PLAYED BY: Ethan Cox
AGE: 29 or thereabouts, he’s usually drunk.
OCCUPATION: Was a handyman at the Under the Kilt bar in Crows Landing, but now sells his services as a sell sword.
KNOWN SKILLS: Fucking people up. Otherwise, Shield proficiency, Improved Shield proficiency, armor proficiency, throw, and respite.
BIRTHPLACE: It was burned to the ground. Does it matter?
APPEARANCE: Fat & stout with short brown hair, long torso and arms compared to his legs.
NOTABLE TRAITS: Quiet. Usually swears a lot when he does speak.
RELATIONSHIPS: Ivan: Retired
BIO / BACKGROUND HISTORY:
“Fight! Launch the catapults! We won’t let those fuckers take this land!” The Commander shouted.
I saw from the top of the ramparts what a rock falling from the sky does to a person. Chunks were all that remained. Limbs flew everywhere and gods forbid if the rock just kept bouncing over legs where the people were screaming. I almost felt sorry for the poor bastards.
“Launch the burning oil!” The Commander ordered.
Flaming pots flew over the ramparts and landed with deadly efficiency. People screamed out in pain. Undead flailed as they burned. Our archers let loose volleys of arrows upon their clustered formations. Men would fall over screaming with arrows sticking out of their arms and faces, but they just kept coming. I heard the banging of a ram at the gate house. The constant rhythmic pounding. 1 2 3 boom, 1 2 3 bang, 1 2 3 Thump. Over and over again, they would only stop when we poured oil or alcohol on them and burned their pitiful siege. It would stop for five to ten minutes then it would start over again. But this time it was different. This time they brought ladders. Simple wooden ladders and were attacking on all sides. Two squads were sent to each wall in order to stave off the attackers. Boys sent to defend the wall against religious fanatics. Most of the proper militia died defending the walls, so the army commander demanded every young boy and girl strong enough to use a pitchfork be pressed into service. John stood in front of me, shaking our young corporal standing in front of the line who stood there praying.
“Belligero god of war please do not let me disgrace my regiment. Belligero lord of war, father of my fathers, accept my sacrifice, and do not let me bring misfortune to my regiment. Belligero lord of war do not let harm come to my men and give them strength for the battle ahead.”
The man next to John threw-up over the walls. John continued to shake the old man to my right. I looked down at his locket hanging around his neck.
“He must have been in his late 60s,” I thought to myself.
Then I heard it the smack of wood on stone. The ladders touched the walls. Scorpio bolts shot out from the tops of the guard’s towers, picking men off the ladder, but they reloaded too slowly and there were too many ladders for it to be of much use.
“We won’t let these fuckers take this wall men! Isn’t that right men?!” Our Corporal commanded.
The squad replied back, “Right!”
The first bastard made it near the top of the ladder when three spears were thrust into his chest.
The dead man fell over and was replaced by another. Eventually they pushed past the first line. Men and women began to scream as they hacked and slashed their way past our febrile lines. Somehow we manage to push them back. Men cheered. The squad roared out in triumph. Piles of bodies laid at the bottom of the ladder. I looked around the top of the wall trying to find John. He laid against the wall with his intestines spilling out from a massive gash across his gut. I scrambled to his side.
“No. John.” I cried out
“Go on without me Jim.”
“I’m not going to let your intestines spill out any more John.” Tears streamed down my bloody face as John’s body slowly went limp and his eyes glazed over. I tried to stuff his intestines back in while screaming, “You’ll Be All Right!” over and over. I stopped, looking at the blood and green bile on my hands. A hand was placed on my shoulder and I turned to look at the person whom tried to comfort me. My Corporal’s bloody eye sockets and rotating face stared at me blankly.
I awoke from my dream with wide, crusted eyes. I then reached across my bed and grabbed the bottle of mead on the night stand. Popped off the cork and drank what remained of the bottle. Stretching, I stood up. A cold winter breeze blew in from under the door. I slipped into my work clothes and walked my way to the Bar. A kilt with a blue ribbon flew in the breeze. I sat near the fireplace to warm up. Only two people sat at the counter. One had a peg-leg and the other sat down trying to nurse off a hangover with a glass of fruity yellow wine and a pretzel. I took a piece of gold wood out of my pocket and threw it at the barkeep. He picked it up off the ground and asked me what I wanted to drink and eat. I shrugged and kept looking into the fire. Slowly the screams crept back into my head. I remembered the wails of pain as burning oil covered their bodies and burned them to cinder.
The barkeep sat a bottle of some yellow fruity drink on the table and a steaming hot pretzel roll next to the bottle. I popped of the cork. It was fruity, a little sour, but all and all good. The roll was filled with smoky bacon, eggs and cheese. The barkeep placed five silver on the table and took a seat next to me, smiling.
“You’ve been coming here for the last two months now. You’ve come in here, sat quietly, eaten your meal, and have taken a bottle. And in those two months I haven’t even asked your name.” The barkeep said inquisitively.
“It’s none of your business.” I said bluntly.
“You’re right. I just wanted to know if you wanted a job, that’s all. It pays well, 2 silver a day and a free meal, but no free drinks. I know you’ll make more working for me than working for the lumber mill across the road.” The man said nonchalantly.
