3. Wolfhere's Memories

Wolfhere's Memories


  • I have had three main characters in Narfell since I started in January, 2003.

    Robyn Jahnsdotter

    The first was Robyn Jahnsdotter, a character most of the readers here probably don’t remember because she died in December, 2005 during the Defiler event. She was also my first introduction to Narfell.

    I had played on other servers before, but they were primarily action based servers with little to no role-play. I had played PnP for many years, and was yearning for that type of environment. I looked at several servers and settled on Narfell, because it had the lowest ping time.

    Robyn was a fugitive from corrupt justice, forced to kill two guardsmen in the Great Dale to save her own life. The daughter of smuggler, she grew up too fast, and became self sufficient very early in life. When I had her enter Narfell, all wide-eyed and ready for adventure, she was merely 16.

    Robyn was a superlative archer. She took every single bow feat available in the game, and if she was known for any skill, it was probably that. Later, she also became a good fencer, and was Zyphlin’s fencing instructor for a time

    I can’t begin to describe the many adventures I had with her over a two year time. Most of them centered around characters that are no longer played. The only one that might remember would by Zyphlin. I wrote numerous stories about her adventures, feelings and thoughts, and if I looked hard enough, I might still find them on the forums. If I had to pick just one thing about her, it would be the RP that revolved around her house.

    Robyn owned a house in Jiyyd up on the hill. It was the one next to the temple of Helm, the one she later sold to Sam for those that remember him. Robyn used to invite people over for dinner, discuss adventures, and throw parties. It was the kind of pre/post adventure type dialog often read in books, and I always got a particular thrill doing them because it made Robyn feel so real. There was even a running joke with the DM team that would occasionally spawn “The Rat”, a cunning rodent that lived in Robyn’s basement. The rat even showed up in one of Robyn’s stories during Robyn’s prison stay for murder.

    I find myself missing Robyn from time to time, because while she wasn’t necessarily my favorite character, she was more down to earth and more real to me than the others.

    Maya

    A great many of you probably remember Maya. Out of all the backgrounds I ever wrote, Maya’s was hands down my favorite. I wanted to create a character very pure of heart, without all the baggage accompanied by being a paladin. To accomplish this, I made her very naïve and simple.

    People who interacted with Maya often told me she seemed very wise. I always found that amusing, because she was anything but. However, sometimes people who don’t think about things in depth, and run on gut instinct and feelings, can seem that way. Their views are direct and uncompromising. Being simple can open up perceptions some of us with our daily “encumbrances” don’t have. Sometimes, that’s important

    Maya was exceedingly tall and larger than life. Due to that and her open heart, I gave her a very good charisma. Maya told it like it was, and how she saw it. She hid nothing of herself. What you saw is what you got. If you asked her, you got a direct answer without thought of deception or consequences.

    People would ask me about Maya’s adventures, but that’s not my favorite part of her. While I could talk about how she got her axe, cut down Zargothis, or even ascended to Tempus, what I had the most fun doing with Maya was…

    …Conversation.

    Playing Maya was liberating. She said what was on her mind, regardless of who was there. During one conversation in the Mermaid, several of us were sitting around a table, and someone made some derisive comment about Adam’s (her lover at time) age, and not being enough for her.

    Well, Maya stood up, and rather indignantly and loudly announced that “Adam is good make pleasures!”. Everyone started laughing but Maya, who simply didn’t understand what the fuss was about. But behind the keyboard I was laughing too, and had a great time.

    I miss Maya not because she was hellacious in a fight. I miss the conversation.

    Yolande

    While I would love to detail some of the things Yolande has done, it will have to wait until certain plots in Narfell are over. However, I will say that while Maya was the easiest to play, Yolande is by far the hardest, for many reasons I can’t disclose.


  • Finally, a picture I've been saving… 😉


  • The final death of Maya will stick in my mind as a very special moment.
    Maya did not die as most do, she earned her wings and joined the divine army.
    Fighting eternally beyond the prime.
    I can not think of a character more worthy,
    and I feel privileged to have been at her final battle.





  • …and the follow up...

