futureman34

[futureman34]

Destroy the idea that good DMs should be trying to make the PCs lives miserable. Good DMs facilitate good stories. It’s not about control and setting up every encounter so that there’s like an 80% chance of everyone dying. It’s about making sure everyone, including yourself, is having a good time and if you can’t have a good time without ruining the fun of others, you shouldn’t be DMing (If your players consent to really high-stakes gameplay though, more power to you).

[futureman34]

Part 7

It was just after 2 in the morning when Parthax walked down the gangway and stepped foot for the first time on the Naming Island. They had been delayed a day by a violent storm that threw them off course much to the captain’s chagrin. Part of the cargo had been lost overboard due to loose ties, something Parthax would surely have been caught doing had the storm not made all the crew members batten down the hatches and douse the sails so they could lie ahull until the storm passed. The boat tossed for hours and once the storm lifted they were miles off course. They lost half a day just getting their bearings back and had to come in at night so the entire first day of the festival was missed.

Parthax made his way away from the docks and into the city that was dead year round except this one week. The streets were relatively quiet and Parthax was still wired from the trip so he meandered around until the sun began peeking over the horizon. He went and had a quiet breakfast at one of the cafes around the central square just as people began milling around for the day’s festivities. He started looking around and wondered how he would kill time. The first thing he did when the shops opened was he went and purchased padded clothes and a tunic. The tunic wasn’t exactly the most comfortable and the padding wasn’t exactly his size, but it stopped the pinching and gave him something else to wear.

It was just after lunch when the crowd began gathering in the square around a large raised platform. Parthax didn’t know exactly what was going on, but decided it would be best to go along with it. He got as close to the platform as he could to see what was happening. A little while later the crowd roared as a man walked up wearing long flowing robes. He addressed the crowd about the new year before beginning to randomly call up people to be on stage with him. He looked Parthax in the eye and pointed to him. People around him tried to go on stage, but they were turned away and made room for Parthax to come up. Parthax looked out at the thousands of people assembled around the platform and wondered what it was all about. One of the people standing next to him was saying something about the Sage of War. Parthax guessed correctly that it was this man they were talking about. Suddenly long chain was passed down stretching from one end to the other. Everyone on stage was holding a part of it. Parthax didn’t know what was going to happen, but wrapped it around his hand in case it was to be a battle to be the last person holding it. It was the Sage of War after all, who’s to say it wasn’t going to be a war for the chain? The sage said a few more words and the chain grew hotter and hotter until it was burning every single person holding it. Parthax regretted wrapping his hand in it as now he was getting burned all the way around his hand. Everyone on stage were in blinding pain for a few moments until it went away. Everyone dropped the chain simultaneously and on their hands where they had held the chain was a burned imprint. The Sage of War turned to those on the stage and said, “This will become useful to you in the coming year. May it aid you well.” With that the Sage disappeared and those left on stage began filing down off it. Parthax was none too pleased about the new scar, but it didn’t seem that anything would take it away.

Afterwards he decided to go to the tavern and have a drink. Some of the other people who also had been picked that day also decided that it was time for a drink after having their hand scarred in the shape of a chain. He sat at the bar and spoke a little with some of the other people meandering around. He was hit on by an elf that looked like he had seen some of the rougher sides of life named Ookentoa. He was groped and prodded by a halfling aptly named Grabyerbum, who seemed to be compensating for something by having an axe taller than he was. He met an intelligent, yet belittling gray elf in a hat that looked like it was sized for a dragon named Lor’thorial. Another elf that was up on stage with him who seemed overwhelmed by it all named Shanarah sat beside him at the bar. There was a very out of place dog who kept running around the bar and seemed to be following the last two people at the bar who were also up on stage. A very regally dressed young human woman named Slagathor and her large half-ogre bodyguard named Vladimir, whose look seemed to show that he would kill you just as much as he would say hello. This hodgepodge group began chatting with each other and the many other patrons of the bar.

As the day wore on, Slagathor and Vladimir walked out of the bar, followed shortly by the dog. They seemed to be following some of the warforged that permeated the city. Parthax continued to drink and watch the other interesting people still at the bar. As the day became dusk, a clearly drunk Grabyerbum managed to get himself, Shanarah, and Ookentoa thrown out of the bar and Lor’thorial followed behind to seemingly keep an eye on them. Parthax had become enamored enough with them to also follow. It was then that Slagathor and Vladimir came back with a package with the dog following closely behind. Suddenly two warforged came charging down the alley toward the group and attacked Slagathor. Vladimir immediately stepped into action closely followed by everyone else. The first warforged fell before Vladimir’s blade everyone fled back into the bar to escape out the other side. Another warforged burst through that door and the dog suddenly transformed into a woman. She cast a ball of fire to attack that one and suddenly the tavern was on fire. In the ensuing chaos, everyone was able to escape and make it to an inn. It was decided to keep an eye out for other warforged, but it was soon apparent that this was going to be a much larger issue.

[futureman34]

Part 6

Parthax sat still naked on the hard stone floor of his prison cell. It had been almost six months since he had first been thrown into prison a bloody mess from his fight with Gunner and the city guards. He’d received a concussion in addition to the gashes and it was weeks before the ringing in his ears stopped. He had been nursed back to health, but he now had a long scar down his back from where the sword had slashed him. The clerics were kept away and instead he had been given one ship doctor with a piece of thread, a needle, and a bottle of whiskey to sew him back up. It was surprisingly well done, but now he had a constant reminder of his first encounter with corruption and his ultimate failure. He wished for death during his fight and rotting in a cell wasn’t doing him any favors to dispel him of that desire. His clothes had never been returned to him, not that they would have done anything anyway as they had been slashed to pieces by the now dead madame Parthax had killed. Something Parthax was sure also contributed to his extended stay. Other prisoners came and went while he remained behind. The guard said it was the longest stay they’d had in years. Usually people were killed for offenses that warranted this long of a stay. Most of the time it was for a week or two, but given his “celebrity status” and strict orders from Gunner to make Parthax rot until he got tired of him being there, it was unknown just how long Parthax was to stay. Gunner’s word was law here.

