Brakk Blackore -- Out of the mountain

[bhagavat]

Brakk Blackore of Clan Oghrann


“Keep me cup full lass. Aint say’n it again.” The intimidating dwarf muttered. His hair shaven to a mohawk on his head, his beard long and braided into three. He wore an eye patch too, making him look even more unfriendly. He sat at a table in the Cutlass, one of the busiest in Luskan... the city of sails... and pirates... and pirates booty.

Next to him sat a gnome wearing steel plated armor. The gnome ignored the dwarf and sat looking down at his drink.... tea. The dwarf scoffed for the tenth time looking at the drink and pulled on his ale. The gnome mumbled something and the dwarf, nodding once at him, then the dwarf got up and left the inn. Outside he found a nearby alley and ducked in, watching the inn.

As he watched he thought about the odd gnome and the job he had taken with him. The gnome had been robbed and of something he would do anything to recover. He hadn’t trusted Brakk with exactly what it was they were after, but he suspected some weapon or something else of value to a fellow that wears such heavy armor... and has no visible weapons.

Brakk flipped up his pirate eye patch to get a better look. His eyes were fine, but liked his foes to think him blind on one side. Made things more predictable often. No sign yet. The gnome was to come out following his mark soon and would confront them near where Brakk hid. He was only to come out if weapons were drawn on the gnome.

Feeling naked outside his breastplate, Brakk, fingered the studded leathers he wore, muttering to himself about boring jobs. He had been drinking for many hours with the gnome awaiting the right guests to the Cutlass. His head was nice and foggy and he grinned thinking about the good stuff he’d hid back at the room he was renting in the city of booty... pirate booty.

Suddenly it was happening. Three sailor types were walking out of the inn and towards the alley Brakk had chosen. The gnome was right behind them and called them to a halt a short ways before they reached the alley.

“Ho there” said the armored gnome.

The three were talking amongst themselves, but stopped to regard the steel plated squat form with the bulbous nose regarding them.

“Ho there yerself gnome” one laughed. The others chuckled along with their friend.

“I know ye” said the gnome, looking at the one that talked. “Twenty odd years maybe, not that long for a gnome.”

The three sailors spread around the gnome, flanking him while the one spoke on.

“I know ye not gnome... and I havent met many, so I dont know what you be talking about” The sailor said, looking at the calm and armored gnome curiously. “What do you want?”

“Want.. yes... that is why I have come. I suppose you may not remember all those that you rob, Im sure there have been so many.” Brakks eyes roll as he listens. “You and your lott took an heirloom... a family treasure from me back then. It has cost be quite a bit of coin to find it again... and ill be having it.. NOW.” The gnomes voice rises high in pitch as he screams the last word.


Brakk tenses, a throwing axe in his hand.

The mark starts laughing at the gnome, though his friends just stand there, slightly behind the armored fellow. “Get ye gone foolish gnome... not that I know what yer talkin about.”

One of his friends attacks first... no warning. I think now it was mostly because so many humans think themselves so much better then everyone... especially gnomes. The man tries to stick a dagger into a weak spot in the armor, but there is a clang, a moment of brightness and then chanting. The gnome chants a few seconds and them boom, energy explodes into the ground shaking it, and sending two of the men around him to their knees. Brakk step out, and fires his axes at the one standing. Unprepared... having barely registered the scary looking dwarf, he is a perfect target. The axe explodes into his face, knocking back off his feat, dead.

Chanting again, the gnome touches one of the men, while nodding towards the other. Brakk walks up behind the one he meant as he stands facing the gnome.

“Bwaaaahahahaaaaa” Brakk laughs as he advances, he wants this ones attention on him.

The man jumps around to face Brakk, weapon held out in front of him.. a club the man had fashioned out of ironwood.

“Bwaaahahahaaaaaahaaaaa” Brakk starts laughing harder and has to stop advancing he laughs so hard.

“Yer brought a stick ta fight our steel feller.” Brakks laughter turns into a roar and he dives at the man head first. His horned helm blows into the mans groin. The sailor doubles over in pain falling to the ground as Brakk pummels him with his steel guantlets.

The mans falls unconsious quickly under the blows and Brakk drags him into the alley, blood smearing the roadway. The gnome is wating and the last sailor just stands there with a slightly vacant look in his eyes. “Aye.. ready boss.” Brakk says coming out of the alley.

