Too many questions about me...

[Noa]

Korg Ironhand 
Blue Ribboned Barbarian
Posts: 43
(6/16/02 11:13 am)
Reply | Edit | Del All  Too many questions about me...
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*You make your way to the back of the tavern. There, in the chair facing the rest of the bar sits a barbarian with mismatched armor, helm off and set on the pack to the side of the chair. A very impressive two handed sword stands tall behind him against the wall, within very easy reach. The barbarian nods at you, and shoots a glance at the chair across from him. After you sit down, he calls the barmaid over and orders you a brew. The large warrior is quiet and a bit gruff as you wait for the ale to show. When it does, and you are both comfortable, he begins.*

So. You've come to hear my story, aye? About everyone I've spoken to has the wrong of it, one way or another. Folks always asking me things like why I, a follower of Zek, went to taking up with halflings and other of the "good folk". A few of these good folk asking me why I stomach my associations with a few of the darker races. Others asking me why I hunt alone alot, or why I left my homeland, or why I ... Bah. Too many questions, at any rate.

I suppose it's about time I set the stories straight. Gets annoying answering them over and over. Just understand this before we dive into the straight of it. Some of the answers may not be to your liking, but don't be trying to bring the curse of whatever god you run after down on my head.

*He half sighs, half growls, then takes a draw from the mug of ale in front of him. After a short moment of silence, he looks up at you and begins.*

I am Korg McMannus, of the clan McMannus. My pa and ma were fishers, in the small village by the waters in West Karana. I grew up there and ran about until I was six or so. Never took up a net or a pole. Didn't need to at that age. All I did was run around and played with the dogs, and got under my pa's feet. Don't remember too much of it, though, since I was so young. *Korg pauses a bit, then shrugs and continues.* Then one day my pa and ma were killed by an old grizzly, trying to make it to the Hills of Qeynos for a delivery. Saw my ma trying to make it back to the village. She didn't make it. It was messy.... My pa I never saw again. The others of the village went out to find him after they killed off the bear, and brought his remains back in a box. Wouldn't let me see it. Good of them, I suppose.

Anyway... I became a pretty rowdy runt after that. Took the whole village to keep my from running off into the plains, and I took a bit of a spitefulness to anything I came across. Did mean things to a lot of animals around our village. My kin began to worry about me a bit. For good reason, I suppose. Their answer to all this was to send me to Halas, and grow under the eyes of the Wolves o' the North.

*A grin spreads across the barbarian's face* Aye. The Wolves. Good people. Strong. Proud. Each of the elders had a hand in my growing up. I used to tell the foreigners I had 12 mothers and 23 fathers. And every one of them showed me what it was to stand tall and live honorably. They are a disciplined people, and not afraid to work hard at whatever they do. And they passed those values down to a scrap of a boy who needed to take his temper and his viciousness in check.

Growing up under these people, I was told day in and day out about both Rallos Zek and the Tribunal. Now, I have nothing but respect for the Six Hammers, but in truth I simply don't think I could ever live my life under such a strict code as the Tribunal's followers. And, in truth, I don't care so much about justice as some may think. In fact, I care little for it. Retribution, yes, but that is not the same as justice. No, the love of battle flowed through me. Power. The ability to face your enemies, and rise from the battle knowing you're stronger than they are. THAT is where my heart lays. That challenge is what gets me up and stirring in the mornings.

Anyway... The time came when I was to begin my training as a Wolf o' the North in earnest. Everyone thought I'd make a fine guard. I could grow in skills enough to advance on the orcs. Maybe even enough to start joining, or even leading, raids on the ice giants guarding Permafrost. I don't think I've seen a more disappointed people when I told them I would not be joining the Wolves. Oh, they tried to "beat some sense into this thick skull o' mine". At least that's the way Kylan and Lysbith put it. But growing up and seeing all the adventurers that came and went put the thought of riches and glory in my head something fierce. You see, I wish I could say that I have some noble quest in life, some grand design to my roaming back and forth over these lands. But the truth is, I simply want to find the next challenge, whether in the back of a dark lord's castle or the heart of a beast's liar. My heart lays in power and strength, but I must confess I like holding the best weapons and armor and trinkets that money can buy.

At any rate, the Pit was short one warrior when I left. I finally ran into the unknown because of one warrior and a bard that made their way to Halas one evening. I sat in the tavern, and they took to talking about their family. Not their real one. The family they had adopted, and were going to miss, as they had to leave on personal business. As I sat at the next table over listening to them, I heard of great warriors, and powerful casters, all of whom seem to be jumping into glorious battles on a daily basis. I could not control myself before long, and I began to ask them questions. I got a name, and a direction to travel. Saga. And go east, to Rivervale.

Now, my first impression, when I finally met this family, was .. not impressive. Seemed to be a bunch of hobbits who took to fishing more than fighting. I sat back wondering if I had made a mistake. But then I met Mixxi. I have seen strong warriors about the land. None as strong as her, in my eyes. A true soldier, and an excellent warrior. To this day, that is true for me. I began to meet others, too. Different walks of life, but each one powerful in their own way. Bah. I even began to see the value of the finger wagglers. Heheheh.... Zek, I know know some of those wagglers can toast me where I stand. Almost makes me want to take up a tome instead of a sword... Bah, that would never happen.

So. That is how I came to cal Saga my family. A simple enough tale. But, even though I hold them in strong regard, I still do as I wish. I don't hold to all of their ways. The dark races, for example. While most of my new family would as soon spit on them, I'd just as soon leave them be, and if they show themselves to be even somewhat friendly, even join them in a battle or a drink. This is not to say I approve of any of them pillaging or plundering the helpless. Where is the honor in that? I simply don't judge them like the rest of my family does.

*Korg's eyes grow dark as he speaks his next words* Except the the inkies. Used to not care about them any more than the others, but a few of them took to hurting a very dear friend of mine. Now, I visit Nektolos often, and speak her name every time I land the fatal blow to the guards. Aye, they know me in those woods now. I always send one guard scurrying back with a severed sword hand to let them know who was there. *spits at the thought of Teir'dals* You hurt my friends, and I don't get mad. I get mean.

Bah... Enough of my rambling. I'm sure you've better tales to listen to. I just wanted to set a few things straight. Whether you agree with me or not, that is the way I see things.

*Korg takes another long draw from the tankard, then settles in for the rest of the night's drinking*

If you want to leave now, then good hunting to you. If you've any questions, feel free to ask them. I've got time.