow. His dagger terrified the depths at which his journey took place, all until it terrified him. On a seemingly bright day, due to the glowing crystals which now grew around him, he was ambushed by a rather foul creature. The creature had leapt at him from the back corner of the cavern he was in, but with a quick duck he'd managed to slice open the creature's belly. With a guttural growl, it insulted and spat at him in its devilish manner, having been sliced by the serrated edge dearly. Before Macabre could react, the creature had mumbled a dark curse, one that to a very present day affects him. The creature, unbeknownst to Macabre, was a Shadow Demon, and it's main strength was curses!
A spectral force seemed to pin Macabre to the wall of the cavern, and though he struggled with all his might, he could not rid himself of the binds. His own dagger floated before him, and as if it were a sacrificial ritual, it cut out his heart. Glowing profusely, the dagger illuminated the area in red. The grim face of his foe was lit, and in the crimson light of his curse, he explained to the writhing Macabre in the common. "You will not die, as long as you drink the blood of those this dagger kills! If you do not, your soul will belong to me, and you will spend an eternity as my slave! Forget this curse not, for any who kill with this wretched dagger will be affected by the curse! I caution you with this warning!" In more of a shriek than actual word, Macabre replied, "How in the hell can I stop this then??"
The demon disappeared, leaving Macabre falling to the ground, his binds released. The dagger fell into the gory mess which lay about the cavern. His blood poured out openly onto the wet surface, and he knew he had to act fast. From within his cloak he drew the box the ring arrived in, gathering the pieces of his heart, and locking them within. He saved it forever, placing it in the cavity where his heart should have remained. Gathering his wits about him, he continued his journey to the surface, where his adventures began, though of poor wealth, and hunger.
He made it to the surface in two pieces, not one. His heart still remained safely in its box, but having encountered a certain drow priestess, now beats. Though it does not sustain his body, it still offers a comfort knowing his pulse, however silly that may seem. Continuing on, he made it to the surface, which so happened to be on the outskirts of a peculiar town. Making his way for a shelter, he discovered the Red Dragon Inn, in which he to this day resides.
The candlelight gleamed like gold to the weary traveler, filled with joy that he'd found rest. Smiles filled the room, which smelled of stale air and meat. Taverns usually had quite a crowd during the night hours, but never this so much. Every corner of the room was filled, to the point where people crowded around the door. They all had come to have a look at this newcomer, this impressive looking traveler that happened into their town.
Sitting down at the bar, our character plopped down a few copper coins, and ordered his drinks. About him he wore a sword of magnificent craft, engraved with strange runes, with a saw-blade's serrated edges running down it. The hilt was even more impressive than the blade however, which was shaped into a thorny vine, down the pommel, at which there was a rose. Points and stares were directed at the sword, for even more so intriguing- the sword's hilt was a new kind of stone. Some foreign mineral they'd never seen before.
On his person the stranger wore a hooded black cloak, embroidered with red, in an elegant, yet frightening design. On the sides of the cloak, running down towards his ankles, were skulls, twisted into different contortions of emotion. Fear then began to set into the crowd, for they realized they could be in the presence of a very unkind person. When the traveler finished his drink, he stood, and in response the crowd backed up.
"I'll need a room to stay in tonight." He said softly. The bartender hesitantly replied, "Ok, that's twenty gold ah night." The traveler's face changed suddenly, and in a swift move he brought a knife from one of the customer's plates up to the bartender's throat. "Are you sure" That seems like a mightily unfair price." The traveler asked impatiently. "It's free." The stranger let his grip on the knife loosens, and walked up the stairs to a room. Silence filled the tavern the rest of the night, except for the few who dared to whisper amongst themselves.
Upstairs, the traveler, otherwise known as Tyorn the Grim entered his newly acquired room, shut the door, and took a deep breath. He had closed his eyes for just a moment, when he realized something. On his supposed newly acquired bed, was someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Glarnik. Glarnik was a petty man, a small hermit from outside the city.
"What sob story have you for me now old man." Tyorn asked irritated. "The King, your grace, has been decidedly mutinied. War has broken out in our home, and the lands have perished because of it. Whole fields of crops have been burnt to the ground, and homes destroyed." The quiet, fearful reply of the hermit said. "This is no concern of mine." Tyorn said coldly. "You shouldn't waste your time with those peasants. You're capable of so much more." "Well it just so happens your entire family is made up of those peasants as you call them, and already your brother's family has been slain." "I don't care. He was a rebel and a fool, he's no concern of mine." Tyorn replied once again, coldly. "You don't understand do you. The King was threatening to kill an innocent protester, one who only wanted to better the world by stopping public tortures." "And this justifies stupidity' The King will always be a King and will always abuse his power." Tyorn spat. "So, but it is also the citizen's responsibility to correct him." "What do you want me to do about it?" Tyron shrugged, easing up a little. The hermit tossed a sack of gold down on the bedside table. It fell open, revealing a numerous quantity of gold, gems, and diamonds. "I want you to kill the king, and all his men. All of the tyrants must be punished. This is a fund from which dying citizens have entrusted me, hoping that you would bring salvation to our city." Tyorn's eyes widened as he looked over the sack, and its contents. "You managed to bring this all the way from our city' Without being caught?" "Let not my struggle go to waste." "With this much bounty' I don't plan too." Tyorn said confidently.
