Tweet
Kaldaris' cat got set on fire and so he's been unable to make this post himself. He asked that I do it for him:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Fuck."
It was raining. When wasn't it raining these days anymore? Maybe every now and then, but still.
A door slammed, cups jingled to herald the rising din of drunk voices.
"A cup of your best piss please!"
A coin hitting the wooden counter, a grunt of acknowledgement, and the sound of a glass sliding across what can best be described as the remains of yesterday's drunk of the evening.
He picked the glass up gingerly, shaking it slightly to dislodge what was likely the private and intimate property of said drunk's stomach.
Offering a bespectacled smile, the middle aged man shuffled away from the counter, his smile instantly fading as he turns away bartender- into something of a crotchety frown.
He sat alone at one of the smaller tables, sipping lightly from his slightly vomit covered glass. He wasn't supposed to be here. Or at the very least, he suspected someone would object to his presence being here. Someone he hadn't met yet even.
He sipped as he recalled the time spent before rearriving in this rainy, filthy valley.
Time spent looking for someone to fix his burned and useless eyes.
Time spent being mugged, spells, unfortunately, require sight if you don't feel like incinerating absolutely everyone around you-- including yourself.
Time spent travelling to expand his knowledge of life, that unfortunately ended with him learning that stupid people were the same everywhere.
And last but not least, time spent having part of his soul returned by his 'apathetic' deity.
And now he was back. To find and hear that vampires walked around in the evenings, Kelemvor was dead and the old god of death was back in his old position, and that the valley was in upset due to Banites doing various .. well- Bane-y things.
He kept low. Being forgotten is more useful than being invisible, and magic- however powerful, usually led to more problems than it solved. He picked up a shovel, stashed his dull robes of the Hand, and slid his signet into a pouch. For now, he was Calvin Wesley.
Calvin Wesley, a polite gravedigger with an opinion, scrolls, and many- many- potions. How interesting that they all replicated magical effects that a certain Kaldaris Kelenvale could cast.
But he wasn't Kaldaris, he was Calvin, and let Kaldaris Kelenvale rot in the ground for all he, or anybody else for that matter, cared.
So he picked up his shovel. He picked up his shovel and whispered a silent prayer for the new heroes the Sundered Valley had. His time was over, and their time was beginning. And he hoped- Hoped that it would be time well spent.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Fuck."
It was raining. When wasn't it raining these days anymore? Maybe every now and then, but still.
A door slammed, cups jingled to herald the rising din of drunk voices.
"A cup of your best piss please!"
A coin hitting the wooden counter, a grunt of acknowledgement, and the sound of a glass sliding across what can best be described as the remains of yesterday's drunk of the evening.
He picked the glass up gingerly, shaking it slightly to dislodge what was likely the private and intimate property of said drunk's stomach.
Offering a bespectacled smile, the middle aged man shuffled away from the counter, his smile instantly fading as he turns away bartender- into something of a crotchety frown.
He sat alone at one of the smaller tables, sipping lightly from his slightly vomit covered glass. He wasn't supposed to be here. Or at the very least, he suspected someone would object to his presence being here. Someone he hadn't met yet even.
He sipped as he recalled the time spent before rearriving in this rainy, filthy valley.
Time spent looking for someone to fix his burned and useless eyes.
Time spent being mugged, spells, unfortunately, require sight if you don't feel like incinerating absolutely everyone around you-- including yourself.
Time spent travelling to expand his knowledge of life, that unfortunately ended with him learning that stupid people were the same everywhere.
And last but not least, time spent having part of his soul returned by his 'apathetic' deity.
And now he was back. To find and hear that vampires walked around in the evenings, Kelemvor was dead and the old god of death was back in his old position, and that the valley was in upset due to Banites doing various .. well- Bane-y things.
He kept low. Being forgotten is more useful than being invisible, and magic- however powerful, usually led to more problems than it solved. He picked up a shovel, stashed his dull robes of the Hand, and slid his signet into a pouch. For now, he was Calvin Wesley.
Calvin Wesley, a polite gravedigger with an opinion, scrolls, and many- many- potions. How interesting that they all replicated magical effects that a certain Kaldaris Kelenvale could cast.
But he wasn't Kaldaris, he was Calvin, and let Kaldaris Kelenvale rot in the ground for all he, or anybody else for that matter, cared.
So he picked up his shovel. He picked up his shovel and whispered a silent prayer for the new heroes the Sundered Valley had. His time was over, and their time was beginning. And he hoped- Hoped that it would be time well spent.