The three walk off towards the docks, the enspelled human leading the way. The ship had just arrived, and though most of the crew was out, it was still off the docks awaiting its turn in port. Into a small boat, and then the human rowed them out to a large ship with three masts. They climbed aboard like it was theirs, the human leading them. They walked directly to the quarters in the stern.. into fine chambers, likely the captains.

“Shannon... get out of... huh?” The captain says to his friend as he sees the two ‘guests’ his friend had brought.

“Whats going on here Shannon? Who are your friends?” The Captain asked.

The gnome had been mumbling as the captain talked and suddenly the fellow went rigid. Couldn’t speak anymore, but sure looked like he had something to say. Brakk walked up to the man and stared at him close up curious while the gnome searched the area for what he was after. It didnt take long. The gnome pocketed something that looked like a bowl and nodded to Brakk.

Shortly after that brakk was pulling at the oars, bringing them back to the docks as quickly as he could. The gnome was shuffling through a bag. The moon gleamed off the dark metal... a slightly purple hue to it in the failing light. He pulled out bar after bar, handing them to Brakk. Three bars of adamantine had been hard to pass up for the dwarf. His clan... Clan Oghrann, had a been on the decline for centuries and though the clan had put to use plenty of this precious metal, Brakk had never been lucky enough or rich enough to have some.

His father had died when they had fought during the goblin and orc wars. Cormyr had been ravaged and the dwarves had done what they could. The blackore name was one that had been with the Clan for a very long time, so they we’re glad of Brakk’s survival. Still. After the war... and the loss of his father... Brakk had left the mountain... the stone... and had gone in search of dwarven metal work or other gift of Dumothian.

It was the next day. The sun was up and it was the peak of summer in Luskan. The smell of the streets drove the powerfully built stout out a south gate. He stopped once to pull out a cloth wrapped bar of black ore and watched it gleam in the sun. Packing it away he headed south with his clan on his mind. He’d grown tired of watered down human swill and was looking forward to finding some real stout ales and more on his return home.

He pulled out a flask of his finest and drank, singing a drinking song as he marched down the trade road.

“If all be true... that I do think, there be five good reasons ta ‘ave a drink! Good ale, stout kin, ‘n hairy lasses, black ore -- ‘n -- swing’n axes”

[bhagavat]

Brakk Blackore of Clan Oghrann


“Keep me cup full lass. Aint say’n it again.” The intimidating dwarf muttered. His hair shaven to a mohawk on his head, his beard long and braided into three. He wore an eye patch too, making him look even more unfriendly. He sat at a table in the Cutlass, one of the busiest in Luskan... the city of sails... and pirates... and pirates booty.

Next to him sat a gnome wearing steel plated armor. The gnome ignored the dwarf and sat looking down at his drink.... tea. The dwarf scoffed for the tenth time looking at the drink and pulled on his ale. The gnome mumbled something and the dwarf, nodding once at him, got up and left the inn. Outside he found a nearby alley and ducked in, watching the inn.

As he watched he thought about the odd gnome and the job he had taken with him. The gnome had been robbed and of something he would do anything to recover. He hadn’t trusted Brakk with exactly what it was they were after, but he suspected some weapon or something else of value to a fellow that wears such heavy armor... and has no visible weapons.

Brakk flipped up his pirate eye patch to get a better look. His eyes were fine, but liked his foes to think him blind on one side. Made things more predictable often. No sign yet. The gnome was to come out following his mark soon and would confront them near where Brakk hid. He was only to come out if weapons were drawn on the gnome.

Feeling naked outside his breastplate, Brakk, fingered the studded leathers he wore, muttering to himself about boring jobs. He had been drinking for many hours with the gnome awaiting the right guests to the Cutlass. His head was nice and foggy and he grinned thinking about the good stuff he’d hid back at the room he was renting in the city of booty... pirate booty.

Suddenly it was happening. Three sailor types were walking out of the inn and towards the alley Brakk had chosen. The gnome was right behind them and called them to a halt a short ways before they reached the alley.

“Ho there” said the armored gnome.

The three were talking amongst themselves, but stopped to regard the steel plated squat form with the bulbous nose regarding them.

“Ho there yerself gnome” one laughed. The others chuckled along with their friend.