~~~2 years later~~~
In the dead of night, Tyorn slammed through the door of the hermits house, sending his blood about the door. "My son," he said, taking off his garment, and unsheathing his dagger, "Take care of him, leave this place"and give these too him, when his time comes. He shall not know his father, but tell him what happened to his home. Tell him, that one day, he should return to restore balance"Or die trying. As you said"This is the citizen's job"For his father's honor, he must." Macabre, the child the hermit instructed to rescue, grew up in his father's footprints. He was trained to be a menace to his enemies, but a good friend to his companions. Filled with pride to be of the Grim family, he took up his role, and decided for his own that he wanted to apply to a combat academy. Sending letter after letter, he sought a teacher. Months after he'd stopped sending his pleas; a package arrived, addressed to the eager young man. In it, was the detailing of what would be expected of him, and a contract, so that if he died, he would not be a liability. Inside the small box that came with the parcel was a small jade ring, designed to look like a small talon, holding the stone. Inscribed on the stone were ancient runes, meaning "Blood lost is wisdom gained." A phrase which later became imbedded in the young man's mind, one which he would use at choice times the rest of his life.
His departure from home was one of sorrow, anxiousness, and more sorrow. Sad to leave the old hermit behind, he had almost forgotten his dreams, but was persuaded otherwise. "No use do I have for a lad like you anymore!" The old hermit had chuckled, "Go, learn your craft, and excel!" With this being the last thing Macabre heard of Glarnik, before being pushed out of the door, he made his way down the road. At his present age, being 9, the journey was perilous, for the academy he was too attend was in the lower sewers"far away from his home. He faced the denizens of the dark, slaying many a foe, proving that he had the skill to train as a pupil. Proving, to himself, that he was good enough for all tasks.
After a year of lonely peril within the dark, he made it up to the significantly (Compared to the Shadow Realm) lower sewer. Quickly finding the school, he began his education in martial arts, taking courses involving unique dagger practices and forms, in honor of his father. He learned there too how to unlock his mind, and use pscionistic powers. With his strengths and weaknesses in hand at 15, his schooling was complete, and the time for his further journey was at hand, if he chose it. The ring he wore symbolized his education, what he was going to learn, and according to his tutors, he was finished. Dare not, did Macabre take it off, knowing there was so much more to learn of the world, and his craft.
Macabre returned home after his years of training he returned home, to the lower depths of the Shadow City, where his home resided all these years. Taking local news from a barkeep he had stopped to get some food from, the mutinous war had still been raging on, and he learned that the forest where Glarnik had raised him was burnt down in the chaos. Bolting out of the tavern he returned to the place of childhood, to the place which now lay in ash and blood. Glarnik, was dead.
Now he was deadly, a patient killer with a quick hand, and a raging sorrow. His dagger terrified the depths at which his journey took place, all until it terrified him. On a seemingly bright day, due to the glowing crystals which now grew around him, he was ambushed by a rather foul creature. The creature had leapt at him from the back corner of the cavern he was in, but with a quick duck he'd managed to slice open the creature's belly. With a guttural growl, it insulted and spat at him in its devilish manner, having been sliced by the serrated edge dearly. Before Macabre could react, the creature had mumbled a dark curse, one that to a very present day affects him. The creature, unbeknownst to Macabre, was a Shadow Demon, and it's main strength was curses!
A spectral force seemed to pin Macabre to the wall of the cavern, and though he struggled with all his might, he could not rid himself of the binds. His own dagger floated before him, and as if it were a sacrificial ritual, it cut out his heart. Glowing profusely, the dagger illuminated the area in red. The grim face of his foe was lit, and in the crimson light of his curse, he explained to the writhing Macabre in the common. "You will not die, as long as you drink the blood of those this dagger kills! If you do not, your soul will belong to me, and you will spend an eternity as my slave! Forget this curse not, for any who kill with this wretched dagger will be affected by the curse! I caution you with this warning!" In more of a shriek than actual word, Macabre replied, "How in the hell can I stop this then??"
The demon disappeared, leaving Macabre falling to the ground, his binds released. The dagger fell into the gory mess which lay about the cavern. His blood poured out openly onto the wet surface, and he knew he had to act fast. From within his cloak he drew the box the ring arrived in, gathering the pieces of his heart, and locking them within. He saved it forever, placing it in the cavity where his heart should have remained. Gathering his wits about him, he continued his journey to the surface, where his adventures began, though of poor wealth, and hunger.
He made it to the surface in two pieces, not one. His heart still remained safely in its box, but having encountered a certain drow priestess, now beats. Though it does not sustain his body, it still offers a comfort knowing his pulse, however silly that may seem. Continuing on, he made it to the surface, which so happened to be on the outskirts of a peculiar town. Making his way for a shelter, he discovered the Red Dragon Inn, in which he to this day resides.