In the beginning, he tried to starve himself to death, but he was beaten and a cursed Ring of Sustenance was placed on his finger. He couldn’t remove it and it also meant that no food or drink was ever brought to him. On top of that, now he only ever slept 2 hours a night. His body wouldn’t let him sleep more than that. A useful tool when you had things to do, but in here, where there was nothing to do, it made his mind wander. Most of his thoughts were of Faedalynn. He always felt as if she was watching. That feeling never seemed to pass. She must be looking down on him disappointed at his failure. She had always wanted him to stay home even after she was gone, but he left on this now apparently foolish quest to leave and try to help the oppressed. Maybe if he got out he would try and go back home with his tail between his legs. He had tried and he had failed to make a change in the world.

To pass the time he spent a lot more time training his body physically. He hoped the energy and nutrients used would counteract the ring, but it never did. Now he had made himself considerably stronger, but it was wasted in here. He desperately wanted to get out, but he was at the mercy of a man he had tried to kill. Gunner had said he was going to let him out after he healed, but that was months ago. Maybe he had lied. Maybe he was going to stay in this prison until he died of old age. 

The door opened abruptly hard enough that its wooden frame slammed against the wall with a loud bang. In the doorway stood Gunner flanked by two guards. He was smirking snidely as they entered his cell and shut the door behind them. Parthax jumped up and immediately entered a defensive stance. He was sure they had finally gotten bored and were going to kill him. They all burst into laughter at his reaction before Gunner started, “Did you forget what I told you, dumbass? I told you I was going to release you, I just didn’t say when.” Parthax wavered for a second, “so you’re really going to let me go? Just like that? What kind of idiot do you take me for?” Gunner stepped forward and with a wave of his hand the other two guards stepped back outside of the room and shut the door behind them. He looked Parthax dead in the eyes and said, “You’ve gotten stronger in body, but not in mind. Let’s see what you got now.” Parthax needed no encouragement as he immediately stepped forward and took a swing at Gunner, his hand glowing blue as he attempted to smite his foe. The blow connected with Gunner’s chest as Gunner made no attempt to block it. It left a mark, but nothing more. Parthax attempted a second swing and Gunner blocked it before connecting with a blow of his own. The fist smashed against Parthax’s gut, sending him down to the ground clutching his stomach as the air was knocked out of him. “You have indeed grown stronger, but you still leave much to be desired. I want a true fight from you, but you won’t learn anything in here. There’s a ship leaving tomorrow headed for the Naming Festival. Lots of people, lots of partying, lots of drugs needed. You have two choices. One - I leave you here until the day you die. Or two - You’re on that boat. Free to do what you want, whenever you want, however you want. Find your own quest, do whatever stupid thing you were trying to do before. I don’t care. Just promise me that at some point you and I will meet again, and next time maybe you won’t be such a disappointment. So... what do you say?”

Parthax caught his breath and looked at Gunner, a rage burned inside him, but there wasn’t anything he could do. Gunner was stronger, faster, and more experienced than he was. He could try to make Gunner kill him, but Gunner was too smart for that. These were really his only two options. “Fine,” He finally spat out, “I’ll be on your damned boat. But if they turn their backs for a second, that cargo is going overboard.” Gunner threw his head back and laughed heartily at the threat. “That’s the spirit! I’m glad you’re unbowed still. I wouldn’t want to think I’d waited too long to release you that you were now broken. Here.” With that he knocked twice on the door and the guards came back in. They were carrying a set of full plate armor, a mace, and a shield. Gunner smiled like a father watching their child opening presents on Christmas, “For you. Wouldn’t want you to die out there before you got a chance to come back. Good luck throwing the cargo overboard in this. One false step and you’re plummeting to the bottom of the ocean before you can say ‘man overboard.’ Hope you have tough skin because I’m not providing you any underclothes. A deterrent from you walking around the boat in lighter clothes. Maybe you can buy some at the island with this.” He held out a small pouch of gold. Parthax reached for it and Gunner quickly snatched it upward with a condescending smile. “Do you know why I’m doing this?” Parthax looked at him angrily. “No. And I don’t care.” Gunner laughed, “I’m doing this because I think for all your righteous and paladin-y talk, deep down you’re an evil and violent monster just waiting to be brought out. I think by the time you come back to me you will have proven me right about you and your worldview will have been turned on its head. And I can’t wait to see that change in your eyes right before I pluck them out of your head.” 

That next day Parthax boarded the vessel and was bound for the Naming Festival’s Island, his armor pinching him as he went below decks to escape the noonday sun before his armor seared him. He vowed to return and make Gunner pay for everything he did and prove him wrong all at the same time. In the meantime, he would let whatever happened happen.

[futureman34]

Part 5

Parthax had wandered aimlessly for months before boarding a vessel for as far away as a ship would be willing to take him. He wanted to get as far away from his memories as he could get. He had taken enough money that he wouldn’t starve during his journey and then donated the rest to the city. It’s what Fae would have wanted. Sarcen would get enough of an economic boost to make improvements to the entire city’s infrastructure and everyone would benefit as a result. Everyone had thanked him profusely and asked how they could ever repay him, but he just said to keep his house in good condition and they could do whatever they wanted. He wasn’t sure when or if he’d be back, but maybe he would every once in a while to see Ioth or Vergatrix. They had planned on throwing him a going away and thank you celebration for the donation, but he slipped out the night before it was to be held. He didn’t want the attention and accolades, he simply wanted to forget about this place and get as far away as he could.