“I know ye” said the gnome, looking at the one that talked. “Twenty odd years maybe, not that long for a gnome.”

The three sailors spread around the gnome, flanking him while the one spoke on.

“I know ye not gnome... and I havent met many, so I dont know what you be talking about” The sailor said, looking at the calm and armored gnome curiously. “What do you want?”

“Want.. yes... that is why I have come. I suppose you may not remember all those that you rob, Im sure there have been so many.” Brakks eyes roll as he listens. “You and your lott took an heirloom... a family treasure from me back then. It has cost be quite a bit of coin to find it again... and ill be having it.. NOW.” The gnomes voice rises high in pitch as he screams the last word.


Brakk tenses, a throwing axe in his hand.

The mark starts laughing at the gnome, though his friends just stand there, slightly behind the armored fellow. “Get ye gone foolish gnome... not that I know what yer talkin about.”

One of his friends attacks first... no warning. I think now it was mostly because so many humans think themselves so much better then everyone... especially gnomes. The man tries to stick a dagger into a weak spot in the armor, but there is a clang, a moment of brightness and then chanting. The gnome chants a few seconds and them boom, energy explodes into the ground shaking it, and sending two of the men around him to their knees. Brakk step out, and fires his axes at the one standing. Unprepared... having barely registered the scary looking dwarf, he is a perfect target. The axe explodes into his face, knocking back off his feat, dead.

Chanting again, the gnome touches one of the men, while nodding towards the other. Brakk walks up behind the one he meant as he stands facing the gnome.

“Bwaaaahahahaaaaa” Brakk laughs as he advances, he wants this ones attention on him.

The man jumps around to face Brakk, weapon held out in front of him.. a club the man had fashioned out of ironwood.

“Bwaaahahahaaaaaahaaaaa” Brakk starts laughing harder and has to stop advancing he laughs so hard.

“Yer brought a stick ta fight our steel feller.” Brakks laughter turns into a roar and he dives at the man head first. His horned helm blows into the mans groin. The sailor doubles over in pain falling to the ground as Brakk pummels him with his steel guantlets.

The mans falls unconsious quickly under the blows and Brakk drags him into the alley, blood smearing the roadway. The gnome is wating and the last sailor just stands there with a slightly vacant look in his eyes. “Aye.. ready boss.” Brakk says coming out of the alley.

The three walk off towards the docks, the enspelled human leading the way. The ship had just arrived, and though most of the crew was out, it was still off the docks awaiting its turn in port. Into a small boat, and then the human rowed them out to a large ship with three masts. They climbed aboard like it was theirs, the human leading them. They walked directly to the quarters in the stern.. into fine chambers, likely the captains.

“Shannon... get out of... huh?” The captain says to his friend as he sees the two ‘guests’ his friend had brought.

“Whats going on here Shannon? Who are your friends?” The Captain asked.

The gnome had been mumbling as the captain talked and suddenly the fellow went rigid. Couldn’t speak anymore, but sure looked like he had something to say. Brakk walked up to the man and stared at him close up curious while the gnome searched the area for what he was after. It didnt take long. The gnome pocketed something that looked like a bowl and nodded to Brakk.

Shortly after that brakk was pulling at the oars, bringing them back to the docks as quickly as he could. The gnome was shuffling through a bag. The moon gleamed off the dark metal... a slightly purple hue to it in the failing light. He pulled out bar after bar, handing them to Brakk. Three bars of adamantine had been hard to pass up for the dwarf. His clan... Clan Oghrann, had a been on the decline for centuries and though the clan had put to use plenty of this precious metal, Brakk had never been lucky enough or rich enough to have some.

His father had died when they had fought during the goblin and orc wars. Cormyr had been ravaged and the dwarves had done what they could. The blackore name was one that had been with the Clan for a very long time, so they we’re glad of Brakk’s survival. Still. After the war... and the loss of his father... Brakk had left the mountain... the stone... and had gone in search of dwarven metal work or other gift of Dumothian.

It was the next day. The sun was up and it was the peak of summer in Luskan. The smell of the streets drove the powerfully built stout out a south gate. He stopped once to pull out a cloth wrapped bar of black ore and watched it gleam in the sun. Packing it away he headed south with his clan on his mind. He’d grown tired of watered down human swill and was looking forward to finding some real stout ales and more on his return home.