    Favored

    Uthgar stood within The Hall of Heroes, transfixed to a scene that shimmered in the air before him. A very tall woman raced forward, her wounded companion behind her. The battle fury was full upon her, and though she too was injured, her wounds remained largely unnoticed as the goblins fell around her. When the battle subsided, she stood and shook quietly in the falling rain. Then amidst the fallen, she knelt on the blood soaked grass and prayed to him, thanking him for the glory of doing right in battle. Finally, she and her companion walked wearily to the south gates of Norwick.

    Tempus walked forward, his great footsteps echoing in the hall. With quiet concern he placed his hand upon the shoulder of his son.

    “Why do you dwell on this one so. She has no Covenant with us”

    Uthgar turned and smiled softly, “I know father. I cannot help myself”

    “Your time son is best spent on those more deserving”. Tempus waved his hand, and an image of a smiling half-orc filled the air. “Dirtma has a great Covenant with me. With him my attentions are warranted. His prayers give me strength, and in return I grant him power. This human woman Maya who prays to you may someday walk in The Hall of Heroes, but do no more than grace her heart and guide her spirit in battle. There is no Covenant with her, and never will be.”

    “I know father, I know”, Uthgar sighed. The image of Dirtma disappeared, replaced by endless rows of pillars.

    But Uthgar knew the truth. He had already brought Intervention upon her. She had been promised to Galen, son of Lars. Uthgar knew that she would be wed, have children, and likely never see the battles a true warrior should see. She would become a woman in the Griffon tribe. While she would learn to defend herself like any member, she was still a woman, and her first priority would be her children and the caring of the camp. Besides he mused, he never liked Galen anyway.

    Uthgar had guided the slavers to her on her first hunt with Bjearn. The slavers took her away from Galen and the tribe, and put her where her body would grow, become strong, and learn the weapon of a true warrior. Finally, she had escaped and been guided safely to Norwick. Here however, his Intervention must end lest it attract too much attention from his father and the others. Norwick had many who possessed Covenants.

    A short time later, Maya reentered the Rawlinswood alone. Uthgar stood in The Halls of Heroes and watched as she sat down by the lake in the warm summer sun, and drank from the water’s edge.. Greed or jealousy would never corrupt this simple hearted woman Uthgar thought.. In his eyes she was pure, only desiring to do right and be strong in battle. Fate permitting she would be a hero someday, and come to stay within The Hall of Heroes.

    On the water’s edge she prayed. Unlike most who prayed, Maya looked up with her eyes wide open as if seeing his presence. Uthgar listened as she asked for strength in the coming battles, and felt the warmth of her prayer. He nodded and spoke.

    “Have heart my child. Know that you do right in my eyes. May your battles be glorious and full of success”

    Her face broke into a smile. Uthgar knew that she heard. Unlike most mortals, she often did. However, before she arose from her prayer, Uthgar spoke again.

    “Sing for me child. Sing for me once more”

    Maya had sung for Uthgar just once before, in a field of flowers in the slave camp. The song was a heroes’ song, a sad ballad of two lovers dying in a final desperate battle. Maya’s voice rose again, this time above the trees of Rawlinswood. As the lilted voice carried powerfully across the wilderness, two goblins paused in their squabbling. Two trackers bent on hunting their prey stopped and listened. Conversation within the south gates quieted, and the sounds of woodland creatures stilled.

    …And for a few moments in this embattled corner of the Nars, there was peace.


  • …and Maya's background.

    Maya

    Dear reader, I am Rhajin, chronicler of many tales, gifted mathematician, poet, and practitioner of subtle arts. A man of little means and no home, I have wandered this land of Faerun for over 40 years before succumbing to the mistakes of greed and ill fortune. At the start of this tale, I was the property of one Captain Cooper, a man of little words, unsurpassed martial skills, and purveyor of fine slaves. A fair man by any measure, Captain Cooper kept me, despite my crippled gate, for my skill with parchment, pen, and numbers. For this I was grateful, for though my life is less than many, it is still life, and I thank Tymora it.

