In the Beginning...

The earliest recollections I have of myself are quite disconcerting. For me, the beginning was pain and fear and darkness. I was being awakened from heavy dreamless slumber by sharp pain in my body and loud voices around me. Whatever I was lying on was cold and hard like ice.

As I strained to open my eyes, it suddenly occurred to me that I could understand the words being spoken around me. One chanted a recitation, another whimpered in fear, and a third one commanded the other two. They were up to something sorcerous and sinister as far as I could tell. 

Suddenly, they became aware that I was awake, and they rushed around all fretting and fearful. Instinctively, I knew that that was a bad sign for their intentions towards me. Ever quick to take the battle to the enemy, I suppressed my pain and nausea and jumped off the altar. This was definitely a place of some dark worship, for it had much in the way of symbols and glyphs and religious accoutrements. It was also an alchemy lab of some sort, judging by the profusion of all manners of retorts, beakers, crucibles, and tomes.

I grabbed the first heavy sturdy thing around me, which happened to be a big bronze candlestick. I swung it at the nearest robed enemy and splattered his brains out with its heavy round base. As he died, he sloshed the voluminous green flask he was carrying all over the man in charge. The green liquid had the strange effect of weakening and aging him with horrifying speed, so he fell onto the floor writhing and struggling to draw his last breath. I stepped over him and advanced to the reciter. That coward dropped on his knees and begged for mercy. What a sod! As if he would have shown ME any mercy! 

I asked many questions, but all I could get out from that rag was that I was in an abbey in a cursed forest called Darkmoore. I pressed for more information, but the foolish coward panicked and tried to run away. Not willing to let an enemy escape and warn other foes, I bashed him on the back. The weakling kicked the bucket! What a mess. Ah, well.

At this point, I heard voices approaching, and I knew it was time to vacate the premises. Whatever business they had with me, it could be nothing good for me, so I opted to make myself scarce. Soon, I was out of the abbey and headed into the dark forest. I had only a robe with strange runes and the bloodied bronze candlestick, which had proven such a trusty weapon. Clearly, I had skill for bashing, but how and why was unclear to me.

I also discovered that the freaks had rolled me up in old bandages with weird glowing runes. Whatever sick ritual they had been up to served them well enough as far as I was concerned. I took off and threw away the bandages and in the process made a new discovery. Magic glowing runes spelled out "Magnus" on my right forearm. I decided for the time being that Magnus ought to be my name, and content in that decision, I ventured forth.

As my brains slowly cleared, I could remember a few tricks and skills, which seemed to come naturally to me. I discovered that I could weave magic through wise words and precise gestures. It was as if I was slowly remembering skills long forgotten.

I proceeded for some time through the forest when a burst of light grabbed me out of nowhere and pulled me into itself. Horribly loud thunder burst my ears as searing light scorched my eyes. All was nothingness again...

Some immeasurable time later, I came to in another place. This time it was a jungle beach well stocked in naked humanoids of both sexes and of many a race. There were about thirty of them and they looked as incredulous and disoriented as I felt. Many were embarrassed by their nudity; I was just annoyed and hungry.

I quickly figured out that most of the gang were a bunch of losers. They spent more time worrying about covering their private parts than about making weapons, procuring nourishment, or investigating their situation. What a waste. After taking a piss in the ocean in disgust, I strode to the tree-line and made myself a nice club. For protection and parley, you see.

There were only a few chaps with a clue: an old weird elven magicker called Promsh, a dwarven basher Kuzdak, an angry half-elf Horchin, and a nimble human Tarquin. After some juba-jabba, we figured out Promsh could get us out of this mess, but he needed magicker spell-components to do it. So, we the clueful made a raiding party to go out in the jungle and get them for him. At this point, a lanky guy called Benny decided to join the clueful too.

