3. Garrow (played by Rufus_Benway)

Garrow (played by Rufus_Benway)

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    Player Login: Rufus_Benway
    Character Name: Garrow

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    The dwarf’s thick arm shot out at the last possible moment and grabbed the edge of the rock as his feet slid off the cliff and the rest of his body followed with a hoarse-throated “WHOAH!”.

    He grunted with the sudden pull, and for a moment looked down, suspended from his arm, at the gaping void that yawned under him as his body swung slowly from side to side in the emptyness, stocky legs flailing for balance and finding no footholds. A cold, soft current seemed to spew from the abyss as the rocky floor that had been under his feet bare seconds ago disappeared into the darkness in disintegrated pieces.

    Garrow hung there for some seconds, his hand latched firmly into a handhold Tymora had put in his way, trying to recover from the shock. His thick arm was taut as a rigging in a storm, tendons in his wrist bulging under his leather band. He gritted his teeth and made a tentative attempt to drag himself up by one arm.

    “ ’leedin’ ells’…”, he muttered to himself as he felt his grip on the rock slowly losing strength. He gritted his teeth, trying to buy some time to think. He looked down ruefully at the small, bejewelled idol he was holding in his other hand. “I baint believe this...” he hissed, cursing his luck. “Ah muss be un’ a tha unluckiest dwares ever...”

    The curse died halfway as the handhold seemed to give way another inch. Garrow blew one of his beard’s braids away from his face as he looked up and then down again, at the grinning monkey idol in his left hand. And the blackness of the fall beyond. The wooden and amber beads in his beard clicked every time he moved his head. Sweat was beginning to form on his bald pate.

    “Decide lad... decide...”, he muttered to himself. He was a treasure-hunter. He just couldn’t let go of his first treasure! He had come all the way from his clan’s lands in the Great Rift in search of the lost civilisation of the Old Empires. Why he’d chosen Narfell as a starting point was something he couldn’t remember right now, and probably regretted in any case. Barely a week into his arrival he had been assaulted by orcs, and now he was hanging off a subterranean cliff about to plummet to his death.

    He could feel his grip slipping another inch.

    “Well, ye DID want an adventurer’s life, nay Garrow? Well, ‘ere ye go...” he said, narrowing his eyes again and looking up. He could feel the monkey statuette mocking him, grinning up at him from his other hand. He didn’t have much longer.

    “Ah ye bastard, go rot in hell fer ever...” he muttered as he let the small golden idol slip out of his reluctant grip and fall tumbling into the cold nothingness below. His arm, now free, swung up over his head and gripped the handhold with a confident clap and he hauled himself up with both arms, his muscles knotting and his pearl-white teeth locking with the effort.

    Seconds later he was lying next to the edge, catching his breath and feeling his arms slowly un-numbing. The subterranean cave had beaten him. He panted, massaging his arm. “That li’l idol must ‘ave cost a fortune... darn. Looked Maztican ta me, too...”. Yes, it was probably Maztican. There were few objects Garrow didn’t know about, especially if they were made of gold or had any jewels.

    As he massaged his thick, tatooted arm Garrow slowly thanked his ancestors and pronounced their names in a quiet prayer. He then thanked the Dwarven deities one by one quickly, and finally chucked a gold piece into the abyss as a sacrifice to Tymora and Waukeen for good measure.

    He really only believed in his clan ancestors, but Garrow had always reasoned any extra help he could get was better than none.

    “I’ll ‘ave ta settle down summwere an' go back ta locksmithin’ till I find summin’ an’ can start ta organise expeditions...” he sighed to himself. “This solo explorin’ is gonna git me killed...”

    With a mutter and a curse, Garrow got up and shouldered his pack, lifting his lamp into the darkness. In his other hand he gripped his trusty crossbow. Now, which way was that town, that Norwick?

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    Again, excuse typos... no spellcheck installed :roll:


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