    This is not my tale however, but a tale of an unusual woman. She came into the camp many summers ago, her spirit broken like many, shackled to countless others in an endless array of human suffering. What struck me about her was not her yellow unkempt hair, blue eyes or furtive stare, for those were possessed by many. What immediately struck me was her stature. She stood almost six feet in height despite her obvious immaturity. At first I thought they had captured a young giant, but her fair face and slender build convinced me otherwise. I had guessed her age at thirteen or fourteen summers.

    There were very few women brought into the camp as slaves. Most women were hired from local houses to satisfy the guards’ morale. This camp was used to raise the strong. Slaves made to work, toil, or fight in the arenas of Thay. Not women.

    Upon her arrival, her immediate predicament became apparent, as she was soon set upon by the guards. Fights broke out and gold passed hands, and it quickly became clear that she was the treasure of the day. Fortunately for the hapless girl, this was quickly put to an end by the bark of Captain Cooper. As I stated previously, he was a man of few words so when he spoke, people stopped and listened. He made it immediately clear that the girl was his property. Anyone caught damaging his property, and I never forgot these words, would be skinned. The clamor for the girl immediately stopped, as I am sure no one wanted to test Captain Cooper’s resolve.

    With great deliberation, Captain Cooper unlocked this girl from her place in line. He looked her up and down appreciatively and professionally as was his way, and then with a grasp of his firm hand led her to me. Of all people, he led this poor distraught girl to me.

    Dear reader, I wish it to be known that I am no task master of other slaves. With my crippled limbs, I stand no more than two inches over five feet. Though my arms carry some strength having assisted my wretched legs, I am hardly a person suited for such duties. However, it is possible that Captain Cooper knew I would be the least threatening of servants, and having the wisdom of years, would be the right person for the job.

    As I sat on my stool, the poor creature was forced on her knees before me. “Teach her”, was all Captain Cooper said to me before returning to attend to the other slaves. The poor thing knelt there, trembling in fear, and for the longest of moments I knew not what to do.

    Lunch had just been served not a half hour ago, and as I often do when wrapped up in my intellectual pursuits, left my food on the table to get cold. Today was no exception, so with great care I put my stew and bread at the girl’s feet. She looked at it with great surprise, and without a word but with a thankful expression ate every last morsel. The trembling stopped, and when finished, she rewarded me with a smile. The same smile that I would grow fond of in the coming years.

    Afterwards, we spoke at length, though her speech was halted and crude. The girl told me her name was “Maya”. She spoke of her home in the High Forest, her proud people, her parents, and her home. I spoke of bustling cities, peoples of dark skin, and Gypsy romance. She seemed a simple person, with a simple heart and simple ways. And that dear reader, is how our friendship started.
    The following few years passed more or less uneventfully. The camp had moved from site to site, the slaves used to cut the trees and ship the logs down river to the mill. Since Captain Cooper knew the value of a good meal, he kept his slaves well fed, particularly in meats and poultry. Through physical labors and good food his slaves, barring myself, commanded great value for their strength and endurance. Maya’s barbarian blood had flourished under these conditions, and her body grew taught and strong. During this time, the young Maya continued to grow. Her height now was such that most guards barely surpassed her shoulders.

    There were two incidences that occurred those years however, that bear telling.

    The first is a memory that I treasure to this day. We had just moved camp to a field before the tree line. The field itself was covered with blue and white flowers in a thick, fragrant carpet. Work had just started on the tree line scant hours ago, when a single lilting voice broke the sounds of axe and saw. I looked up from my perch on a barrel of water, and there was Maya, nestled in the field of flowers, her long yellow hair loose upon her back. She was busy repairing one of the two-man saws, and she was singing. Maya was usually a very quiet person, but here her voice lifted powerfully over the fields. Though the words were in some old barbarian tongue that I doubt any in the camp understood, the melody was haunting and truly beautiful. Her voice rang angelic above the camp, and one by one the slaves and guards stopped their tasks at hand. I watched in awe as Maya, totally absorbed in her work, brought all activity in the camp to a standstill with her voice.

    I never heard her sing again. She would not speak of it, even with me.

    The second, in stark contrast to the first was a rather unpleasant affair. The clearing of the forests often irritated the local Goblin population. The Goblins would often sneak in the camp at night to take food and small objects. That warm summer morning was different. That day they attacked in force.