We spent some time shuffling through the forest, preying on the weak and dodging the strong, mostly dodging actually. We found some knick-knacks for Promsh and a weird statue in the middle of a clearing. Some back-and-forth and juba-jabba with Promsh and a priestess called Yama Mama established that the statue was of some saint called Leea and that the inscription on the marble read "From You, Us All". Oh, holy moly mommy yummie, ey?! Bah! That's one creepy statue too. The face of the wench was the same as the face of the whelp in her arms. But that was not more messed-up than the weird jungle creatures we saw.

Fine and dandy, but so what? Who would bother making a statue in the middle of nowhere? Clearly, there had to be something around - a village or a dungeon or something. I was willing to investigate while waiting for Promsh to do his magicks, but the others found it too rough for their adventurous palate.  Ah, well. A wolf cub may howl like a wolf, but it does not bite like a wolf. Maybe later.

Meanwhile, some centipedes found out we were not as defenseless as we looked. Poisonous suckers, but still died. Unsightly goo though. Later, a troll ventured near the camp on the beach, but lost his appetite and withdrew after Promsh blasted him with lightning. Not soon enough it seemed for two of the camp people to hold on to their dear little lives. 

At this point, I wanted to cook the casualties and eat them, but Benny and others protested on religious and cultural grounds. I saw they would not be persuaded to act in the interests of their own bellies and survival, so I let them bury the food into the sand. How foolish! A foot of sand cannot stop the bodies from rotting quickly in this climate and stinking the hell out of the area. That would only attract scavengers and vultures, which could be big trouble for us. Hmm, perhaps Benny is more of a softie than he looks.

Close to dusk, some big scaly basilisk went for a swim nearby. It either did not notice us, or did not feel like having a snack. Sometimes, big and strong become lax and slow. That's when they start on their road to their ultimate demise. Good night, you overgrown lizard.

Anyhow, it was getting dark when Promsh got moving finally, so he started magicking people off. At the same time, the troll strode in for a final sortie. Good for him. But he got nothing as far as I could tell. Sorry-ass giant. No matter how tough you are, if you are stupid and you are alone, you go the way of the doomed. No exceptions. Thank you but do not come again.

So, it turned out Promsh uses the same kind of thunder travel that brought us in that whiffy jungle in the first place. Hmm, how interesting... I wonder if the old coot had not brought us there in the first place?! Then again, why would he go through the trouble to run bareass just to trick us? Do we have anything that he wants? Strangely, he never came back after bringing the last of us and thunderwalking presumably back to the beach to get Horchin. Maybe in time we will figure out his game...

Meanwhile, the sorry group of naked muddy castaways of space and time found itself in the holds of a cellar. I looked around for useful stuff as the nimble sneaks Anlia and Tarquin got out on a scouting run. I found some sacks of rice and such, but there was nothing to cook it with, so Kuzdak and I took the few empty sacks and made crude garments. We looked soiled, ugly, and dirt-poor, so I convinced him that we get out on a little "acquisition raid" ourselves posing as drunken beggars. Nature provides, man takes. I even spilled some wine, which I found in the cellar, all over our rags. I also leaned on my club to pretend I am a limping cripple. For authenticity, you see. Hehe.

Next, we got out and dragged ourselves through the streets, collecting info and begging for change. We got three copper pieces for nothing! Damn, and I thought beggars had it hard! People give you money to get rid of you? How silly is that?? 

Anyhow, this city was not half-way shabby, but we still had little info, because nobody discusses local news and high-life gossip with some stinking dirty beggars. Soon, it was really dark and I started scanning the pub exits for genuine drunks. You know, some guy who can barely crawl to his home obviously has too much money since he wastes it on booze - hell, that cash is better off in my pocket. I needed armor and a decent weapon, and some nice clothing in view of my importance and all, hehehe. At least, that should be the way of things...

Well, we were cruising around waiting for a good time to procure some coinage when a city guard approached us. He started asking questions and wanted to take us to the precinct. The little punk!! He takes ME to a precinct?! No way! Dirty slaver! I know how it works - a question here, an arrest there, and before you even know it, you find your sorry ass chained to an oar on a trireme from hell! Welcome to a life sentence on His Majesty's Own Galley "The Stinking Slaver"! Or maybe the local salt mines need extra diggers that would never see the light of day again! Oh, but I am innocent! Shuddup, slave! Shapreng! Shapreng! Eat some lashes to keep that big mouth of yours shut! Oh, and next time you open your stinking gobhole, we'll cut your fricking tongue off! Capesh?

