|The Story of the Golden Blade Group
Author: Grimore PM
Before they were mercs, they had everyday jobs. Before they embarked, they were normal people. A look into the life of the Golden Blade Group members before the siege of Targos. EDIT: Unfinished, and might not be able to finish.Rated: Fiction T - English - Fantasy - Chapters: 2 - Words: 1,993 - Reviews: 4 - Updated: 03-30-08 - Published: 03-29-08 - id: 4164256
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Story of the Golden Blade Group
For future references, let me tell you exactly how I became wrapped up in Luskan's affairs and the affairs of Targos itself. Allow me to expand upon my plight: I am Dedrik Lucal, child of the North, and this is my autobiography. I don't know exactly where I was born, but I can tell you that it was sunny, since I bear a tan from that place. Or maybe it was my work as an apprentice blacksmith that did this. That would explain why my sister, Camella, is obviously fairer than me.
At any rate, I was dubbed "the Brazen" for two reasons: because Dedrik Lucal, son of Arilan Lucal is too long, and because of my skin. When I reached the age of 16, my father died from hard work and poor health during the winter. I did well enough in my job, but the village I lived in had little demand for armor or weapons, so I earned little. I realized that, if I were to keep myself and my sister alive, I would need to migrate to other places. So I packed up all of my tools and creations and took my sister with me.
I got to the first of the trading posts in the North, and there, I sold all of the creations I presumed as not needing. My sister, trained by mother to be a great musician, earned both of us extra revenue at the local tavern. After four years of migration and trade, however, I hungered for something more. My strength through proffession, and my skill through the training in my weapons made being an arena fighter the most logical choice. During my first course, however, I never expected to win so greatly, praised by the crowd!
Ah, yes, my brother was going right for a while, especially for the childhood part and somewhere around there. However, his victory at the first battle was just not right. Plus, I told him that I wanted to do more than busk about for money. Also, his weapons might have very well been made of glass because of how much they broke. Dad, if you are listening to this interview, you would roll around in your grave. Honestly, you really would be rolling about.
During the first fight, his dagger, longsword, hammer, mace, and quaterstaff all gave way to the strength of his challenger. Just so you know, the challenger was a bottom-tier fighter; fodder for the new people. The only reason why he wasn't killed then and there, in that arena, was because the fighter took pity on him. So, he was put in the infirmary, then patched up and discharged from the fight. Great contrast from the Dedrik of today, I should say.
Thanks for the support, sister, I really apreciate it, since really, I helped save us from starving on the streets. Okay, so I wasn't altogether skilled in either fighting or my trade, but I had a long way to go. I learned and learned in both aspects, training hard every day, until I finally got to mastery in the skills. Finally, with my training complete, I was ready to go out and seek my fortune, yet again, as a proffesional fighter. Feeling elated, yet again, I went to fight, yet again.
He was getting better, so he gets credit for that, but still. Dedrik was a long way from being master, and his later fight proved it through action. Though it took two rounds, all of his weapons broke again, and he resorted to fists to keep himself up. It turned out to be a good fight, with neither champion besting eachother. But just as their last attacks were going to connect, both my brother and his opponent had lost consciousness.
Neither were critically wounded, but both were highly exhausted by the time the fight was ended, with mild-to-moderate wounding on both sides. With my brother and his opponent both okay, I decided to drop by the local tavern to get more people to contribute. As people were giving me coins, a figure walked up to me, staring as I sang my song. When it was over, the figure clapped their hands, and I say that the hands had claws on them. That told me immediately who it was.
"You have a magic to the songs of yours, and I want to prove it." The voice was low, sneaky, and demonic, alerting me that this particular person had fiend's blood. "Thanks, but if you aren't going to contribute, you shouldn't stay around." The tiefling gave me twenty gold coins and said, "Think that all of the patrons in the tavern should go to sleep." Keeping a close eye on him, then concentrating, I did as he said, playing a soft lullaby in the tavern and singing.
As I sang, the people around me began to lull into a sleep, laying down their heads and drifting off. The tiefling walked deeper into the tavern, and shortly after, walked back out with a bulging bag. "We shall meet again, bard, and perhaps on different circumstances from tonight's." As the figure walked out, I stopped playing, then exited the tavern, wondering about what happened. Turns out, the tiefling was a thief; his payload was half of the tavern's income from that night.