He pulled out a flask of his finest and drank, singing a drinking song as he marched down the trade road.

“If all be true... that I do think, there be five good reasons ta ‘ave a drink! Good ale, stout kin, ‘n hairy lasses, black ore -- ‘n -- swing’n axes”


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“The walk back home”

Leaving the Sword Coast behind, the dwarf marched on. He’d joined up with a caravan heading towards Baulders Gate. He rode next to a wagon driver near the lead wagon wearing his worn breastplate. His shield and flail strapped to his back, his bag next to him and throwing axes within easy reach.

The caravan made good speed. The scouts came back with news a few times. Tracks ahead once... orcs traveling south. Sightings of goblins for off the road south, but not trailing us. Brakk was getting bored.

A monk in drab featureless robes and a bald head rode along side their wagon. The horse was loaded with packs and looked quite weighed down. He rode on quietly until Brakk started trying to talk with him.

“OI... wut in dem packs monk? Yer horse looks like a mule ‘bout ready ta just stop outa being pissed off. Why dont ya throw some of that behind me on the wagon?” Brakk spoke.

“Oh no. My charge is bringing these tomes to Candlekeep, certainly safer where they are.” The monk replied.

“Aye? ye be going ta Baulder’s Gate wid us first?” Brakk asked.

“No... my road veers south ahead... actually not far off from here. Not to worry hardy stout, Ill be fine.” The monk went on.

“Pft... wasnt worry’n”, Brakk mumbled to himself before speaking up.

“Aye? I be headin off south soon as ta. Headed back ta me clan ye see.” Brakk said.

“Well, i’d be glad for your company if our routes are the same. Safety in numbers and all.”

They talked a while, the monk polite and welcoming, Brakk bored. They left the caravan soon enough... the wagons leavin towards the north east, and the monk and Brakk headed south east. It wasnt long before Brakk regretted joining up with the monk. The monk spoke on and on about Oghma, boring the dwarf almost to tears, so when the monk spoke up about reaching the path to Candlekeep soon... “The Way of the Lion” he called it... the dwarf perked up. At least he’d leave this bore behind soon.

The monk started down the new path, which led up some close by cliffs. When Brakk didnt follow he turned back to him and said. “Oh.. let us thank you. I’ll use a tome I have to get you in, and you can enjoy the hospitality of the great keep for a bit before you head on. Plenty of good wines and food, not to mention a bed.”

“Naw thank ye monk. Im not much fer human wine... er even ale fer that matter. Axes high mate” With that he walked off leaving the monk to take his trail. It wasnt long before Brakk saw the tracks. A large band... likely orcs.. had crossed the path and were headed towards the general area the monk had gone. With a grin of excitement, Brakk jogged after them, holding his shield and flail on his back to keep from making more noise then he had too. His thought on the soon to be dead orcs, and barely a thought to the monk.

The battle was on already when he caught up. The monk was surrounded and off his horse. At least 20 orcs around him. He was a good fighter, but was getting hit and looked like he’d taken a good hit to his side.... blood wetting the robes there. With a roar of challenge Brakk charged the orcs. His shield and flail in his hands he broke into their ranks. Knocking them aside he pushed up near the monk and turned to face the orcs. “Back ta back he yelled.”

It was just a matter of time. The orcs had been almost outmatched by the monk alone, but with Brakks at his back the two broke down orc after orc. Brakk had to fight defencively, using his shield a lot, but slowly and methodically the dwarf smacked orcs heads right and left. After what seemed like hours the two stood panting, orcs bodies all around... and a few running off in the distance.

“Thanks good stout. I was a bit overwelmed by them... glad I am to see you again. Please.. come with me to the keep. Just up the path there.” He said nodding towards a climbing path before him.

“Hrm... sorry feller. Yer be ok? Me path leads me east.” Brakk declined.

Then the monk fell over, passed out. Muttering the dwarf packed him up on his horse and led the hurt monk the last short way up to Candlekeep.

The large keep was quite the sight even for the maturing dwarf. As he neared the gate a voice spoke up asking his business and shortly after let him in with the hurt monk and his packs of tomes. They took Brakk to a room to get settled and the monk to be tended.

