Enfolded in Shadows
Sep. 17th, 2020 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gridloreThis is the background write-up for my new D&D character.
Igan drained the last drops from the flagon, then slammed it onto the table in appreciation. "Damn fine mead, I've not had such since I left Daggerford!"
The lady publican smiled as she refilled Igan's flagon. "You're from the North? How interesting! You are very far from home, my lord." Igan noted that his host was a quite stunning example of the fair sex. Her long black hair framed a face so fair he suspected she might be a halkf-elf.
Igan carved a healthy slice from the roast capon. It was as fine as the mead. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before speaking.
"Oh, I've been farther, I suspect. Although to be honest, I'm not really sure where I am at the moment. But my trade has carried me all across the Realms. You see, I am a Hunter of Men." Igan laughed, "Men, elves, dwarfs. . . I'm in it for the game and the gold. I'd track down a Celestial for the Lords of Hell if the price was right."
"I see." the publican settled down at the table. "You are filled with pride for one so young. Tell me, when you hunt men for gold, do you work with others?"
"Rarely, m'lady. I've been on my own since my father, he was a fur trader, was murdered and I had to drag the men who did in for the bounty. I've learned that my liberty is best pursued by myself. Every man for himself and Malar take the hindmost! Life is a game, and never tell me the odds!"
"Young and bold. Excellent qualities, and what I look for. But, did you know you were dying, Igan Pavlovich Kulnov?"
The Inn dimmed and Igan was struck by terrible agony. He looked down to see his tunic shredded and soaking quickly with blood."
"Am I dead then? Are you some servant of Kelemvor? Am I truly to be judged now?" Igan could barely conceal his panic.
"Calm yourself, Igan Pavlovich, I am not a judge of the dead, and you are dying, but not yet dead. I bring you an offer. Service to the Shadowfell and the Raven Queen. In exchange, your life and powers undreamt of, if you are strong enough."
"And what do I owe for these boons?" Even on the edge of death, Igan couldn't avoid his fear of entanglements.
"You will be asked, from time to time, to perform a task. Many of them will be what you already do, tracking down people and items. Our touch is light unless you cross us. There are shadows everywhere, and we are in all of them. The offer would have been made anyway, your current situation forced our hand. Either way, we will heal you."
The room darkened until all Igan could see was his hostess' faintly glowing eyes.
"Do you swear to obey us?"
"I do, on my soul."
"It is done."
Ivar awoke in the alley where his quarry had surprised him with two assassins. They lay dead on the urine-soaked cobblestones. His quarry, a Waterdeep merchant wanted for embezzling, was neatly tied up. As Igan was hauling him to his feet, he heard a rustle of wings and voice in his head "Go to Waterdeep, you will gain your first grants from us along the way. The mark on your arm, show it always."
Igan ripped his sleeve off and stared and the large complex tattoo, the mark of a Hexblade. Sighing, he led his captive back towards the mule cart he had bought, and the long ride to Waterdeep. Igan was already wondering if he was just as much a prisoner as his captive.
Nearby, a raven cawed. It sounded like mocking laughter.
Igan drained the last drops from the flagon, then slammed it onto the table in appreciation. "Damn fine mead, I've not had such since I left Daggerford!"
The lady publican smiled as she refilled Igan's flagon. "You're from the North? How interesting! You are very far from home, my lord." Igan noted that his host was a quite stunning example of the fair sex. Her long black hair framed a face so fair he suspected she might be a halkf-elf.
Igan carved a healthy slice from the roast capon. It was as fine as the mead. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve before speaking.
"Oh, I've been farther, I suspect. Although to be honest, I'm not really sure where I am at the moment. But my trade has carried me all across the Realms. You see, I am a Hunter of Men." Igan laughed, "Men, elves, dwarfs. . . I'm in it for the game and the gold. I'd track down a Celestial for the Lords of Hell if the price was right."
"I see." the publican settled down at the table. "You are filled with pride for one so young. Tell me, when you hunt men for gold, do you work with others?"
"Rarely, m'lady. I've been on my own since my father, he was a fur trader, was murdered and I had to drag the men who did in for the bounty. I've learned that my liberty is best pursued by myself. Every man for himself and Malar take the hindmost! Life is a game, and never tell me the odds!"
"Young and bold. Excellent qualities, and what I look for. But, did you know you were dying, Igan Pavlovich Kulnov?"
The Inn dimmed and Igan was struck by terrible agony. He looked down to see his tunic shredded and soaking quickly with blood."
"Am I dead then? Are you some servant of Kelemvor? Am I truly to be judged now?" Igan could barely conceal his panic.
"Calm yourself, Igan Pavlovich, I am not a judge of the dead, and you are dying, but not yet dead. I bring you an offer. Service to the Shadowfell and the Raven Queen. In exchange, your life and powers undreamt of, if you are strong enough."
"And what do I owe for these boons?" Even on the edge of death, Igan couldn't avoid his fear of entanglements.
"You will be asked, from time to time, to perform a task. Many of them will be what you already do, tracking down people and items. Our touch is light unless you cross us. There are shadows everywhere, and we are in all of them. The offer would have been made anyway, your current situation forced our hand. Either way, we will heal you."
The room darkened until all Igan could see was his hostess' faintly glowing eyes.
"Do you swear to obey us?"
"I do, on my soul."
"It is done."
Ivar awoke in the alley where his quarry had surprised him with two assassins. They lay dead on the urine-soaked cobblestones. His quarry, a Waterdeep merchant wanted for embezzling, was neatly tied up. As Igan was hauling him to his feet, he heard a rustle of wings and voice in his head "Go to Waterdeep, you will gain your first grants from us along the way. The mark on your arm, show it always."
Igan ripped his sleeve off and stared and the large complex tattoo, the mark of a Hexblade. Sighing, he led his captive back towards the mule cart he had bought, and the long ride to Waterdeep. Igan was already wondering if he was just as much a prisoner as his captive.
Nearby, a raven cawed. It sounded like mocking laughter.
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Date: 17 Sep 2020 22:58 (UTC)