    The sun had barely risen when they poured from the tree line over the fields. Most of the slaves were still shackled together, and many of the guards hadn’t even donned their armor. The goblins were met with disorganized resistance at best, and were it not for Captain Cooper and a few of the well trained Half-breed slaves, I would not be here to pen this tale.

    Several of the Half-breeds were quickly given some of the large wood axes, and fell about the Goblins in a terrible fury. Captain Cooper and some of the better trained guards formed a line in front, while several of the guides contributed with bow and arrow. It was during this confusion, that I headed frantically for my quiet friend Maya. What transpired in the next few minutes remains indelible in my memory even today.

    She stood there, shackled as she was at night, with no weapons. As the first of the Goblins met her with a small sword, she grabbed the horrid thing with her bare hands and dashed its head against a tree. As I pressed forward passed a crowd of frantically shouting slaves, I saw young Maya grab the small table at her side, and with quiet ferocity beat another until it was a bloody unrecognizable mass upon the ground.

    I had never once considered Maya a warrior, much less capable of the brutal violence displayed before me. It startled me to pause, and it was during my brief consideration of these matters that a guard beside me raised his crossbow, and took an arrow in the throat.

    I stood there amidst the horror of the moment and watched with detached fascination as my young friend lay death around her with various mundane objects at hand. An urn with hot stew, an oil lamp, and a particularly large rock all came to bear. The death of a small goblin with a two man saw I assure you dear reader, was particularly grisly. The large hobgoblin however, startled me out of my stupor. Though well short of Maya, he stood head and shoulders above the seething mass of its comrades. Brandishing shield and axe, it bore down on my young friend.

    Maya swung the wooden stool she had with great force, and it shattered on the shield of the beast. I recall thinking at the time, that a lesser creature would have been crushed, but the beast merely squatted, and using its low center picked Maya up bodily with its shield and heaved her on the ground. As Maya lay there stunned, it raised its axe for a killing blow.

    To this day, I do not recall picking up the crossbow. I do remember praying to Tymora and firing it. The crossbow jolted in my grip, and the bolt embedded itself square in the center of the beast. With a look of surprise on its hideous countenance, it fell to its knees and pitched forward.

    The remainder of the battle is lost to me. I remember helping Maya out from under the beast and holding her while she shook. I remember the goblins retreating, the quiet aftermath, and the smell. Captain Cooper lost a quarter of his slaves and half his guards that day. It was this event that colored the next two years with painful memories. In the coming months Captain Cooper hired more guards to fill the open positions. However, he hired one to oversee the others, keep them in line, and make sure no one was derelict in their duties again.

    His name was Grundig.

    Grundig was to be the bane of my existence. He stood an even six feet, with a barrel chest, balding head and a well kept moustache. He was good at his job, but a cruel task master and intolerant of the weak. This dear reader, included yours truly.

    I do not know why he picked on me so. I was no threat to his authority. Perhaps he was jealous of my friendship with Maya. I would spy him staring at her for hours, but Maya was considered untouchable by orders of Captain Cooper. Though I knew she had secret dalliances with other slaves, she always came back to me for friendship and support. Perhaps his lashing out at me was a way of lashing out at her. Regardless, the next two years were amongst the worst of my life.

    Every day became fraught with not knowing how or when the abuse would take form. Sometimes it was merely inconvenience. A lunch spilled or papers sullied. Often however, it was cruel and abusive. Over time I became reclusive, with only my friend Maya to keep me company.

    During this time, my friend Maya grew into womanhood. Though she ceased growing, the combination of hard work, good food and her barbarian blood filled her out in ways I had not seen in other women. Her limbs were long, tan and muscled from the labors. She was doubtless stronger than some of the guards, and her skills with the large wood axe were often spoke of even amongst the half-breeds. She was going to fetch a very high price when sold, which to my dismay at the time appeared sooner than expected.

    The week the buyer’s representative came was particularly memorable. It was early autumn. Maya and I had celebrated her eighteenth birthday, though she knew not the exact date. Grundig had taking to dunking me in the horse trough, which though I considered minor in relation to other abuse he had wrought upon me, was particularly annoying in the cold autumn mornings.