Parthax finally found passage on a boat headed to Hawlet in Ornirim, an island in the Ice Kingdom about as far away from Okarthel as was possible on the continent. The trip lasted months and he made himself useful as a hand on the boat. He enjoyed the salt in the air and learning the ropes enough to be an adequate albeit green sailor. It took his mind off what he had left behind and his grief. He formed a professional bond with the other sailors and wondered if this was his true calling. It made Parthax feel useful again. He always had enjoyed the river where he had spent so much time fishing. At times he felt more comfortable on the water than the land. Maybe this was divine providence that brought him on this ship. Maybe after docking he would ask the old Darfellan, Captain Akilu if he could have a more permanent job on board. Maybe someday he could become a captain himself. Wouldn’t that be the day?

Finally, after 5 months, The Querencia pulled into the port of Hawlet. Parthax started to help the other sailors carry the cargo out of the ship onto the docks. Parthax was told to haul a heavy dolly stacked with boxes to a warehouse through the town square. Captain Akilu looked at him and with a low stern voice warned him not to drop it. The crewman who usually delivered it had an accident during the last storm and a stack of crates fell on him, breaking both arms and his sternum. Parthax being the strongest person left, it fell to him to take them.

As he pulled the heavy dolly through the streets towards the town square he noticed that many of the citizens seemed to have something off about them. Some had vibrantly colored skin or hair, others had strangely shaped ears for their race, while others still had webbed fingers. It wasn’t everyone, but it was enough that he wondered if it was part of a caste system or some other cultural difference that he hadn’t seen before. Not that there were any other cultures he had ever seen before except his own. It wasn’t until he wandered into Morkosari that he even met another race from his. He found the elves to be a lot like spellscales. They both had a fine appreciation for magic, although elves treat it more academically instead of the natural way his kind saw it. Otherwise, he saw them as graceful and free spirits with a similar love for life. He wondered what sort of cultural significance all these colorful changes and morphing ears and fingers could mean. He could relate to the colors, Spellscales were known for their vibrant outfits and their penchant for dying their scales different colors. Maybe it was a status symbol and he would be considered rich and powerful. He laughed internally at the irony if that were true. Leaving a place where he could have been rich and powerful to wind up in another place where he was the same.

As he thought about all this he failed to notice that the top box had been teetering precariously and was about to fall off the stack in the middle of town square. The dolly hit a rock and the box came tumbling to the ground and with a crash the wooden crate splintered into pieces. A fine sparkling white almost iridescent powder spilled out onto the ground, bits of the splintered wood mixed in. Everyone in the square stopped at the noise and time seemed to stop for a moment. Then, without warning, dozens of people came rushing like moths to a flame. Some began stuffing their pockets while others carried away handfuls and others simply stuck their face in the powder and began to inhale like it was life-giving air to a drowning man. When they lifted their heads, their face would be white with streaks of red where splinters had stabbed into them, but they seemed not to notice or not to care. Parthax realized that the majority of the people flocking to the powder were those colorful and strange people he had noticed while he had been walking through the streets. In the blink of an eye, the powder was gone and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He didn’t know what it was and how it affected these people, but the rioting and fighting that were taking place between these people over this powder filled him with fear and wonder. Guards rushed to try and break up the various fights while others tried to take the powder away from the people who in turn would attack them and have to be beaten back repeatedly by other guards who came and aided their fellow men. 

Finally one large man who seemed to be a captain of the guard walked over to Parthax. His eyes were amused, but his voice was stern and condescending, “You just fucked up, boy. That was a lot of Pixie Dust you just wasted. You’re gonna have to see the boss now.” With that he nodded to the two men who accompanied him who stepped forward and roughly grabbed Parthax by the arms. Parthax struggled at first, but a third guard came from behind and with a sickening thud hit him over the head with a club. Parthax momentarily had stars in his eyes before blackness overtook him. A minute later he awoke to find him being dragged by the two guards towards a large two story building that looked rather like an extended house.

The guards burst through the door dragging Parthax over their shoulders and went into the main parlor. There were many women milling about in the house, all in various stages of dress and were either doing tasks or chatting with the men who seemed to be from all walks of life be it sailor or noble or common merchant. The women would flirtatiously giggle or teasingly caress the man they were talking to. Noises could be heard from a couple of the upstairs rooms, but Parthax’s head was still swimming and reeling from the knock on the head. Finally they went into a large open area in the center of the home and suddenly Parthax was thrown down at the feet of a large skinny middle-aged man in a chair. Parthax looked up at him and the first thing he noticed was the man had blue hair matched only by his one piercing blue eye with a patch over the other. It wasn’t a streak of blue here or there like the people in the street, it was as blue as the ocean outside with small strands of graying hair mixed in that could only be caused by aging. This man’s natural hair color was blue. He was leering down at Parthax and with a wry smile asked the captain, “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Why do you bring this... thing to me? I’ve never seen him before.”

The Captain grinned evilly at Parthax before responding, “This one just came off Akilu’s boat. He was the one bringing the Pixie Dust. Dropped a whole crate of the stuff and smashed it open right in the middle of the square. That stuff was gone before the guards could even see what had happened. Started a riot in the street and fights against the guards. Thought you’d want to decide what to do with him, Gunner, sir.”

