Post by Driderman on Jan 7, 2007 9:17:55 GMT -5
A Hero’s Death
The background of Arathos Valencaer
The young man sat by the fireplace in the Regal Griffon Inn, listening to the crackling of the flames and warming his body after a long and arduous journey. He leaned his head against the high-backed chair and closed his milky white eyes. Even though they did not see, they were still susceptible to irritation from the heat. He smiled as he listened to the patrons of the inn, his excellent hearing allowing to discern what ordinary ears would not. The innkeeper, a friendly sort who had introduced himself as Kale was standing by the bar, a good fifteen paces from him cleaning what sounded like a metal mug with a cotton cloth. Downstairs by the common room a cook was beginning to prepare the meal he had just ordered. Despite the crackling of the logs and their burning smell, he was still able appreciate the delicate smell of the roasting meat and his stomach growled in anticipation. His smile grew even wider and his ears reddened slightly as he heard scraps of conversation and activity from one of the rooms upstairs. Not long ago a young man, of noble heritage by the sound of his walk and his smell and a young woman had rented a room and they seemed to waste no time. He quickly turned his attention inwards again, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private moment and took a sip of his wine as he pondered his arrival in this strange country and thought back to the unusual circumstances that had led him here.
He listened with unease as the man he had called father his entire life spoke with a rasping, wheezing breath. “I am not long for this world, my son”. His father cut him off before he could interrupt, before he could tell him that it wasn’t true, that he would get better. “I am old and we both know it. I was old even when we found you and I have only become older still”. The old man laughed coarsely, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. “There is nothing left for you here, but to bury an old man and move on. This place is not for you, I think, and you will indulge your fathers last wish if you know what’s good for you. Amn is a country of merchants, thieves and indulgent, corrupt nobility. You’ve no head for money and I won’t have you a thief. Your mother would turn in over in her grave and give me no peace in the next life. So it is my last wish, no my command, as your dying father that you leave this place and seek your fortune elsewhere. I will die here and I die a good and peaceful death, but you…” The old mans voice trailed off for a moment as he studied his fosterchild. He had grown into a good, strong man. It had been difficult at times, but in the end he had turned out just fine, capable and self-confident despite his disadvantages. The old man cleared his throat and began again. “I die peaceful death an old man, but you my son… I have a feeling you shall die a hero’s death”.
The young man nodded as he tried to keep back his tears. “If it is your wish that I leave father, I will do so…But where will I go?”
Slowly and painfully, the old man pulled out a small chest from underneath the bed. “This, my son, is yours. You mother would not speak of it when she was alive, for you would run away, but it is high time…open it”. Taking the chest with utmost care, the young man opened it with trembling hands and let his right hand wander over the items kept inside. It was an old piece of cloth, wrapped around what seemed a foil, or perhaps a rapier. There were also a few coins, gold from the weight of them. “Father, what is this?”
“The gold, is your inheritance. All that your mother and I can leave you except our love. The rapier is a gift for you. From who I do not know, it was delivered a few years ago by messenger and your mother quickly hid it. As for the cloth, it is what we found you wrapped in… and it bears the Purple Dragon of the kingdom of Cormyr…”
The next day he buried his father who had died peacefully during the night and later that day, he booked passage on a caravan for the kingdom of Cormyr, where it seemed his destiny awaited.
The background of Arathos Valencaer
The young man sat by the fireplace in the Regal Griffon Inn, listening to the crackling of the flames and warming his body after a long and arduous journey. He leaned his head against the high-backed chair and closed his milky white eyes. Even though they did not see, they were still susceptible to irritation from the heat. He smiled as he listened to the patrons of the inn, his excellent hearing allowing to discern what ordinary ears would not. The innkeeper, a friendly sort who had introduced himself as Kale was standing by the bar, a good fifteen paces from him cleaning what sounded like a metal mug with a cotton cloth. Downstairs by the common room a cook was beginning to prepare the meal he had just ordered. Despite the crackling of the logs and their burning smell, he was still able appreciate the delicate smell of the roasting meat and his stomach growled in anticipation. His smile grew even wider and his ears reddened slightly as he heard scraps of conversation and activity from one of the rooms upstairs. Not long ago a young man, of noble heritage by the sound of his walk and his smell and a young woman had rented a room and they seemed to waste no time. He quickly turned his attention inwards again, not wanting to intrude on what was obviously a private moment and took a sip of his wine as he pondered his arrival in this strange country and thought back to the unusual circumstances that had led him here.
He listened with unease as the man he had called father his entire life spoke with a rasping, wheezing breath. “I am not long for this world, my son”. His father cut him off before he could interrupt, before he could tell him that it wasn’t true, that he would get better. “I am old and we both know it. I was old even when we found you and I have only become older still”. The old man laughed coarsely, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. “There is nothing left for you here, but to bury an old man and move on. This place is not for you, I think, and you will indulge your fathers last wish if you know what’s good for you. Amn is a country of merchants, thieves and indulgent, corrupt nobility. You’ve no head for money and I won’t have you a thief. Your mother would turn in over in her grave and give me no peace in the next life. So it is my last wish, no my command, as your dying father that you leave this place and seek your fortune elsewhere. I will die here and I die a good and peaceful death, but you…” The old mans voice trailed off for a moment as he studied his fosterchild. He had grown into a good, strong man. It had been difficult at times, but in the end he had turned out just fine, capable and self-confident despite his disadvantages. The old man cleared his throat and began again. “I die peaceful death an old man, but you my son… I have a feeling you shall die a hero’s death”.
The young man nodded as he tried to keep back his tears. “If it is your wish that I leave father, I will do so…But where will I go?”
Slowly and painfully, the old man pulled out a small chest from underneath the bed. “This, my son, is yours. You mother would not speak of it when she was alive, for you would run away, but it is high time…open it”. Taking the chest with utmost care, the young man opened it with trembling hands and let his right hand wander over the items kept inside. It was an old piece of cloth, wrapped around what seemed a foil, or perhaps a rapier. There were also a few coins, gold from the weight of them. “Father, what is this?”
“The gold, is your inheritance. All that your mother and I can leave you except our love. The rapier is a gift for you. From who I do not know, it was delivered a few years ago by messenger and your mother quickly hid it. As for the cloth, it is what we found you wrapped in… and it bears the Purple Dragon of the kingdom of Cormyr…”
The next day he buried his father who had died peacefully during the night and later that day, he booked passage on a caravan for the kingdom of Cormyr, where it seemed his destiny awaited.