Brakk was bored again soon. He’d rested in the nice bed and after waking had gone off in search of a meal. It was late, and most were in their beds. It wasnt long before the dwarf was lost amogst thousands of tomes on high shelves. Getting hungrier and thirstier, dwarfs mood grew worse and worse as he traversed the library looking for a kitchen. He was soon lost. A few hours past and now the dwarf was fuming. Not a soul around, no food, no ale, surrounded by useless tomes.

“RAAAAHHHRG!” He yelled. He looked around awaiting an answering voice. Nothing. “Fook dis place”, he yelled to no one in particular. Then he turned a corner and found himself looking at a old skinny human in long robes. The fellow looked over a tome on a nearby table.

Brakk walked up in a foul mood. “Wut... yer fookn deaf den?”

The robed man just ignored him, studying the tome. “HEY YOU!!!” Brakk roared at him. The man frowned a moment, noting the dwarf and pulled out a parchment. He read it and touching himself on the forehead. All went silent. Brakk yelled at him a couple more times, not hearing his own voice and getting ever angier. Brakk stormed off past the table, kicking a table leg hard and sending the table to the ground as he passed. A silent “Fook you human” wasnt heard.

As Brakk walked away the robed figure scowls at his back. The chanting starts and Brakks eyes go wide, he turns back towards the man just as the spell goes off. He cant move. His lips wont move, nothing. He just stands there watching the wizard with a face frozen in surprise. The man walks up to Brakk and grins. He begins to use his quil and ink to draw on the dwarfs face. Brakks outrage is almost enough to overcome the spell holding him, but not quite. The human is gone amongst the book shelves somewhere by the time he can move again. Brakk touches his face, but his hands come back clean, no ink. Great, he mutters to himself.

By morning Brakk had given up and slept next to a table and flaring brazier. A monk of the keep woke him and helped him to get some food and find his way back to his room. Brakk filled a bowl with water and tried looking at his face’s reflection for what the mage had put there. Nothing. He saw nothing. No ink. Nothing.

It was far down the road that something happened regarding this. Brakk had left the monks to their books a few moons back and traveled close to Cormyrs borders now. Up ahead coming towards him on the road a group of adventures walked along, weapons put away. As they closed one of them got a good look at the dwarf and started laughing. He wore simple clothing and carried pouches of spell components. He said something to his friend in a language the dwarf didnt recognize and then they all laughed at him.

Brakk stopped before them and narrows his brows at them, giving them a stern look. This made them really loose it.

“Ye best be shuttin yer traps before I smack da crap out of dem mouths.” Brakk threatened. “Wut the fook be so funny?”

The mage walked up to the dwarf, his laughter subsiding some and said. “Dwarf.. you bear a mark. Hidden runes aglow on your face to me. tis a spell.”

“Wut? ” Brakk says “I dat fook’n wiggler enspelled me?”

“No.. no... he uh... wrote a spell on your face like a piece of parchment. I can read it if you like... the runes should burn off.” The mage stiffles some laughter a moment then looks on serious.

“Bah.. go ahead ‘n read it den wiggler.” , Brakk replied.

The man come close to Brakk and read the runes off, chanting away in the language of magic. Next thing Brakk knows, he forehead flares blue white and Brakk hears a joke in the wigglers words.
---------------------
“Tark the halforc walks into a tavern and reads a sign that hangs over the bar.

FREE ALE FOR THE PERSON WHO CAN PASS OUR TEST!

So Tark asks the bartender what the test is. The Bartender replies "Well, first you have to drink that whole gallon of hot pepper whiskey, the whole thing at once and you can't make a face while doing it. Second, there's a 'gator out back with a sore tooth...you have to remove it with your bare hands. Third, there's a woman up-stairs who's never had an orgasm. You gotta make things right for her."

Tark says "Sound easy, Tark will win free ale." He grabs the gallon of pepper whiskey with both hands, and downs it with a big slurp and tears streaming down his face. Next, he staggers out back and soon all the people inside hear the most frightening roaring and thumping, then silence.

The orc staggers back into the bar, his tunic ripped and big scratches all over his body. "Now" he says, "Where is woman with sore tooth?"
----------------
Brakk is on his back laughing so hard at the magicaly inspired joke he craps, and pee’s himself. They are all laughing, though the adventures are laughing at the dwarf, not with him. The spell fades and Brakk curses, looking at his soiled loin cloth. He gets up and walks off past the group with a “fook all of you” mumbled as he passes them.