The man looked down at Parthax and with a sneer said, “And what are you going to do to repay all that product you so clumsily lost huh? How are you going to pay me back? You got 300,000 gold burning a hole in your pocket? Huh? Look at you, he’s already so scared he’s as white as a sheet!” The guards and bystanders around the room all laughed uneasily and mockingly at the white spellscale sprawled on his knees on the floor. Parthax looked up and looked at the man’s one good eye. “It was an accident, Mayor Gunner, I didn’t mean to...” “Mayor! Ha! This idiot thinks I’m the mayor!” The mocking laughter continued and some more lively than previous. “Listen here boy, because I’m only going to tell you this once. The mayor doesn’t run this town. I do. The drugs, the brothel, the guards, the people, the mayor, everything and everyone answers to me.” Parthax looked up at him, a rage filling him inside, “So you’re telling me that this entire town is corrupt?” Everyone again burst out in laughter at the ignorance of this young oddity. Many more had gathered in the room to see the new face and see what punishment would be meted out for such a grave transgression. Gunner bent down in his chair until his was almost eye level with Parthax, “I’m not corrupt, without me this town would be in shambles. The good “King” doesn’t give a damn about cities that aren’t near the capital and aren’t near the battlefield. In fact, it’s because of people like me and towns like this that his millennia long war is still going on. Without me, the king would have run out of money long ago. So I’m not corrupt, I’m necessary.” He leaned back in his chair and leaned his head on his hand. “So. Now then. What to do with you. I could kill you and be done with it, but that would be boring. Oh! I know! What if I made you a whore? What do you think ladies? Do you think he would fetch a pretty penny?” Some of the women looked him up and down. He was attractive for sure, and certainly an exotic piece of flesh the likes of which they had never seen before. “I don’t know,” sneered one of the women, “seems a bit timid for our line of work.” Another one chimed in, “Maybe he would be better suited for cleaning or tending the yard, he’s strong, but apparently a graceless oaf.” Another round of laughter permeated the room. “Take off his clothes and let us see what he’s got,” offered another whore wearing a leather bodice. Several “yeahs” and shouts of “take it off!” came from various parts of the room. Parthax began to protest, “I’m not taking anything off! You can all go fuck yourselves! I would sooner have you kill me than to become your plaything.” Gunner looked at him, “Oh! The youngun has spirit I’ll give him that! Oh girrlllss,” he crooned, “Show this idiot what happens when you set your mind to something.” Parthax was beset on all sides by the women of the brothel. He began fighting back, shoving them away in droves before he suddenly found a dagger pressed against his neck. It was the Madam of the house. She pressed it against his throat hard enough that it cut the skin, a droplet of blood pooling on the tip of the blade. Parthax glared at her, a fire raging in his eyes, “Do it, kill me and get it over with. I’m not here to be a fuck toy.” She pursed her lips at him, “You may think so, but unless you undress here right now, your neck will not be the first thing I cut.” She moved the blade down to the front of his tunic. “I’ll give you a choice, I can either cut your belt, or I can cut your belt and then something else. And then another thing and another thing until you’re begging for death in front of everyone here.” Parthax stared hard at her, not moving a muscle. With one quick motion his belt was cut and his shirt sliced all the way up to his neck. His clothes fell down around him and he was naked in front of everyone. Audible gasps could be heard around the room. His body was white as snow and his scales glimmered in the light of the room. Various tattoos littered his body. One was of a nightshade, another looked like an ichthus, another was a spool, and several others were simply sentences in Draconic. He moved his hands to cover himself as the women ogled him. 

Gunner stood up and began to walk around Parthax, examining him as one would an animal. He stopped when he would read a tattoo, “’Life begins on the other side of despair.’ How very morose,” He said sarcastically. “’I am not defeated?’ Ha! I would say this is about as defeated as I’ve ever seen anyone. Stripped naked and burning with impotent rage.” He laughed as others laughed uneasily around him. Then he spotted another phrase that stopped him in his tracks. “’Freedom is never freely given by the oppressor, it must be demanded by the oppressed?’ And this one says, ‘The secret to happiness is freedom, and the secret to freedom is courage.’ And this last one, ‘He who oppresses dies oppressed.’ You’re a paladin of freedom, aren’t you!?” He asked triumphantly. “I can’t believe it! You’re telling me that a paladin of freedom comes here and tries to sneak his way into town? You’re even stupider than I thought!” Raucous mocking laughter filled the room as insult after insult was hurled at him. “Oh this is fantastic,” continued Gunner, “a real life paladin in my brothel. If I had known I would have set out the fine china.” More laughter came stinging into Parthax’s ears. 