I shrugged and sighed “Might as well. What do you want me to do?”
“Cook and clean up messes that are made. And if needed, to act as a strong arm if shit goes down.” The man said smiling.
“Ok.” We both shook each other’s hand.
For the next two months everything was easy. The people were friendly and the work was easy. The barkeep was a good employer. A former Warden of Crows Landing, he was an OK guy. One day Ivan asked me to go with him on a trip to New Hope to buy some new type of liquor. We gathered what supplies we thought were needed. Money, food, bed roles, weapons, and armor. The trip was easy. No Mordok and no bandits, thank the gods. New Hope had grown quite a bit since I was last here. Ivan lead me to this little brewery where he bought three kegs from the owner. After that, we both decided to get ourselves real food and a drink.
Four men dressed in New Hope guard uniforms sat in a small bar. We sat at a table across from the guard’s men. A young Syndar server came up to us happily and asked us what we wanted to drink. I asked for bourbon and Ivan asked for a glass of mead. One of the guardsmen stood up from his seat and stumbled over to us.
“You boys look lost.” We ignored him “What? Are your ears full of cotton you dumb fucks.” The guardsmen sounded agitated. The other three men stood up and began to walk over.
Ivan spoke up. “We’re from Crows Landing getting supplies and we were thirsty.”
The leader of the group leaned in and smiled. “Well this is a private party and you’re not invited.”
The waitress stood off to the side with two cups. I shouted for her to make the order to go. The barkeep asked one of the guard’s men to stop harassing his customers. The guardsmen flipped him off. The woman squeezed passed me on the right and gave me two bottles. One of the men reached out and grabbed a bottle out of my hand.
The man smiled. “Thank you for your generosity. You crow hicks can get out now.”
Me and Ivan stood up and began to walk out when one of the men pinned our waitress against a wall by her throat. The barkeep yelled at the man to stop. Two of them jumped over the bar counter and began to kick the shit out of the barkeep.
The man that pinned the woman to the wall dropped his pants and pulled up the woman’s dress. “Squeal for me hon. It makes it more fun.” The leader of the group said sickeningly.
I looked to Ivan and we stepped forward. The man meant to be on lookout was too busy watching his buddy trying to rape the waitress. Ivan walked to the bar and slid over the counter. I looked at the clay bottle in my hand. It was made of clay and was thick. An old trick to make people think they were getting more out of their bottle. I swung the bottle in an upwards arc, slamming it into the back of the lookout’s head. He stumbled over. I clocked him the temple when he turned to look at me. Ivan had begun a fist fight over at the bar. The leader of the group looked over at the bar to see what was happening as I walked up behind him. I sat the bottle down on the table and slammed the assholes head against the wall of the bar. He flailed around as I continued to beat his head in. Flashbacks from the war continued to run through my head and all I could think of is “Don’t stop till he stops screaming.”
Ivan shouted from behind the counter. “Behind you.” I turned. One of the guardsmen had jumped the counter and was coming to his leader’s aid. I threw the leader at the charging guardsmen. The guardsmen caught his leader and asked him if he was ok. I grabbed the bottle that I set on the table and smashed it over the top of the distracted guardsmen. Both the guardsmen and the group’s leader fell to the ground. Ivan finished beating the third guardsmen over the head with a glass bottle. I looked around the bar. It was a mess for the most part. A couple chairs knocked around, a few broken bottles laying on the floor, but for the most part, it was ok. Ivan came walking around the bar rubbing his bloody knuckles. I opened the bottle I still had in my hand. Bourbon.
I poured some on his knuckles and we both drank a swig before leaving the bar keep 12 silver for the mess.
Ivan asked the girl a question. “Would you like to come work with me? The pay is good and I’ve got a spare room for staff. The job is yours but we would have to leave now.”
One of the men began to moan and get up. I walked over and stomped on his head till he stopped moving.
I looked at Ivan, “We need to get going. They’re going to wake up soon. Barkeep, go find a doctor for these assholes. Tell him everything that happened,” I said harshly, “And you.” I pointed at the girl and smiled “Are you coming or not?”
She looked at the iron bracelet on her wrist. “I’m a Surf sirs. I cannot leave my master.”
Ivan stormed out of the bar and dragged in one of the kegs we came here for. “Take this as compensation. He slammed the barrel on the ground in front of the barkeep. This will work considering how we were treated here.”
The barkeep seemed flabbergasted as the girl tossed the band that was on her wrist onto the floor as she joined me and Ivan. As we walked out of the bar I asked what the young syndar’s name was.
She responded in a happy tone “Bellatrix Von Driscoll.”
Ivan shook her hand and introduced the both of us. I just kept quiet, dragging our supplies on the sled we brought. We walked for four days till we made it back to Crows Landing. Ivan was greeted by his father while Bellatrix and I made it back to Under the Kilt. I got her set up while Ivan cleaned the bar up for its reopening. Two months passed and I felt an aching in my bones. Something I haven’t ever felt before. A will, like someone unlocked a cage releasing some kind of beast. I wanted to do something I haven’t done for a long time. Fight. After kicking the shit out of those bastards at New Hope, I feel it’s time to take up arms again and fight. But where to go?