Wade Wallace
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Login: Celtic8824
Char: Wade Wallace"You got a hell of a mouth on you, you know that?"
Yeah. I know that. I've been hearing it all of my life. My mom said it when I was young. My dad said it after that. My commanding officer said it for the very small amount of time I stuck around in the militia. Well… just about everyone who knows me for longer than 10 minutes tells me that. It's like nobody expects you to talk in this world. Hell, if we are given the ability to talk, we need to use it to our full potential, much like our other skills. Otherwise, it's just a waste.
I was born Wade Burton Wallace, but just call me Wade. As you can tell from my name, I learned how to fight early on in life. My mother was the equivalent of a saint. She would listen to me jabber on about whatever the hell I wanted to talk about, cleaning my injuries that resulted from me running my mouth to whoever I had decided to piss off that day, and she would always do it with the most perfect smile on her face. She treated me like gold. Being the only child was nice when it came to parental attention, but not having siblings just led to me being forced to find other ways to entertain myself.
My father was a blacksmith. Some say he was the greatest blacksmith in Cormyr. If it could be thought of, he could forge it, and it would be better than any other you've ever seen. He was a good man. Worked an honest living, never meant any harm to anyone, and thought the best of his smart-ass son. Dad tried to teach me how to forge a weapon... I was able to grasp the fundamentals, but I just had a hell of a better time practicing with the weapons. One of dad's weapons caught my eye specifically. In a land where almost everyone and their brother's uncle is strapped to a longsword, it's a difficult thing to turn a head with a weapon. But this blade demanded attention. Sounds like someone I know...
Dad said it is called a "katana". It is longer than a longsword, yet shorter than a hand-and-a-half sword. It is also thinner than many swords I have seen, only about as wide as two fingers. I watched dad forge it... many moons went into making this blade, he would heat the steel, fold it, hammer it, cool it, and then do the process all over again. I swear I watched him do this a hundred times, and I only watched him work about a quarter of the time. He said it was a painstaking process, but when it was finished the blade could tear through anything. The unique shape would allow the carrier to react like lightning, even cutting down arrows that were flying toward his chest. I was amazed by this blade. When he had finished forging it, he handed the razor sharp blade to me and said with a grin on his face, "Here, go do something other than annoy me while I work."
The practice dummy never stood a chance. The blade sliced through the dummy, and through the wooden stand holding the dummy up, and would have kept going into the dummy next to it, had I not reacted fast enough to stop it. I was in love for the first time. I practiced with that blade more than I talked to other people (which was saying a lot.) It became an extension of my arm. I became so used to it, that I had grabbed another just like it from my father's shop, and began using them in unison, cutting through everything that wouldn't get me arrested. That blade never left my person. Mom helped me create hard leather sheathes that were specially designed to rest on my back. They caused the handles to protrude out from behind each of my shoulders, and crossed across my back in an "X" shape. This made it easy for me to draw them in a hurry, as well as sheath them quickly if the need arose. I felt the hard leather merge to my back, and felt like a man that was now unstoppable... which is right about the time I joined the military.
My mother was worried sick. But my father thought it would be good for me, teach me when to keep my mouth shut. I was willing to join, hell, it was better than finding a real job. It didn't last long. My skills were great, and the commanding officers all knew this, but none of them wanted to deal with me. They said I was "Annoying", or that I "have a problem with authority", and that I "simply couldn't quit talking". I spent a lot of my time on guard duties nobody else farking wanted. I would piss of the leader of the troop, and would wake up in the middle of the night to boots in my ribs, courtesy of the fellow cadets who weren't so pleased with my C.O.'s attitude when I was around. One day, I just said, "to hell with it". I left in the middle of the night, and started walking.
I knew there was no way in HELL I was going to have the attention span to hold a normal job. Fighting with these blades were the only thing I was ever any good at. I figured there had to be money out there for someone with my abilities... I just had to find it. So I ended up here in Peltarch, looking for some work and a way to take care of myself, so as to show my parents that they were right to believe in me... I'm not completely useless.
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Reviewd, XP pending