Finally Parthax could take it no more, the amount of evil in the room, the amount of corruption in the room, the mocking laughter, the embarrassment, and the threats drove him over the edge. Suddenly Parthax’s breath started to fog and his skin grew cold, his eyes dilated and his pupils stretched vertically, the last thing Parthax could remember was seeing the look on the face of one of the whores change. Suddenly Parthax grabbed a hold of the knife the madam was holding and jammed it against her neck and wrapped around behind her before backing up against the wall next to the fireplace. The guards drew weapons and were ready to strike when Gunner put his hand up, “Hold it, he’s a paladin, he’s not going to kill her. It’s against his code or something. Someone bring me some water, I’m thirsty.” The madam relaxed a little at this before snidely mocking, “Yeah! You can’t kill me, I’m just an old woman.” She could feel her skin almost sticking to his as if it were frozen to him. His breath still visible in the warm air, almost as if it were coming from within himself. Parthax grinned evilly, his teeth almost being bared like a feral animal. “I can’t kill her huh? Well let’s just check and sssee if she’ss evil shall we?” His eyes glowed briefly as he detected to see if she was evil. She glowed red in his vision along with many of the people in the room including Gunner. “Evil... guess that means it’s ok if I do thiss!” And with a slow cut he drew the blade across her throat from one ear to the other, blood spilling out onto the floor. She gurgled as her eyes grew wide from the shock of the cut as well as who it was who did it. She slumped onto the floor before falling over as blood pooled around her. The guards redrew their weapons and charged forward at him, however the space made it difficult to maneuver with their armor and their large swords had no room to swing. The first one slipped on the blood on the floor and Parthax was on him in a flash, driving the dagger into the man’s neck. The next one came behind while Parthax was on top of the first guard and swung with an overhead chop, leaving a large gash across the white scales on his back. Parthax roared in pain before picking up the first man’s sword and swinging it back towards the second guard, but the space was too tight and it clanged against the wall and missed it’s mark. The other guards were able to maneuver around and surround Parthax, their swords all pointed at him. In stepped Gunner with a large tankard of water. He gestured towards the men and they put away their swords. Parthax lunged at him wildly with the sword and Gunner easily sidestepped the attack. He threw the water from the tankard into the air, and reached his hand into it where it formed an amorphous blunt shape and in one motion pivoted and slammed it down onto Parthax’s skull, the water felt like being hit with a stone block and Parthax dropped to the floor, bleeding from his back and nose. He tried to rise back up to his feet, but found that his muscles would not cooperate. His body screamed in pain and his vision was blurry. He looked up at the man who would kill him and secretly relished that he would join Faedalynn soon. The would be executioner then leaned down until he was face to face, the shape of the water in his hand changed to a sharp point like a rapier and he held it against the spellscale’s neck before he whispered where only the two of them could hear. “I’m not going to kill you, oh no. I’m going to throw you in jail until you’re fully healed. Then I’m going to let you go. You’re a person of interest to me now, an anomaly, something I’ve never seen before. You’re going to live because I want to see how you turn out. You may be weak now, but you’ll get stronger very quickly, I can feel it. And when you do, I’ll still be here waiting for you.” Then he stood up and addressed the onlookers. “I’ve decided not to kill him, instead I decided a bit of irony is in order!” He laughed. “I’m going to take this paladin of freedom’s freedom away. He’s going to rot in prison the rest of his days. Isn’t that a laugh!” The room filled with whooping and hollering and more laughter as the guards picked up the motionless body of Parthax and carried him away to the jail. Parthax was able to catch the eye of Gunner who gave him a knowing smile as he was carried away to his new home for only Desna knew how long. He had tried to overcome the corruption and oppression and now knew what it looked like in the real world. Maybe he wasn’t meant to be a sailor after all...

[futureman34]

Part 4

Parthax sat alone in his room, still wearing the black tunic from the day’s funeral for his wife. He had sat in solemn silence as the entire town turned out to say one last goodbye to Faedalynn, their unofficial matriarch in Sarcen. Whereas most funerals people came and went, everyone stayed the entire time, relishing in the stories and anecdotes told by people of high and low standing throughout the entire day and into the night. The moon was just beginning to dip below the horizon and yellow tendrils of light could just be seen in the east when finally Parthax stood up to give the last eulogy. He hadn’t prepared anything himself to say, choosing instead to speak from the heart, but after hearing some of the honeyed words and rote speeches from people who once called her a friend, he wished he had prepared something better for her. He rose and stepped up to the podium and looked out onto the people gathered there. Even though the funeral had been going on for 20 hours now, not a single person had left and not a single eye was dry or closed. He realized that while some of the higher class were merely making an appearance, Sarcen truly loved his late wife. She had touched them all in some way even without necessarily meeting them in person. Clearing his throat, Parthax addressed them.

“When I first met Faedalynn, or Fae as she was called by those who were close to her, I met a woman who always did what was necessary and what was right to ensure that the people of Sarcen never went without. Whether it be to ensure our safety with the wall, to ensure stability with advice and action, or to ensure peace through compromise, she always put Sarcen first. She put everything she had and everything she was into this place. She showed her love for Sarcen through her actions and her words. She had no children because this town was her child and she nurtured and cared for it every day of her life until she couldn’t anymore.

There was another side, however, a side that she showed to a select few family and friends. The side of homemaker. The side of a wife. The side of a woman who made it her goal to have a home that reflected the city she loved so much. It was something that she had given up and sacrificed for the sake of Sarcen. I was fortunate enough to see that side of her every day for her final few years. She called it ‘a refreshing new piece of life that she had forgotten she wanted.’ She loved to cook, she loved to clean, and most of all she enjoyed the relaxing mundane days that sort of life brought about. When you give over a century of your life to the hustle and bustle this city brings, being able to relax is a luxury you can’t afford to have. I know she’s relaxing now, looking at this city, this living reflection of her life, and smiling because she knows that it became what she always wanted. The self-sufficient city in which no one goes without and would have never been possible without her. As many of you realized, she never came out those last few months of her life, and now you know why. She was dying, but never wanted anyone to worry about her. She wanted you all to remember her as she was; the vibrant, strong, caring woman who would always turn a question about her around on you. She loved each and every one of you here today. She knew your names, she knew your families, and most importantly, she knew your wants and dreams. While she may not have always succeeded in helping you attain them, she never stopped trying. She spent her life fighting on your behalf. She lived by this simple quote, and she exemplified it better than anyone, ‘I shall pass through this world but once, any good therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to anyone, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.’ 

