Greetings, Ramblers!
As a nerd, geek, and gamer, it was only a matter of time before I began my dynamic and fantastical journey with Dungeons & Dragons. DND posts will focus on creative interpretations of my adventures as a player and as a Dungeon Master. I hope you will join me as I creatively interpret the ongoings in these two fantasy worlds!
When you are the “runt” of your entire generation, it can be easy to fade away into the shadows for being different. Scrawny. Literate. Eloquent. None of those “big words” matter when your tribe fights its way through anything and everything. When your people brutalize the terrain not only to fend for the lifeblood of the family but for the reputation of the land, your “talking” achieves nothing. Fight or be worthless. Kill or be dead.
Such has been the life of Kaluk, a half-orc man who knows no life beyond his barbarian tribe, the Fleshcarver Clan. Taking claim over the lands surrounding the Watchkeeper’s Plateau as far as the eyes could see, the Fleshcarver Clan is the primary force to be reckoned with when traversing these plains. The wilds know not to cross paths with a Fleshcarver, for its thirst for blood has brought this barbarian tribe acclaim and prosperity. Spilling blood on the soils of these lands has brought prestige to this clan for centuries, and nothing could change that reputation of legend.
Kaluk had never fit the mold of his tribe. He knew he never would. To go against the grain and attempt to find life beyond spilt blood was unheard of, as his parents had reared him to believe, especially as he began to focus on different… interests. Each raid on a caravan was an attempt to find parchment to write on or books to read. Each hunt became a game of strategy and stealth. Each kill became a lesson to be learned. No Fleshcarver of right mind or strong will would make time for those foolish interests. The hunt and kill are all that truly matter.
Growing up, his shorter stature and late coming of age did not help Kaluk in the slightest. Outcasted for his slow-going growth in strength and his lacking rise in agility, Kaluk was handed the short end of every stick. Though he grew to be a reasonable 6’0″ tall by the time of his rite of adulthood, growing into his leaner 175lb build, it was a rare occasion that Kaluk would be trusted on a successful hunt, let alone all by himself. He was instead benched to the tasks of cleaning the spoils of the day, or sharpening the weapons of the hunting parties, or the most meaningful task of preparing supplies and weight-bearing animals for extended journeys.
Kaluk did not mind the grunt work in the slightest. He was confident in his skills and scoffed at the idea of wasting energy where he was not wanted. He could practice reading and writing with the time on his hands, knowing very well that he could finish any menial task faster than any other barbarian in the tribe. He had gotten lucky over recent years by snagging a few books from caravan raids. One book in particular contained the lore of Mystra, a deity known as the Mother of All Magic and Lady of Mysteries. He knew that magic had no place in the life of barbarians, but still, life beyond the bounds of his people intrigued Kaluk at every moment possible.
On a whim that would prove to be life-changing, Kaluk had been tasked with gathering medicinal herbs on the distant outskirts of the lands. He knew that this long journey would be troublesome, but he had confidence in his abilities. With his well-kept black hair down over his ears and his olive skin, he could easily blend into his surroundings and avoid the dangers he was bound to encounter. His parents had taught him well enough to survive, before they had sadly died on a similarly long journey years ago. Kaluk’s wits had felt some odd sense of longing before setting out, but he paid little mind and pushed forward.
After only a day or two, Kaluk had gathered enough supply of herbs to dry, process, and use for the rest of the year. Returning to the tribe successfully, his wits had proven to be correct. Decimation. All around him, the corpses of his fallen comrades and family, interspersed with the slaughtered remains of warriors from the opposing barbarian forces. One would think rage would come next, but Kaluk had no such reaction. He began to smile, as if his life was about to change for the better.
Now no stranger to setting off on his own, Kaluk set his sights on the horizon and stepped forward. He knew revenge could knocking in the future, but for now, his shackles were unlocked and the world offered much to learn.
RandomizedLogic 