3. Old man Davis

Old man Davis

  • M

    Character Name: Davis Stremlin
    Login ID: Macizo

    Old man Davis, Davis Stremlin, is an old crone in his 70s or 80s. His body now frail, Davis was once a handsome man, though this was never to his great advantage.

    The second son of three boys, born to poor Damaran farmers, Davis was told while very young that the farm was already too small to be split up between him and his older brother. Davis, upset, began searching for answers, other possibilities, other lines of work. His younger brother took the news in stride, and stayed on at the farm, simply waiting to see what the future held. Davis, on the other hand, began seeking out any travelers he came across in rural Damara, to ask them about their lives, careers, if they had any, and for a certain few, if they needed an apprentice.

    Until his early teens Davis' luck left him to continue working only on the farm, a life he enjoyed, but one he knew could not last, for his older brother was soon to marry, his soon-to-be bride was pregnant, their father had died, and mother was growing older, with no where else to go. Another mouth to feed…

    Feeling greater pressure, without prospects to marry, (despite his youthful looks, who wanted to marry the second son of poor farmers with no prospects?) Davis expanded his search to the nearby highways, avoiding bandits on the road only with his wits and legs.

    One fall eve he came across a group of robed men on a road further away from his parents farm than he tended to travel. Cautious at first, Davis followed them to make sure they were not bandits returning from a recent foray. To his surprise, one of the men appeared behind him as he watched the rest eat at their campfire. He asked only, "are you hungry child?"

    Davis was, for this group had intrigued him more than most, and he'd followed them well past dinner time. At one point he had even considered joining up with the bandits, if that's what they were. He soon-to-be sister-in-law had made it quite clear that his days of welcome on the farm were numbered, and he was growing desperate, considering even desperate measures, including life as a highwayman.

    He graciously accepted the meal, eating in silence with the other men. Awkwardly grateful at the end of the wordless meal, the man who'd found him asked Davis, "have you no where to go?" He shook his head, and the man simply stated, "we will take you back to the monastery then, if that is what you wish."

    Davis was not overly religious as a child, of course, his family praised Chauntea in hopes of a better yield of crops on their tired land, but Davis had never put much thought into it. Instead, he spent his time fantasizing encounters with lovely young maidens who'd happen upon him along the road, or glorious knights returning from wild hunts, in need of a squire, and later, when he began to think in terms of needful practicality, he'd even thought, "exactly how bad could life as a highwayman be?"

    To his fortune, or lack thereof, no maidens, no knights, and no bandits to take him in. Instead, the monks brought him to the Monastery of the Yellow Rose, where he was sat down by Jel, the man who'd found him.

    "You will have to work to make your keep here, young, young..."

    "Davis, sir." He replied, and after a pause, for the monks patience was nearly intolerable. "Davis Stremlin."

    The monk, Jel, nodded and looked him over, noticing Davis' physique. "Not used to hard labor are you?"

    His eyes widened, and Davis quickly retorted, "to the contrary sir, I've worked a farm all my life." Even while young, Davis was not the most physically gifted, his mother had taken ill with the flu the winter Davis was born.

    Smiling, the monk simply stated, “we shall see about you then.”

    At first Davis spent his time in the kitchens, cleaning vegetables, then cooking, and of course, attending the mandatory classes Jel had set up for him. Davis was to learn, first and foremost, about the teachings and ways of Ilmater, for if he was to become a monk himself, this would be necessary, and a fundamental core of belief was the foundation of any aspiring monk. Davis tried, as best as he could, to pay attention in class. His mind would wander, however, and he’d dream of knights again, on the road, the wonderments of sorcery and magic, which he was allowed to read only a bit about in the monastery’s archives. At the same time, other young men at the monastery were training to be monks. They’d spend most of their time practicing the physical arts, and praying, at least the latter of which was entirely too boring in Davis’ eyes. He did try, practicing with the other youths, to better his physical skills. Yet despite his quick reactions and wit, along with his firey efforts, Davis could never match the others in their practiced battles.

    Older now, some of his other friends becoming monks, Jel finally had to pull Davis aside, as even the younger generations were besting him in simple combat.

    “I need to speak with you.” Davis followed, downtrodden after having been bested by a youth four years his junior.

    “I’ll get better. I know I will.” Davis chimed in as they walked silently through the archives. Jel simply nodded his head, and they approached the monastery’s archives.

    “Brother, I’ve brought Davis to see you,” Jel stated simply to the bespectacled man behind a desk and a pile of books.

    “Good good,” the elderly archivist, brother Jafar said, and he motioned Jel away. Jel nodded to Davis and left without a word.

    Sizing Davis up, brother Jafar asked with a smile “back again then are you?” For Davis spent a fair amount of his limited free time in the stacks, mostly reading about glorious battles during the Time of Troubles, Tymora in Arabel, pirates on the Moonsea and whatever other exciting reads he could find. “I need your help with something.”

    And 50 years passed, maybe more. Jafar, too, died, for he was ancient already, and Davis continued to work in the archives, rarely leaving the monastery. Giving up on adventures of his own, he instead read about the glorious feats others had achieved when not organizing the many volumes in the library. He worked with many others, some came and left. Jel also passed as the monks fought off an orcan raiding party that plagued some nearby settlements. And Davis was left in the stacks.

    Old and in poor physical health, when his own apprentice in the stacks, young William, was ready to take over Davis’ job, Davis began packing his bags. It didn't take long. After gathering his few worldly possessions, he gave his catalogues to William and left, heading north.

    With few coins in his pocket and only his staff to carry him along, he now finds himself in Narfell, leagues up the Long Road, the monastery and their stacks far behind, if only to once again observe the glorious deeds of others.


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