3. Valmar Daedelus - A Tale of Song and Hammer

Valmar Daedelus - A Tale of Song and Hammer


  • Prologue: A Tale of Song and Hammer
    PART I of III

    Valmar Daedelus was not always a disappointment to his parents. As the first born son of Jesomar and Mary Alice Daedalus, his was the constant attention of a doting father. Valmar's older sister Analise, often morose and rarely known to smile, was little competition to the smiling, laughing, little boy for their father's attention. Everything changed five years later when Moriarti Daedelus was born. While it wasn't as if his father ignored him, neither was his attention primarily focused on Valmar as he had become accustomed to. For Valmar, his world was shattered, and he grew to envy his younger brother for it.

    It was during this time, in a bid for attention, that Valmar turned from a charming, friendly, young child, to a troublesome, difficult boy. By ten, Valmar had developed a reputation for getting into trouble of all sorts. If he was told not to do something he most certainly did it. If he was denied something he found a way to get it anyway, even stealing. One thing Valmar developed an eye for were the hidden places in a building of stone where he would secret away his acquired treasures. Over time he began to call himself an 'adventurer' and claim he was liberating spoils from vicious beasts and monsters; only his aunt Genuflectia was the evil Vampiress, his sister Analise, the vile Sea Hag of Peltarch, and his little brother Moriarity, the Kobold King.

    By fifteen, Valmar was a true villain of the household. His devilish pranks and constant theft had extended into the rest of the city, where he would often wander, even when instructed not to. Eventually, his deeds caught up to him. His theft of a ring from a notable member of the Defenders left him with little chance to use his family's influence to escape repercussions. So after nearly a tenday of debate a compromise was reached wherein Valmar found himself agreeing to attend classes at the Bardic College. While his parents had proposed several alternatives, none of which appealed to Valmar, it was Valmar himself who had proposed College as a counter. He was surprised to have his parent's accept after a only a short discussion.

    Not entirely sure he was happy with his own machinations, despite how easy he was convinced Bardic College would be, Valmar set out for College expecting to get into just as much trouble as ever. His classes and responsibilities to the college soon left him little energy or time for his planned trouble-making. College was not nearly as easy as he had envisioned. His talent for music and song were no great things, nor was his ability to dance, though he showed some small ability as a poet and writer. What Valmar did discover was a that he had a talent for swordplay and enjoyed it a great deal. After a difficult day of classes he even went so far as practicing on his own, the rhythmic motions of attempting to perfect a single move and counter move calming to him. His days' troubles would quickly drift away with the sweat that poured forth during each evening's practice.

    Upon completion of his time at the College, Valmar's father was ready to welcome him back. It was clear his family was aware that he had only barely passed, and then only for his limited ability as a poet, but it was also apparent that his time with the College had changed him, steeled him in some way. His previously boyish frame had filled out, his chest, while not nearly as broad as his father's, considerable, and his blonde hair and blue eyes, reminding his mother of Jesomar in his youth.

    After a large banquet to welcome Valmar home his parents were surprised when the next morning he failed to show for breakfast. A servant sent to fetch him soon returned with a letter he had discovered on the desk in Valmar's room.

    _Dearest Parents,

    The last few years I have spent at the College cause me to believe I have not only grown in years, but in wisdom. I think back on my childhood and the way I behaved and I realize it was not only childish of me, but a disappointment to the family, and most of all, to you, my parents.

    While it is true that I attended and graduated as promised, I feel that I must do more, that I must make amends to the whole of the family, nay, perhaps to the very name Daedelus. What kept me going through the difficult days was the hour or so I could spend with my hammer, the one you gifted me father upon my acceptance into the college. While I have not proven myself the next great Arryn Raven, or likely much a bard of any sort, I believe strongly that my path is that of a warrior, perhaps even a soldier.

    I have heard of great turmoil in the lands of King Darius Dragonsbane and I have determined to offer my services to his armies. I hope in time I might return to prove I truly have earned the forgiveness of the family. Tell the Kobold King I look forward to seeing how much he has grown when I return.

    With All My Love,

    Valmar Daedelus_


  • Chapter II: A Debt Repaid

    //This is the story of a failed expedition into the orc caves. I need to transcribe it from the nwn log for accuracy. This is acting as a placeholder. The end of the chapter is already written below.

    It had been an interesting first month. A lot had changed in his years away from Peltarch, but some things never seemed to. Valmar sat drinking cheap whiskey in the Lucky Ferret. He sipped at it, the man across from his hoping he would get drunk, lose his edge, and more importantly, his coin. The pile in the center had grown substantially, this hand the biggest of the night. Valmar considered his cards again, not because he didn't know what he had, but to make the man across from him sweat.