    Because I handled much of the paperwork for Captain Cooper, I was privy to information many others, including the guards, did not have. As I discovered, the buyer was none other then the legendary “Bandit King”. The Bandit King was interested in buying Captain Coopers slaves. Not just a few, but all of them. Shortly, Captain Cooper would be a very wealthy man. I also immediately realized that I would be out from under the thumb of Grundig.

    I do not recollect exactly what I said to Grundig the following morning. Knowing my nature, it was likely some insulting witticism lost on the ignorant lout. I suppose it was my little way of celebrating my future without him. It was a terrible mistake.

    I had expected the usual dunking. I recall at that moment, that I didn’t particularly care. But when he came to me, he had a different look in his eye. Perhaps, a little colder and more hateful than his usual demeanor. As I smiled at him derisively, he dunked me in the trough as expected. Only this time, he held me down.

    At first I thought he was going to scare me. But as the moments ticked by, he did not release me and panic set in. I clawed desperately at his thick fingers, and as I stared up at his face through the foot of water separating us, my world began to go black. I became weak, and my struggles started to cease.

    Suddenly the weight was pulled from me, and with my last remaining strength I hauled myself upwards and gasped for air. The sight before me dear reader, was not what I had anticipated.

    Maya stood beside the trough like some avenging angel. She had Grundig’s chainmail shirt bunched in her hands, and had him lifted bodily off the ground. I recalled the look in her eyes. The same quiet rage she had when she slew the goblins. Grundig just stared back in confusion.

    Maya tossed him like some overstuffed rag doll where he landed in a heap on a pile of freshly cut logs. Then, while Grundig struggled to stand, Maya grabbed the grinding stone by the water trough, and with a startling display of strength, brought the heavy stone down the head of Grundig. There was a sickening crunch, and Grundig stopped moving.

    Even before the stone had a chance to settle, Maya was immediately surrounded my guards. A man-catcher was put around her throat, and her legs kicked from underneath her. Another went to fetch Captain Cooper. To my surprise, she did not resist. She simply lay there and shook.

    Work had ceased as the camp’s population observed the spectacle. Shortly, Captain Cooper strode from his tent over to Maya and the guards that surrounded her. Several of the guards gave their version of the story while I sat there shivering in the water trough afraid to move. I watched the good Captain deliberate silently for some time. He looked at me, at the guards and finally at Maya. Then he pointed at the limp and bloody form that was once Grundig, and spoke only two words…

    “Bury him”

    …and strode back to his tent. The guards looked astonished. One of them went to argue with Captain Cooper, but one look from the Captain stifled the argument before it started. Slowly, as the camp resumed its activity, I turned my head to Maya. She lay there still, a guard’s knee pressed to her back, and returned my gaze. A slow smile spread across her face. All I could say was “Thank you”.

    Within a week, the camp was disassembled as soldiers and mercenaries wearing the blue and orange uniforms of the Bandit King poured into camp. There were extra wagons and supplies for our long journey to the Nars, an area I had passing acquaintance with from my travels many years ago. Maya and I were loaded into a small wagon and shackled. Before we left however, Captain Cooper came over to me and thanked me for my service, something I found odd considering I was his property. He informed me that my safety and future had been paid for, and wished me well. He stared at Maya for a time, then with a slap of his hand on the side of the wagon we were off.

    I would never see him again. At times I think, that under different circumstances, we could have been friends.

    Most of our journey was uneventful. It was however, during the latter part of the journey that I learned something most disturbing. Several of the soldiers had set up a camp near our wagon. There was idle chatter and the usual banter that occurs between comrades in arms. They discussed much amongst themselves, and though my hearing is not what it was in my youth, it was good enough to hear the fullness of their conversations

    It appeared that the Bandit King was not to use us as manual labor. Due to all the years of clearing forests I had foolishly assumed it. No dear reader, we were to fight. Fight against the citizens of small trading towns like Norwick and Jiyyd. Launching attacks against the city of Peltarch. I heard talks of great war machines, war dogs, and soldiers of the faith. As I listened, my heart sank in dispair. Not for me, but for my good friend Maya.