Ah, but that punk didn't know old Magnus here! I got in real close and motioned secretly to Kuzdak to take the punk's other side. Before the sod even knew it, I cracked his skull with my club! The coward ran for dear life when Kuzdak threw himself at me! What's up??? Turned out Mr Kuzdak here was good old goodie law-abiding sucker dwarf - the kind that takes it up the ass and asks for seconds. Gee, that was NEWS to meee!

Anyhow, Kuzdak failed to grapple me and fell on his ass. If you ain't gonna help, at least don't get in the way! Well, I chased after the pansy guard, but my concentration was off with all that Kuzdak turning soft and all, so I missed with my swings. Soon it was clear to me it was time to abandon the pursuit or I risked following the sod right up into his precinct! 

I gathered shaken Kuzdak and we vacated. I was mad at him, but hey, a pal is a pal. Maybe one day he would see the wisdom of my actions. Then again, maybe he won't; then, I would need to save his lawful ass out of the slaver galley. I don't get these people. The world is a mean place; one must stay on top of things and watch his caboose. Soft stuff is bound to backfire when dealing with your standard malevolent fuckers out there. Goodie goodies would usually stay out of your face if you are not overly mean, but mean fucks will always be out there to get you. You can't lower your guard just because the opponent may turn out to be a goodie, because if he turns out to be bad, he will never give you a chance to get back on your feet after he knocks you down hard! How is it that Kuzdak and such fail to get such simple truisms??

Anyhow, we vacated and went to see the rest of the gang. Tarquin and the crab girl had stolen some shabby clothes. Somehow Kuzdak had no problem now about putting the stolen stuff on. Go figure!

Tarquin again showed himself capable of swaying those softies' minds, especially the wenches. He convinced them to stay together and they started looking up to him as a father and mother! Care now for twenty big babies! Hahaha! In the end, he himself got frustrated with their whining and lack of self-reliance, but by this time they had latched themselved firmly into him. Hehehe. I guess being popular has some downsides! In any case, the boy is smooth. He fights well with words and that can be pretty useful at the right times.

Next, Tarquin and the others of our little gang set on to get some jobs from the local authorities. Taking into account my little rough-up with the guard, I was probably a wanted man. Benny wanted to give me away. Hmm, that's not very friendly. I assumed he was kidding, so I let that one go. After all, I did remember helping him avoid being eaten by the jungle centipedes. Weird fella. Besides, if he really wanted to give me away, how could he be so vocal about it? Nah, I know when they pull my leg.

I also wanted a job to make money for our gang and to get away from those whine babies, so Tarquin fixed me up with a new look. Soon, I was on my way into the city, with incense twigs burning between my fingers and with the holiest and meekest outlook ever. The plan was to do some healing in the local temples and make a few gold for a new outfit, and maybe some half-decent food. It is the little things that make us truly happy.

But my shitty luck stepped in, for just when I had my biz up and going in the local Bragi temple, the guard sergeant and yesterday's sod showed up for healing. Bummer! How the fuck did they choose this fucking little temple among all nice and big ones in the city? When the devil farts in your face, you either hold your breath until you die, or you breathe in the fume and stay alive coughing. I dodged with the blows and somehow convinced the top honcho of the temple, Hammond, that I needed to rest before my magic could come back to me. Hammond healed the guard, and they were off without seeing me. It seemed things finally worked out for me.

But no. Somehow Mister Half-Orc Brainiac (of all races) figured it out to come back and check out on the new acolyte, because you see there are not enough refugees, merchants, immigrants, and all sorts of other scum running through his fair city from who knows what down there south. Damn perceptive of him to look for a drunken stinking beggar brawler murderer among the nice meek effeminate pacifist acolytes of the good god Bragi all dressed in their faggoty white! Is he as ingenious and devious as me or what?

