Rath Ashald-Jorinsen



  • ((Another one I'm writing since I've not written it yet:))

    The bardess was panting. Just a moment ago, a minotaur had broken loose in the pit below the Lucky Ferret. It had charged straight at Senator Ashald, with obvious intention of claiming at least one kill before it's own demise. And then it had fallen to the ground, it's heart penetrated by her rapier.

    Clanndra smirked at this. Now she was the one being penetrated. Ah well, she thought. Maybe this would help her gain the mithril ingots she longed, to finish her project of turning a gorgon's horn into a legendary instrument. She would sure as hells not go to the warrens for them. Besides, pleasing the adrenaline-pumped young senator wasn't at all unpleasant, and Sharess would be pleased as well. The bardess continued her panting.

    Nine months later, Rath was born.


    His first memories were being cradled by the strong but aging arms of his stepfather. Even though Rath was not of his blood, Bruno had always treated him as his own son. The halforc was an experienced priest, who had a turbulent past with the gods. First he had served Torm in the ranks of his holy knights. Then the evil group of Gypsy Camp - Ashan and Jelde among others - had swayed him to the side of Talos. Now, on the last steps of the path of his life, he had found 'peace' following Shaundakul.

    Rath's mother wasn't much more peaceful of mind, but just as pious. Clandra Galpen, the headmistress of the bardic college, was just as famed for her skills at dancing as her orgies in the bath house.

    Young Rath loved growing up in the College however. Tales of kings and queens, heroes and villains - these all were part of his normal day. He loved the eloquent songs Eowiel would sing to him, and Demi's talent was not far behind.

    Then there was his other home. He visited his real father every other tenday. Although the senator rarely had proper time for his bastard son, the brief moments they spent together were enough to spark young Rath's interest for life in court. In his youthful mind the tales spun by the likes of Lycka in the college intermingled with the luxurious life spent by the merchant-nobility.

    Other Ashalds, most notably the patriarch Vaster, were quick to remind him of his place. He was but a commoner, and even less than that - a bastard. Rath, being the young boy he was, dared not say a word and often just gave a submissive nod. Deep down though, his determination was but growing stronger.


    One night, after he came home from his father's mansion, he found himself having most vivid dream. A regal older woman in purple gown walked - no, glided towards him. As she came closer, the pure power of her personal charisma nearly overpowered him. Rath had seen beautiful women before, but even the regal aura of Lady Chillwind was nothing compared to that of the matriarch before him.

    Rath could not say a thing to the being before her. Instead, he just stared with his mouth wide open as the woman slowly took a bottle of wine, pouring it into a chalice. The chalice was made of the purest silver, decorated with the finest ornamental details Rath had ever seen. Even Demi's paintings could not match such art. Embedded in the silvery surface was a sun made of gold. The gilded surface seemed almost alit with inner glow.

    The woman gave a near unnoticeable hint of a smile, then offered the wine-filled chalice to Rath. He stared at the chalice for a moment like a dimwitted fool. Then he took the goblet to his lips, and took an eager taste of this divine mead.

    Instantly, a surge of magic coursed through his veins. It felt as if he was being sucked clean of all ills, like all his bad blood was being replaced by divinity. The sensation left him gasping for his breath, yet even in his shocked state he could feel himself growing stronger.

    The mystical woman stared at the near paralyzed youngster with eyes that betrayed a subtle hint of compassion. An adamantine scepter appeared in her hand, and she pressed her lips against the cold metallic surface. Then she took a step towards Rath and touched his head gently with the scepter. A voice echoed in Rath's head, both commanding and wise, gentle but stern.

    "I welcome you as my knight, Rath Ashald-Jorinsen", Siamorphe declared.


    Rath's vision blurred, and he found himself waking up to loud cries of pain. He jolted up from his bed, only to see his mother, "munching carpet" as Gildor woud put it, with another bardess on the altar of Sharess. Those cries weren't for pain, he knew that much.

    He turned on his side, but dream would not come to him again that night. Not because of the sounds coming from the altar - he had long since grown accustomed to it. Instead, he found himself contemplating what the future in service of Siamorphe would hold for him.


  • ICC

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