Friend or Foe?
-
On a cold dark night during a thick fog, a merchant ship arrives in port. The belly of the ship is set low in the water, her decks spilling over with cargo. Hands rush about quickly, attending to their duties as crate and barrel are hoisted over the rail and arranged upon the dock before being hauled off into warehouses.
The hour grows late and the lantern oil burns low. Darkness creeps across the now naked dock. Crew and officer alike slip away down the cobbled street and dark alleys of Peltarch in search of drink, song or the price of a woman's touch to escape from the loneliness of life at sea. All except one fellow.
A lone deck hand dressed in rags sets the last crate down on the dock and clods of into town to take a look around.
A few days later, a caravan arrives outside the lumberyard in Norwick. Traveling with a wealthy merchant is a large figure dressed in tattered rags who's sole task it is to unload the large crates.
The figure is obviously a discard of society, a half-breed who doesn't ever once open his mouth to speak to his master. Across his skull you see a wicked scar which extends diagonally around from the back of his head and across the side of his face. The scar appears to be a nasty burn mark, perhaps from childhood or perhaps from some grotesque instrument of torture, or maybe it is a remnant scar from a bar fight. It's hard to tell.
In fact, the whole left side of his face is disfigured. You note that he is also missing part of his left ear. There are no clear indications of healing ever having been applied to the area. Maybe it remained unhealed out of neglect or ignorance. He's big, he's dirty and he is really, really ugly.
The half-orc doesn't even seem to notice the odd looks from strangers or those who stop to stare at his freak-show ugliness. From his slack-jaw hangs a thin ribbon of drool and he just stands silent in between orders from the merchant master. The muscles in his arms, chest and legs are large and rippled. His stride when he walks is rather clumsy. Most of his steps are more like the large clomp of a horse than of a man.
For the merchant, today is a day of good business. First he has sold all of his wares of industry, and then he has even found a buyer for his heavy cart. Having no more need of his laborer, the merchant pays him only a handful of coins and then departs to the local inn.
Having just lost his job, the half-orc wanders off. He thinks he sees a warm fire burning to the south and goes in search of warmth. After arriving at the fire ring, he simply stands near it and just stares off into space. His eyes are glassy and from the look of him it doesn't seem like there is a whole lot going on inside his brain. His stomach growls from hunger, but he is accustomed to this feeling.
This half-breed is no stranger to pain and suffering, or poverty. He's just another wretched soul, tossed out, and somehow through fate has arrived in Norwick. However, this man has come with the hope that perhaps this may be the first place in his life where he may yet known a little kindness.
Login: lordsterling
Character: KLONK
-
Reviewed, XP Pending!