    "How about this. . . I'll see what's in the pot and throw this in." Valmar's exquisitely crafted warhammer was made in such a way it seemed to reflect the moonlight. The Daedelus crest was clear to all those at the table.

    "A stinking nob, eh?" The man's bluster did little to conceal his nervousness. He was sweating now. The hammer was worth more than he'd make in several months. "I can't afford that…"

    "Isn't that what mates are for? What about your friends behind you?But if you're folding . . ." Valmar began to withdraw the hammer, reaching with his other hand for the pot.

    "Hey! I didn't say I was folding." The man turned to his fellow dockhands and a quick argument ensued. "I've got him beat I tells ye. He's bluffing!"

    Valmar yawned. He knew he had the man beat, but even if he didn't, no merchant would buy a weapon with the Daedelus crest on it from a mere dockhand. He'd offer to buy it back, for a fraction of its worth, and the man would have to take it . . . if he lost, which Valmar was sure he wouldn't. Three dragons and two knights sat staring up at him. Not many hands could beat it.The other man turned around. His name began with a J or maybe a K, Valmar couldn't remember and he didn't much care. What he did care about was the hat full of coins the man dumped onto the table.

    "All we got. It best be enough." The man was posturing, trying to intimidate Valmar into accepting. He smiled slightly and nodded. It would be enough.

    The man flipped over his hand showing three princes and two knights. Valmar was shocked. It was a good hand. He had almost lost. But almost didn't mean much in Cups and Crowns. He took a moment to look crestfallen, enjoying the victory. The dockhand looked triumphant, reaching for the pile of coins and the hammer. Valmar stood up and grabbed his arm.

    "Not quite. A good hand, but not good enough. Dragons over Knights." Valmar flipped his cards over with his other hand, smiling now. "I'll thank you to take your hand off my hammer."

    The dockhand roared, his left hand coming around in a sweeping hook. Valmar was ready for it. With a quick shove the head of the hammer the man had mostly let go of slammed into his stomach doubling him over. Valmar slid the hammer back into his belt and looked up. The dockhand was being supported between his two friends. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. Valmar began gathering the coins into his bag when he heard the man finally wheeze something out.

    "Get him, boys. No stinking nob's gonna cheat us!" Valmar sighed, though in truth he was looking forward to the fight. The foray into the orc caverns had not gone well the previous day and many had fallen to include himself. He had spent every coin he had trying to get the fallen returned, even using his family's name to cover the final return. He had hated begging the priest of Tyr to return his companions, and he was looking forward to venting a little on the dockhands.

    What he wasn't prepared for was the man he had knocked the wind out of to draw a knife. Valmar roared and flipped the table over, coins flying everywhere. Hastily drawing his hammer, he used the head like a battering ram to knock over the first man to come at him. The second man hit him from the side and he was bowled into another table, two large sailors who had been drinking, now covered in their own ale. And so it started . . . one of the sailors grabbed Valmar from behind, a quick elbow to the nose changed his mind. The other sailor swung a chair at the nearest dockhand, sending him sprawling. Within moments a full blown tavern brawl was in effect.

    Valmar limped out of the Ferret a sailor at his side, the two laughing boisterously. "Aye, ye took his legs out an' I took his teeth out," the sailor bellowed, guffawing and nearly falling over, his bodies desire to fall over only supported by Valmar.

    "You... belches took my elbow to the teeth well, friend." Valmar felt the ground spinning but somehow trudged on.

    "Oh, as soon as I saw who as shoved you and remembered he as owed me money, figured I'd remind him to pay me, see." The sailor laughed again then stopped and barely turned into an alley before the contents of his stomach were emptied all over the wall just before the sailor passed out.

    Valmar grinned and positioned a few empty crates to conceal the man before leaving. After the brawl was fully underway, Valmar had taken to gathering up the scattered coins, throwing an occasional fist or elbow as required. He was unable to gather it all, and a few enterprising patrons had tried to do the same, before Valmar's fists made it impossible to do so, but he still had enough.

    Valmar entered the temple with a black eye and a swollen jaw, his ribs sore, and a small gash where a broken bottle had gotten his side. The Priest of Tyr was ready to assume healing until Valmar handed him a large satchel of coins and limped away without another word.

    //Fun times, nearly all of us died, but good fugue RP, and ultimately everyone was returned, despite a shortage of gold. Looking forward to more.


