Description
This tiny little figure looks like a caricature of a warrior. Her
mismatched armor all seem to be at least a size too large for her
taut, compact figure, causing a variety of clinks and swishes when
she moves about. Her sandy blonde hair is cut short, almost to the
point that she could be mistaken for a young boy. Fierce, dazzling
green eyes beneath slanted brows seem to display an odd intensity
that isn't as apparent in the rest of her demeanor.
Role
Girl, Interrupted (By a big branch)
Added Tue Oct 17 22:12:56 2006 at level 14:
A burst of cheers erupted from the streets and homes of Hillcrest as
the cryer walked through the streets sounding the autumn bell to the
masses. The first brown leaf had fallen from the old oak tree in the
center of the park, signalling the beginning of fall and some cold
days ahead. As was tradition, the gnomes of Hillcrest prepared for
the coming winter with a fall fair to lift their spirits.
Preparations were already made for the fair, but now the date was
set to three days hence. Dinkertot had looked forward to this fair
all year long, for she was finally old enough to partake in the
champion's tournament, a tournament where young, hopeful warriors
tested their skill in arms against each other in friendly duels.
Dinkertot's training was intense. Her tiny form had become the
pinnacle of gnomish might during the past year, as she pounded
away on a tree trunk with a wooden staff. With three days to go,
she knew she was ready. But ever the fanatic about her training,
she opted for one last bout against an old, dead oak.
Sweat dripped from her brow as crack after crack shattered the
peaceful sounds of the woods. Suddenly, a secondary crack and creak
sounded above her head. She glanced up just in time for her brow to
meet a large, falling branch.
Awakenings
Added Tue Oct 17 22:36:32 2006 at level 15:
Darkness everywhere. Tangible. A chilly, slimy feeling surrounds her, as she
gropes and cautiously steps forward, wading through the thick blackness. Her
eyes are wide open, yet useless. Her tongue feels dry, but at the same time
feels covered with the murky darkness. A sharp, acrid taste causes her to
choke up some bile, whose taste is by comparison a relief. The ground
beneath her bare feet is solid, but cold and lifeless. Hollow whispers fill
the air, speaking words of doom and death, but their sentences overlap, making
any single cohesive sentence impossible to comprehend. Their themes, however,
are of a single nature.
A sharp wind blows, and Dinkertot braces her face as the shrieking wind increases
in power. When it subsides, she removes her hands from her face and winces as
her eyes adjust to daylight. She gazes down from the clouds upon the lands of
Thera, her vision somehow sharpened far beyond the clarity of a bird of prey.
An endless field of green and brown cover the landscape in the forms of valleys,
forests and mountains. The grey, crumbled stone of cities is barely visible
beneath the overgrown vines. All but a single city seem to have suffered
similar fates. The one which rises above the wilderness is a palace of shining
mithril and pearly white marble. Darsylon seems to be at peace, though the
usual mix of citizens is absent. Elves alone make up the city, and the few
moving specks of adventurers who wander outside the lone surviving city appear
to be elves as well. The elves live alone in harmony, but seem lifeless and
without purpose. Their faces all reveal a similar look of sorrow and regret.
The light of day begins to grow brighter and brighter, once again causing
Dinkertot to shield her eyes. This time she sees a village surrounded by legions
of pikes to the ends of which are attached skulls. She sees cities with
empty streets. Through the broken windows of homes, she spies people huddled
together in fear as roving warriors with blood-red eyes seem to strike to
strike out in madness at any living thing that moves. Commerce is gone.
Forests are silent, but for the cracking of dead sticks as the barbarians
march across the lands in a crazed, fanatical blood-rage.
Over and over, these visions and more appeared to Dinkertot as she slumbered.
When she finally awoke in a groggy stupor, her head pounding with pain, she
examined her unfamiliar surroundings with curiousity.
She was in a small, straw hut with barely enough room for two gnomes to move
about in. Strange fetishes adorned the ceiling and walls, and a small table
littered with various alchemical reagents and trinkets stood near the
doorway covered with string beads.
Without notice, a gray-haired head popped through the beads and with a shreak
of glee was shortly followed by the hunched frame of an old, gnomish hag.
"Ah! Wonderful! Wonderful! You're awake! It's been nearly a week. I thought
you might never wake. Ah, but my teas and potions haven't failed my yet, they
haven't. Except that one time. Oh, that was awful. Awful! But let's not dwell
on the past. Not when you're here, safe and sound, and likely starving half
to death. A strong little creature like you can't live on tea and soup forever.
You must be famished!"
Her mouth agape with shock, Dinkertot had no time