Post by Tim (Tiglianti) on Aug 23, 2019 20:07:10 GMT
On a calm summer’s morning, amidst the bustle and trade of the burgeoning Port Ffirst docks, one ship drops with its cargo a crew of sailors with tales and rough jests of a passenger of laughable repute. The raucous taunting carried with it a semblance of bravado as it harried the young man away from the pilings, for all men know that to sail with a madman is the worst of luck, and if any of the bedraggled traveller’s wild claims held truth, none amongst them would truly wish to have mocked one of the magi…
Indignity upon disgrace, the young passenger thought to himself, leaning heavily on the knotted stave in his hand as he staggered up the path in search of lodgings. Years of suffering under that gods-forsaken village of cretins, where one couldn’t read a book in peace for jeers and taunts, the shame of burning in the hot summer sun and being ostracised as weak for the way his nose streamed and his eyes itched come harvest time, and the callous disinterest at his dramatic departure in pursuit of his craft, only to be confined on that stinking, creaky, oakum-wreathed coffin of foul bilge and fouler men. The evidence of his seasickness still spattered his hemmed burlap robe, and he groaned at the recollection of the hours spent picking out mystical and eldritch symbols of the great arcane in sequins across its folds. Between the interminable sea voyage and the furnishing of the basics required for adventure, his small hoard of coins had dwindled to a bare handful; he spent a moment lingering outside the Flourished Hook, before turning with a sigh and a swallow of dread towards the Cavernous Seashank. Some few days of simple food and basic lodgings would settle his rolling stomach, and then… then it would begin.
For he had taken his first steps. He had broken free of the oppressive ignorance of his home village, struck out across the land (at which point he was promptly mugged), established his trade in Neverwinter (until he was mugged again), bartered for passage in Port Llast across the great sea, and arrived at the frontier of his legend. Here, he would grow in power, forge a legacy that will echo through the annals of time, and be remembered always as Tiglianti the Powerful, greatest of wizards; and he would return to that forsaken hole of a village and bury it under a meteor, and yes, burn that hulking ship to cinders while he was at it!
But for now, inns cost money, and that was running woefully short. Before unleashing devastation upon those who dared slight him, Tiglianti the Powerful needed a job…
Indignity upon disgrace, the young passenger thought to himself, leaning heavily on the knotted stave in his hand as he staggered up the path in search of lodgings. Years of suffering under that gods-forsaken village of cretins, where one couldn’t read a book in peace for jeers and taunts, the shame of burning in the hot summer sun and being ostracised as weak for the way his nose streamed and his eyes itched come harvest time, and the callous disinterest at his dramatic departure in pursuit of his craft, only to be confined on that stinking, creaky, oakum-wreathed coffin of foul bilge and fouler men. The evidence of his seasickness still spattered his hemmed burlap robe, and he groaned at the recollection of the hours spent picking out mystical and eldritch symbols of the great arcane in sequins across its folds. Between the interminable sea voyage and the furnishing of the basics required for adventure, his small hoard of coins had dwindled to a bare handful; he spent a moment lingering outside the Flourished Hook, before turning with a sigh and a swallow of dread towards the Cavernous Seashank. Some few days of simple food and basic lodgings would settle his rolling stomach, and then… then it would begin.
For he had taken his first steps. He had broken free of the oppressive ignorance of his home village, struck out across the land (at which point he was promptly mugged), established his trade in Neverwinter (until he was mugged again), bartered for passage in Port Llast across the great sea, and arrived at the frontier of his legend. Here, he would grow in power, forge a legacy that will echo through the annals of time, and be remembered always as Tiglianti the Powerful, greatest of wizards; and he would return to that forsaken hole of a village and bury it under a meteor, and yes, burn that hulking ship to cinders while he was at it!
But for now, inns cost money, and that was running woefully short. Before unleashing devastation upon those who dared slight him, Tiglianti the Powerful needed a job…