I leave you now with this poem that she wrote in her last days. She always loved to write when she was able and had the time. She wrote many poems her last few years. She wanted me to keep this one to myself, but I think it’s a reflection of how she felt about this city and about each and every one of you. So in that same vein I want to share this with all of you. 

Death is not the end, For love goes on And you will find the evidence Long after I have gone. The flowers that we planted Will blossom without end, You’ll find me in their beauty As to their needs you tend. The books we read together, The laughter in the pages, Will continue to give pleasure To you throughout the ages. So do not mourn my passing You are not left alone, You’ll always find me waiting In the places we have known. The bond that grew between us Will not abate with time, It will go on for always, I’m yours and you are mine.”

With that, he sat back down and stared at the floor, holding back the tears he had stifled. Hundreds of people came up to him and offered their heartfelt condolences and compliments of what he had said. He halfheartedly thanked each person in turn for coming, but inside he felt like the pity he was receiving was piercing holes into his heart. When he finally got through the line of people waiting to speak to him the sun was already over the horizon. He walked back to his home and sat down on the bed. He was exhausted, but couldn’t sleep. He sat alone and felt numb. He had nothing here anymore. His whole life up until now had either been with Ioth or Faedalynn. He wasn’t about to go back to Ioth, but every night here would be a constant reminder of her. Every day when he would go out, Parthax knew he would be looked upon pityingly or she would be brought up in conversation. He couldn’t go on like that. He couldn’t live out the rest of his life in her shadow and in their pity. He had to leave. Ioth had trained him to be a Paladin. A Paladin of Freedom. It was time to leave here, just as Ioth had over 80 years ago. It was time to start his own adventure.

[futureman34]

Part 3

Parthax sat on the edge of his marital bed looking at the fragile figure lying next to him. Faedalynn, the love of his life, the first woman who paid him any real attention, the most important thing in his life, was nearing the end of her own. It was to be expected, as old as she was, but it didn’t make it any easier.  The week prior he had quit his fishing job to care for her full time. When asked he simply said that he had wished to spend more time at home. Better not to tell anyone yet. She wouldn’t want that. Money wasn’t an issue as she had enough to let him live comfortably for several lifetimes. She barely left the house anymore anyway so Parthax was sure that some people suspected. He had debated whether to tell the town that their matriarch was dying and going downhill fast, but part of him wanted to be selfish with her. She was his wife after all, why should the people who had always wanted something from her partake in such a private and vulnerable moment? He reasoned that she wouldn’t want them to see her like this anyway. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her for fear that she would say they should come see her, or even worse that she wanted to see them. She spent most of her days in bed sleeping. Only getting up to sit in their living room together to eat or to bathe. Every day he would wash her and help her with whatever she needed. He took care of her hand and foot. Caring and loving her with all his heart. 

When Parthax would go out to buy food or run any other errands she needed he would constantly be bombarded with questions about her. It was normal since no one had seen her in a while. “How is she?” “Where is she?” “Is she ok?” “Tell her to come see me next time she’s out and around.”  He always said the same thing, “She’s doing fine, she’s just not as social as she used to be.” It was a lie, but it was better than the truth. The last thing he wanted was their sympathy, much less their pity. How could they know? Then there was the funeral... He’d had to go to several prominent people’s funerals because of Fae. It was an all day affair. So many came and went to give eulogies they had to organize it by chronological order. Mourners came and went according to the time period they knew them or were associated with them. Only their spouses and those they considered their closest friends stayed the whole time. Since Faedalynn was so involved with everyone, more often than not they had to be there most of the time if not the whole time. Parthax fidgeted and shifted throughout because he didn’t really know them. They were her friends not his. He had only known them for a couple of years if that. The conversations and anecdotes flew over his head. He’d smile and laugh and do his best to look like he knew what they were talking about, but it was obvious that it was a part of her history that he knew nothing about. Now it would all be directed towards him. He wasn’t looking forward to it. 

He felt her stirring and he leaned over to stroke her hair. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, blinking away the sleep from her eyes before focusing on him. “What’s wrong Parthax? You seem upset.” Parthax looked down at the frail form that still housed the strong spirit of his wife and thought about what he would soon be losing any day now. Tears formed in his eyes and he quickly blinked them away. “Nothing, love. Just having a little trouble sleeping. Go back to sleep, Fae. I’ll be right here. Don’t worry.” She looked up at him, eyes aglow in the faint light of the room, “Parthax... it will be ok... take care of yourself. I’ll always be watching you. Your place isn’t here anymore... it’s out there, in the world... There’s something better out there than you’ll ever find here. Go find it.” She stretched a finger out towards the window before drawing it back to shakily wipe away a tear streaming down Parthax’s face. “No tears, please... just, come hold me.” He curled up next to her and put her head against his chest, her favorite way to be held. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I love you, Parthax. I always will.” He bent his head down and gently kissed her lovingly. “I love you too, Fae. Now and forever.” He held her until she went back to sleep and he softly wept into the pillow until sleep came over him. When he awoke several hours later, he still had his arms wrapped around her, but her body was cold. A look of peaceful happiness frozen on her face.

[futureman34]

Part 2

Parthax came to with a start. The room was dark and quiet as faint pale moonlight streamed inside. He blinked and realized he was still in his room, but the darkness told him a couple of hours had passed since he last remembered anything. His mind was reeling, but he couldn’t tell what from. He had never lost time like this before and there was no telling what caused it. The last thing he remembered was Gretha, a young woman slightly older than him who had sought to put another virgin mark on her belt, coming onto him inside the chapel. They had snuck up to his room and started kissing and touching. Parthax had never had anyone pay this much attention to him much less want to be with him this way, so he didn’t care the reason and his young mind craved it. The last thing he remembered was both of them standing there naked as the low sunset bathed them in soft yellow light. She had leaned forward and kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring his mouth. Her hands had slid down his body and grasped hold of him. Then it was as if something inside of him had taken advantage of the opportunity to grab hold of his mind while it was still focused on the new pleasure. He couldn’t remember anything after that.