  • Chapter I: Return to the Jewel

    //This is the story of Valmar and his companions arriving in Peltarch. Logs are annoying an I need to come back and add it after turning pure text into a viable and hopefully entertaining story.


  • Prologue: A Tale of Song and Hammer
    Part III of III

    //This portion of the tale will include Valmar's journey to Narfell. Any other player's who create a character they'd like to be included (see this thread: http://www.narfell.us/modules.php?name=Forums&file=viewtopic&t=44547) will be part of this portion of the prologue. I will be waiting to write this part until after I have seen if anyone else wants to be involved. After this, the final installment of the prologue, the main story will begin, telling the tale of Valmar's time in Narfell.


  • Prologue: A Tale of Song and Hammer
    Part II of III

    The battle was a desperate one. Valmar and his men were cut off from the main body of troops. Why he always volunteered for the more dangerous missions he still wasn't sure. It wasn't to prove anything to his family for he had decided some time ago he was still in Damara, still a soldier, only because he wanted to be. His father's letters still arrived assuring him he had no need to prove anything, but offering understanding. Something in his father's letters seemed to suggest a deeper understanding of his need to do this, something Valmar thought he might ask him about when he returned - if he returned.

    Tarken, a young recruit eager to prove himself the week before in the sparring square took an orcish cleaver to the side of his neck. A fountain of blood issued forth covering the huge orcish attacker, it's bestial blood roar terrifying. Tarken's confused eyes were open, staring at Valmar, pleadingly. With a quick chant, Valmar called on one of his few bardic healing spells, but to no avail. His worth as a bard was minimal, he had always known this. The wound healed slightly, not nearly as large as before, but the blood did not stop. Tarken was dead but a moment later. Valmar might have joined him if not for one of the other men, Jander, who shouted at him to look out.

    In his concern for Tarken, Valmar had forgotten about the same orc that had killed him only a moment before. Quickly rolling to the side and away, he felt the speed of the passing axe, and the force of its impact upon the ground. Gripping his heavy, spiked warhammer, Valmar rose and rejoined one of the bloodiest fights of his life.

    His unit's casualties were among the highest. With the death of Jander in the night from his wounds, Valmar's exhaustion gave way to sadness. His men, all dead save two, were reassigned to another depleted unit. Their commander dead, Valmar was granted a field promotion to the rank of a junior officer. With nearly twenty men under him, many hastily assembled survivors from companies as unfortunate as his own, Valmar was thrust back into battle that same night, with little rest.

    The night only made it worse. The Orcs seemed at home in the darkness while his men were blind and often unable to see the enemy until they were right on top of them. The battle seemed to last days, but in the end the Damarans were victorious. The Orc army was soundly defeated, the horde scattered, its remnants retreating beyond the Giantspire Mountains to the east.

    For his 'heroics' as they were being called, Valmar was offered a full promotion to the same rank he had assumed in battle. He knew he didn't deserve the rank any more than many of the other youths around him being promoted in the same manner, yet he accepted the honor. With so many officers killed in the fighting, the Damaran army needed to rebuild and he was convinced he would be a part of it. Valmar was pleased, but saddened to have lost so many friends and companions.

    The ceremony was a simple affair. A year had passed and Valmar and the others who had assumed temporary commands in the war were officially made full officers in the Damaran army. Afterwards, Valmar sat in his new quarters, pondering what his father would think of him now. He could just imagine riding beside him in the foothills west of the city, telling him of the battle against the Orcs, how they had been driven into the mountains and beyond . . . and beyond . . . his mind flashed back to the significance of that. Beyond the Giantspire's were . . . the western foothills of Peltarch!

    Valmar grew restless and worried, his oath to Damara had just been renewed a year ago. As he could not leave, he sent word to his family in Peltarch by rider. Weeks turned to months with no reply so he sent another letter, and then another. No response returned. Desperate, Valmar appealed to his commanders for an early end to his oath. Unwilling to oblige, claiming a shortage of men, Valmar morosely served the remainder of his time with the Damaran army.

    The last day of his service to Damara, Valmar packed what coin he had saved, the hammer his father had given him, and the armor his commission had won him, and set out for Peltarch, for his home. The Giantspire's were clearly too dangerous to traverse, as the failed messages clearly indicated. His trip would be a long, winding trip that first went south and east before coming back around again to the north. It would be a month or more before he laid eyes on his home once again, but he was determined to do so. Valmar gripped the spiked warhammer his father had gifted him, the Daedelus family crest upon it. He was going home.