[bhagavat]

Nearing the land of the Purple Dragon, Brakk was still excited to see an Inn up ahead on the trade road. A nice and large one... maybe dey had some good ale, he thought.

The building was stone and ironwood, two stories with twin towers at each side, making a third story. The day was ending and the sounds of laughter we're already pouring out of the establishment... the sign read "The Helm & Cloak".

Brakk pushed his way through the large, darkly gleaming doors into a hot room still mostly empty, but with a few patrons about drinking with eachother. With a grunt Brakk walked up to the barkeep in high hopes, this place was lush and clean. Fook it, he thought, ill pay fer a good drink after da long road.

"Oi barkeep... ye got any good stout ale's 'r spirits?" Brakk said as politely as a mohawked, eye patch wearing dwarf can.

"Alright master dwarf. Keep your weapons peace bonded and your get ready for a treat even for one of your kind." The barkeep said. The barkeep stood past 6 feet and had on odd well to do hairdo, that swirled about his head into a pony tail at the back. He wore dark silky clothing, pants and a tight shirt.

Brakk took him all in and decided to keep on eye on him, certainly not the everyday fineries. After a few minutes the barkeep was pouring a steaming concoction into a large ale stein. It poured in black, foaming a like color, and looking right delecious, if Brakk did say so himself.

Without a thought, he swooped up the drink and began gulping down its contents. It burned through his stomach, into his blood, and his eyes started watering. His vision blurred and another took its place.

He stood watching young stouts at play near a roaring fire, in some dwarfhold he didnt recognize. On a stand in the corner what hes knows to be his finest work,leans on the wall fer all to see. A huge adamantine and mithral broadbladed blade, the blade glistening with something. He saw an image of a younger samman, with his own eyes swinging the huge blade about... each hit blasting them from their feet.

The visions fades and again tears stream down Brakks face. Gruffly he asks fer a room and takes it easy, thinking about the oddly emotional vision he'd gotten... bah.. if it was anything. He thought to himself, beginning to feel more himself.

[bhagavat]

Betrayed ---


He sat at a tavern he'd not been to before in hopes he'd not run into any he knew. He needed solitude, ale, and that was all. His mohawked hair, hung limp and uncared for, his beard starting to show frizzy and unkempt, his eyes blurred and and his head fogged, and it was just him and his ale, and his thoughts.

His thoughts fell back to the ceremony he'd been a part of, along with his kin and Alaghor to Clangaddin. Shaking his head he thought how a fool he felt now for taking part in it, but though the girl... the human that had been more dear to him then any other in Cormyr, the betrayer, and his generous blood sacrifice. He hoped his blood tainted her blessing as a 'weapon' of Tempus.

He shook his head and drank a large gulp from his stein of ale. He could understand mercenary work, and on that level wasn't exactly surprised. He thought about Fiona and wondered if he really knew her at all, beyond her fighting prowess. How much had been staged to make him like her? He frowned, staring at his ale a while.

While he drank his thoughts drifted to all the members of the mercenary group that had taken the job to watch him, to spy on him. He thought about the dangerous half-orc, Galrog, who had hired them. He thought of the words he heard Cadmen say of Fiona, how she'd been changing and wasn't part of their group like she had been. His sorrow gave way to anger slowly, as he went over all that they knew about him, and had told Galrog. It wasn't good to have an enemy knowing so much. He smiled faintly a moment thinking of a few new trinkets he'd gotten. They wouldn't catch him totally unprepared if their spying was preparation for some attack on him. He drank more, ordering the barkeep lass to keep em coming. As he drank, his anger and fear melted into the ale, and designs on how to best protect himself drifted through his thoughts. One on particular found his interest, and with that he went to him room. H'ed have to speak to the Alaghor, Torgar, about this. In his dreams, he saw them all dead.

He awoke briefly trying to remember it. He saw a small group of dwarves charging the one named Galrog. He saw someone he couldnt make out in the fray, a non dwarf, killing... fighting for who? it was lost to him in his awakened state. He saw twin shining axes, filled with light, fall from the sky into the hands of a blessed servant of the Rock of War. He saw dead nameless mercenaries.... and he sighed contentedly, then farted.