Once he had his bearings, he could now smell the faint scent of copper in the air. His chest was wet and sticky, but he couldn’t tell why. He hoped it was the result of the past couple of hours continuing the way they had started. He put his hand down onto the sheets. It was wet and sticky there too. He smiled as he thought of his prowess causing this much fluid to be everywhere. He brought it to his lips to see what it tasted like. His eyes grew wide and filled with horror. It was blood. He touched his chest and held it into the moonlight. His hand was stained red, gleaming against his white scales. That was when he noticed the sprawled figure next to him. It was Gretha. She was covered in blood and bite marks that were still bleeding freely. He reeled in horror at first before springing back to check on her. He felt for a pulse like Ioth had taught him years before. There was one, but it was barely there. He rushed out of the room towards his adopted father’s room.

Ioth had just gone to bed 30 minutes before. He had seen Gretha and Parthax sneak off to his room a couple of hours before, but paid it no attention. If the boy wanted to have sex, he was of age now and it was his own prerogative. Ioth simply went about his normal routine of snuffing the torches and all around shutting down the temple for the evening. The fact that they hadn’t come down yet was altogether impressive for the boy. Even if he was a failure at everything else it was good that he finally found something to be decent at. He finished closing the temple and drifted off to sleep.

Parthax burst into the room in a panic. He sprang onto Ioth to wake him up. “Father! Come quick! It’s an emergency! Please! She’s going to die!” He wailed and yelled distraught. Ioth sprang to his feet and dashed past Parthax towards the boy’s room. His mind was already swimming with a thousand ideas of what the emergency was. He raced into the room and gasped at what he saw. On the bed laid Gretha, her brass scales splattered with blood all over her body. Blood pooled next to her head where a large bite had been taken out of her neck. There were scratches and bites all over her body and many showed signs of bleeding. The sheets and pillows were also covered in smears of blood, signs of struggle and thrashing were all over the bed and parts of the room. Blood splatter was on the far wall and the wall next to the bed. Ioth turned and looked at the boy he had had to adopt and saw the blood on his chest, up his neck, around his mouth, and on his arms and hands. It had always been speculated what it meant when it was said that double blooded spellscales showed the nature of their dragon heritage. It had been so long since it had come up that it was forgotten what it meant. Now here it was before him in all its horrendous glory. He didn’t have time for that now. Ioth rushed to the girl’s side and felt for a pulse. Parthax chimed in “She’s still alive! I felt her pulse. Save her, please!” Ioth began closing her wounds and healing her with his magic. He felt her barely breathing, but he couldn’t feel her pulse getting any stronger. She had lost so much blood it was going to take a miracle to save her. He lifted her frail form and looked at the frightened monster he called a son. “Go get two quills and a clean knife. And hurry! If we don’t act fast, she’s dead!” He ran down and placed her on a table. He was able to stop the bleeding, but the question now was if she had enough left to survive what he needed to do, if it worked at all. 

Parthax rushed down to Ioth’s study and grabbed two quill pens and his long sharp knife that he kept in his desk. He rushed back and found Ioth sitting next to her on the table. “About time, boy! Now you’re going to have to help me, and if you fuck this up like you do everything else, she’s dead. So pay attention and do exactly what I say!” Ioth grabbed the knife and quickly cut off the feathers of both quills and then sliced them in such a way that they slid into each other airtight. He looked at Parthax with anger and disdain and said, “Now comes the important part, should something happen to me by Desna do NOT let the quills slip!” With that Ioth stuck out his arm and sliced deeply down the middle of the inside of his elbow. He winced at the pain. It was blinding, but it was what he had to do. He looked inside the bleeding gash and found the artery inside. He pulled at the flesh to expose it better and looked at the still figure on the table. Working through the blinding pain he made an incision on her wrist, trying to be careful as one missed cut and she was dead. Blood barely oozed out of her wrist as he worked the knife as gently as he could until he found her vein. He exhaled deeply and looked at Parthax. “Usually I would say the person that caused the damage should be the one doing this, but considering what you are I think that your blood should either be on the floor or inside you only. Now when I do this you’re going to have to help me get the quill inside her vein. I won’t be able to see. Don’t screw this up, boy.” He picked up the quills and with a quick and precise jab stuck the quill tip into his exposed artery. Blood began pouring out of the quill onto the table. He turned his arm over above her exposed wrist. “Now boy! Hurry!” Parthax grasped the quill as blood poured out. He lined it up with the vein which began to be obscured by the blood pouring out of the quills. With a sharp motion he stabbed the quills into her vein. He could see the vein coursing the blood through her. After about a minute the blood flow began to subside. Parthax turned to his father, “It’s clotting! It’s still not enough!” Ioth swore under his breath and cast a spell on himself to make the blood flow freely again. He was starting to feel light-headed. It wasn’t bad, but if she didn’t improve soon it was going to be too much for him. He was too old for this sort of thing, but he’d rather die than have that monster’s blood in anyone else’s veins. Gretha began stirring and groaning and reached unconsciously for her wrist. Parthax grabbed her hands and pinned them down so she couldn’t move. “It’s okay Gretha, everything is going to be ok,” Parthax said both reassuringly and hopefully. Suddenly Ioth wavered momentarily and lost his balance. The quills pulled free of Gretha and her wrist began to bleed profusely. Ioth was just able enough to close her wound before collapsing to the ground. Parthax plugged the quill still sticking out of Ioth’s arm before running off. He came back almost immediately with one of Ioth’s scrolls. “Please let this work. Please.” He put his hand over the wound on his father’s arm and slowly and carefully said the words written on the scroll. His hand glowed slightly and the wound began closing up. As he finished the scroll he removed his hand and saw that it was entirely healed... except for the fact that the quills were now sticking out of his now closed up arm, but as long as the quills were closed off, it would be fine. He sat there next to the 2 unconscious people and wept bitterly. What was he? What happened? How did this happen? He didn’t know anything, but he knew it was his fault. And that was the worst pain of all.