When fortune has decided to smack you for all your little past conniptions, it is more persistent than a hound and smarter than a fox. Here comes the brainiac to ask a few questions. By now I knew that "asking a few questions" really meant "rasping your ass down". Fucking lawful freaks! Dogs! Nothing but slave guard dogs! How I hate that canine mentality! There is nothing wrong about being a slave by name and station - things not always turn out alright. But there is nothing more disgusting and despicable to me than those who are slaves in and by their minds! Garbage!

At this point running would incriminate me, and the brainiac, called Uff by the way, had undoubtedly secured the perimeter, so I played the little game. I was right. He had more than a dozen guards all over the place! Ah well, so what. I talk different, I look different,  I act different. How can some silly sod recognize me after seeing me for a minute in the dark of the night and in stinking shabby rice-sacks? 

Somehow he did! He must be a fucking brainiac even after I busted his skull. I guess I have underestimated the half-elfs' vision. Clearly they see much more in the dark, than I gave them credit. This is a good thing to know for the future. In a weird way, it shows I was right to want to finish him so as to leave no witnesses. Bummer.

They stuck me in a shitty cell and I was certain they would hang me. Bah! Somehow that prospect hardly scared me. You live, you die, it is the order of things. The only thing that bothered me was to be outplayed by a guard shmuck and a half-orc. If that is not humiliating, I do not know what is. Then again, if the winds of fortune are in their sail, it is hardly a straight race now, is it? Anyways, to hell with them. Somebody someday will slit their throats and that will be the end of that. Or, they will be sacrificed by their commander in the field of battle like the sheep they are. Losers. What a waste.

Anyway, just as I was thinking I was done for, the dogs decided to let me out on probation. It turned out Tarquin convinced Kuzdak to give himself up and explain what happened. Somehow the dogs bought it. Good job, Tarquin! Thanks, Kuzdak pal! I don't forget good buddies. Some fucking local elf boss was pissed about it, but to hell with him - however big you are, there is always somebody bigger - he'll get what comes to him one day, just like any other bloke.

So, the dogs equipped us with armor and weapons, to go find some lost caravan. Hmm, if that is not fishy, my name is not Magnus! They release an attempted murderer, arm him and his buddies, and send them on a rescue mission?? Give me a bonnet and call me Aunt Susan! That's stinks of setup to high heavens! Well, it was either that, or 40 years penal colony for My Exaltedness. So, I decided to give it a try. Maybe, I could play it out well and come ahead too. And if we rescued some caravan and its riches, well, so much the better - I am not without a heart, hehehehe...

We proceeded down the road - south or west, I don't remember. We traveled and traveled for hours until we covered the 16 miles to the supposed location of the brigandage. Well, we did not find anything, except for some worn tracks leading into the forest. They were older than the assumed date of attack, so it was unlikely that they were left by the same caravan. Then where was it? Fishy as herring, dammit! I thought the dogs played us for fools, but hey, I was certain we'd soon find out what the jig was in any case.

Since we were kind of stuck with nothing in our hand but these stupid old tracks, I urged the gang to go after the tracks. Perhaps they would lead to a brigand hide-out or something else that could be related to the missing caravan. 

We went for sometime in the forest when our forward scout Anlia gave us the alert sign and then the danger sign. I immediately cast defensive spells and none too soon, for a couple of hyena-like humanoids showed up to the right of us. They saw us and we saw them and then Kuzdak alarmed us of a couple others coming at us from behind. Fucking ambush! We really needed a tracker type in our gang, or this would always happen.

Anyhow, the dogheads attacked yapping in their unknown canine language. They were well-equipped and clearly well-trained. Soon we saw yet another one, so it was five of us versus five of them. That and the slight detail that among us only me and Kuzdak were any good in melee. Benny and Anlia shot one of the gnolls dead, but the others slashed down first Benny, then me. Fucking shame. Next time, we ought to fight these walking hyenas only if we are two on one in our favor.