    Maya would be trained and used as a raider. She would likely be told of all the injustices done against them by the innocent people of Norwick, and she would fight with her heart in the wrong place. She would die needlessly in the Nars for the wrong cause, what left of her rightful future stolen from her. This is something I could not bear.

    I turned with anguish towards my sleeping friend. She lay there quietly, oblivious to her fate. For two long hours I lay there watching her chest rise and fall with each breath, her angelic face framed in the moonlight. Soon the guards fell asleep, and moments after I started my incantations.

    My youthful travels had left me many skills, amongst them a smattering of the arcane. I could have exited my manacles any time I so chose, but my crippled legs left me little opportunity to escape. I would have died in the wilderness a free man, but instead held on to life a prisoner. I never once regretted this decision.

    The incantations wove over the manacles holding Maya prisoner, and within a heartbeat they lay open. Another incantation, and fatigue washed over me. Soon however, the gate to the wagon swung open quietly, and with urgency I shook Maya awake.

    I quickly whispered to her what had transpired. I spoke of the guards’ tales, the towns of Jiyyd and Norwick, and the great city of Peltarch. I spoke of right and wrong, her future and her freedom. As tears came to my eyes, I spoke of friendship and parting.

    She hugged me then, a long desperate embrace, and then with a tear streaked face and a smile she fled into the darkness. It was the first and last time I ever saw her cry. I had never seen her cry, not even when lashed or beaten.

    This dear reader, ends my tale. I still dream of her sometimes, and hope she has found a good future with the peoples of the Nars. I only ask Tymora that once, just once, that I may hear her sing again before I die.


  • I started searching through my archives, and came across this, written years ago for Robyn.

    I had envisioned this song with slow lilting background music, single female voice

    Robyn’s Song

    Within the forests of The Glade
    By streams and rivers mountain made
    A region tamed by axe and blade
    Of men of who hunted, trapped and stayed
    Was born young lady Robyn

    A young lass born with autumn hair
    Fair of face with emerald stare
    Wild and free of city fare
    A gift with bow from father’s care
    Grew young lady Robyn

    Then one morn the darkness came
    Three men who played a deadly game
    Her father’s death amidst the shame
    Two murdered guards by sheriff’s claim
    Fled young lady Robyn

    With father’s bow she called her own
    She traveled northward lost and ‘lone
    O’er rivers, hills and grass and stone
    Sixteen summers fair and grown
    Went young lady Robyn

    A journey south of city great
    North of where the goblins wait
    Behind defended wall and gate
    Where thief and soldier sought their fate
    Stayed young lady Robyn

    There she grew with friendships right
    Lliira’s heart and protectors knight
    Loves lost and found within the night
    Baptized in the morning light
    Laughed the lady Robyn

    Through the days and adventures bold
    Enchantments gained with friends and gold
    Trained with blades by warrior old
    To plot revenge with plan untold
    Practiced lady Robyn

    Within the forests of The Glade
    By streams and rivers mountain made
    A father's killer dies afraid
    Torn by cuts from knife and blade
    Slain by Lady Robyn

    A young lass born with autumn hair
    Fair of face with emerald stare
    Possessed with heart of good so rare
    Now fights the darkness dwelling there
    Lives the lady Robyn


  • (I beg forgiveness in advance if I mess the quote up… but even the gist of it still makes me laugh. Feel free to correct it....)

    "Maya, some things cannot be cut by a sword."

    "That okay. Maya use axe."


  • Wow. Not kidding. Bunch of good semi-oldies there (well, oldies for most here, I still say that generation of 3 years ago are youngsters 😉 ). Whose that guy in that horribly gaudy blue? 😉

    And there are Black Dragon Knights…ahh, i'm enjoying this forum



  • Good memories, Gildor never trusted or liked Tempus after that.
    (Leave it to Gildor to piss of a god, and not only one, and live to tell the tale.)
    But what is better about this image then what happened,
    is who is in it, thet is quite the collection of oldies here.

    Anyway as to what is happening, Tempus sends Maya a dead bird as an omen,
    and Gildor goes and picks it up and plays with it, and gets cursed.

    That is the short version.


  • I think one of my favorite memories of both Maya and Gildor was the wonderful back and forth due to the dead bird in the commons. Was a good long running joke for a bit too