[futureman34]

Part 1: The Beginning

Parthax pulled hard at the net full of fish. His muscles straining under glistening white scales against the combined efforts of dozens of fish fighting for their collective lives. It was ultimately a futile effort as he dragged them up into the boat. It was a pretty decent haul, truth be told. Pops, the business owner, would be pretty happy with the day’s catch. As he tied off the net and began to lazily row back to shore, he thought about what he had done to get to this point in his life. He wanted to do so much more than this, but it seemed fate had other plans.

Growing up with a father figure like Ioth, a man who spent 80 years as a spherewalker, someone who made it their goal to see something new each and every day all in the name of Desna, made Parthax want to go out and see the world as well. It was difficult to see himself doing it because nobody had left the village since Ioth had over 80 years ago. It discouraged such thoughts. Besides, he had Faedalynn, his loving wife of 3 years at home whose status meant he could have whatever he wanted right here in Sarcen. She had been the village head twice in the past 15 years and 5 times in her whole life, something that made people think she was blessed by Desna. It helped that she brought about changes that were since adopted regardless of who the new leader was. It was her idea to create the wall of force that now surrounded the city to protect from outside threats. “Walls of wood and stone can be burned or knocked down. We have the greatest collection of Sorcerers the world has ever known who can provide us with the greatest protection the world has ever seen,” she said all those years ago in her first reign. It made her popular. It made her influential. It made her powerful. By proxy now, it had made Parthax popular. He appreciated the attention, but he would much rather have spent his time quietly in their marital home than running to the various meetings and gatherings of Sarcen’s elite and rich personalities. It made him antsy and uncomfortable. Growing up in the temple under the parenting and tutelage of someone as harsh and unforgiving as Ioth, he had been drilled to be quiet, subservient, and to shy away from attention. Seen and not heard. Now here he was the center of attention and the husband of Faedalynn, the most sought after woman in Sarcen. It didn’t matter that she was 134 and nearing the end of her life, people wanted her for her influence and her money. Parthax didn’t want any of that. He loved her since the first time she met him.

She had come to the temple wanting some spiritual advice from Ioth. She knew she wasn’t going to be on the earth many more years and she began to seek guidance about the afterlife and Desna was the largest temple, mainly because it had a large observatory. Ioth was more than happy to lecture and read from his battered copies of The Eight Scrolls. She came in often to listen and talk. She first met Parthax during the summer Ritual of Stardust. Parthax was building the large bonfire out in front of the temple. She admired his strength and dedication. He simply saw it as doing his duty and helping out his adoptive father. She introduced herself with the air of someone who expected everyone to know her name. He introduced himself with the air of someone who expected no one to know his name. They were both wrong. She had heard his name mentioned by Ioth, but in a tone of shame or talking about something he had done wrong. He was never allowed very many friends, much less to go to social gatherings so her name was foreign to him. They intrigued each other. Almost no one knew his name and no one had ever not heard of her. She loved that there was finally someone she didn’t have to put on airs with. He loved that he was able to talk to someone other than Ioth and occasionally his best friend Vergatrix when he came around. After that, often times Faedalynn came to the temple to talk to Ioth, then ask to see Parthax. Ioth was hesitant or would outright deny the request, but after a few tactful yet nonetheless very real threats to his temple, he relented. They began seeing each other regularly and a new burgeoning relationship was formed. It didn’t matter that she was almost 120 years older than he was, an almost literal lifetime, they were in love with each other. 

Parthax had been an adult for almost 3 years and still had not left the temple when they finally decided to wed and live together. It was her who pulled the strings to return his family’s home to him and it was her who decided to sell her own mansion on the richer side of the river to live with him in his old family home. It was a marvel of engineering, pipes of different sizes on the roof were pointed in all directions, catching the wind to play beautiful melodies. It hadn’t been lived in in over 15 years, ever since Parthax’s parents were exiled because of their relationship. Spellscales of the same color were not allowed to sire children as it would create a child too close to their original draconic roots. Something not only Sarcen, but all of Okarthel had long since decided was something they did not want to acknowledge. Parthax wasn’t punished for his birth. It was not his choice to be born. His parents, however, were banished from all of Okarthel before being killed by wild beasts on their way to the Elven kingdom of Morkosari. Their bodies were found and brought to the gates of Sarcen, but were denied entrance. They would not be buried on Okarthel soil, but rather buried just across the border. Ioth was the only one who volunteered to take the infant Parthax in and raised him harshly and brutally. Nothing was ever good enough and nothing was ever correct. He verbally abused him every day and some days were more physical. Parthax was raised by Ioth to think that if he had not been born, his parents would still be alive. He wanted to drive Parthax away from Sarcen. His own knowledge about what Parthax represented meant that he needed to get him out of Sarcen before the worst happened. Now that Faedalynn was involved his hands were tied. He could only watch and pray that nothing became of her...