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 Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!)

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Sir Celdiur Moriendor
Sir Celdiur Moriendor

Posts : 430
Join date : 2011-11-03
Age : 28
Location : Scotland, Great Britain

Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) Empty
PostSubject: Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!)   Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) EmptySat Jan 21, 2017 5:47 am

A Tale of Pendor: Sigismund Sinclair, A Prophecy of Lies

The rains were merciless this night. For the better part of a week, a virulent storm had battered the western coast, and the port of Javiksholm provided little refuge from its onslaught. The streets of rough dirt were trod upon sparsely this evening, for any sane man would barely think of them as streets at all in their current state, let alone walk them. Nay, more like an all consuming quagmire than a road, that even the sturdiest mule would struggle to haul a cart upon. So thought the single, cloaked and hooded figure that trudged his way along this sodden lane, battered yet steadfast against the wrath of the sea winds. The mud squelched heavily underfoot and gripped firmly against his boots, and on more than one occasion had almost claimed them for its own. Yet the threat of kleptomaniacal sludge would not deter him. Not this night. He had spent weeks now following the trail of rumours and smalltalk among the Fierdsvain. Rumours of a giant of a man, clad in the blackest of armour and darkest of demeanors. A gargantuan greatsword did he wield and the mightiest of foes did he hew. A man of grim soul and grim purpose, shrouded in an aura of hatred and sorrow. The hooded traveller knew not what to make of these rumours, until the time he had beheld the giant's handiwork for himself. Vanskerry reavers, perhaps arrived upon the same foul winds that savaged the coast even now. Eleven in number, and eleven in death. Bloodied, cleaved, hewed and butchered upon the road. The brazen workings of a mind devoid of pity or mercy, and an arm so powerful as to rend the links of mail armour like cloth. That was this morning he had happened upon the giant's victims, and was the moment he realised that weeks of chasing a shadow were about to come to a head. Arriving to a storm ravaged Fierdsvain capital, it did not take the weary traveller long to track the movements of his quarry, stand out as a large man clad in inky black steel did upon these near deserted streets. Following the direction of a street side fish merchant, the traveller had come at last to his destination, the tavern where the giant had taken refuge from the elements. The Lucky Flotsam. A difficult place to find, and by its murky facade, hardly a place where repectable citizens would chose to gather. And yet here he found himself, about to join whatever unsavoury characters made this place their drinking hole. The sound of a lute could be heard from within, and a great drunken revelry from the patrons. The traveller looked apprehensively at the door of aging oak. Placing a firm hand upon the handle, he steeled himself for whatever may come, pushed open the door and allowed the sounds and smells of this raucous tavern to overtake him.


The Lucky Flotsam, for the most part, was exactly as one would have imagined at first glance. A small place, smoky and crowded, with more bodies than it was built to contain. It was cramped, noisy, the air held firm a pungent, sooty odour, and the chances of a man finding a table after dusk where next to none. But it was warm at least, and had an amiable atmosphere. Taking in the sights of the tavern floor from the still open doorway, the traveller quickly affirmed, in a manner both excited and wary, that this was indeed where he would find the man he had saught for many moons now. For the patrons were a ruff and unruly sort; battle-scarred mercenaries, sly and ever scheming rogues and the hard, uninviting faces of the various elements of Javiksholm's underbelly. And yet, through the plethora of personalities, his eyes could not find the one face that it was so eager to behold. And as his eyes searched, he pondered, "Where are you, Sincl...."

"Ho, dullard! Close the damn door will you man!"

The bellow came from an aging, heavily bearded sellsword sitting near the entrance. Being so engrossed in his thoughts, the traveller had failed to notice the rapidly cooling air around him as the heat rushed outside to meet with the raging winds.

"Oh, ehm... apologies friend" said the traveller as he quickly slammed shut the oaken door behind him and stepped away from the entrance. Realising that he had drawn more attention than he had intended with his presence, the traveller pulled back his sodden hood so as to ease the suspicion of any distrustful locals. He ran his hand through the tangle of shoulder length, burnished blonde hair that adorned his head, before having a prolonged scratch with a clenched fist at his short, cropped beard. He turned his attention to the bar. He made as if to head in its direction, and yet as he did something flickered in the corner of his eye and drew his gaze. Whether from a candle or the amply stocked hearth, the light of a flame glistened upon a metallic surface nestled near one of the darkened corners of the tavern. His eyes widened. He had beheld many a weapon in his travels, yet never before laid eyes upon a sword such as this! A massive greatsword of Ravenstern design, like the ones wielded by the mighty highlanders, and yet why this one seemed so much greater than all others he could not say. Such a weapon would take a man of great strength to wield, he thought to himself in awe. A man, that he quickly realised, could only be the figure that sat, solitary, in the shadows nearby, barely noticable in the darkness. It is him! Clearly he was a man that had no desire for company, but yet he would have just that, for the traveller had not come all of this way for nothing. Picking up a candle from one of the better lit tables, he made his way toward the corner table, where what little light the candle provided pushed back the shadowy curtain and revealed the appearance of the grizzled warrior. A giant they had called him, and it was not far from the truth, for great the man was, of large frame and tall stature, both a fitting testimony to the man's fabled strength and power. His hair was dry and uneven, drawn back in a crude ponytail and raven black. His face was weathered beyond his age and his pale skin bore the scars of many battles, and with a furrowed brow that held the weight of many burdens. His beard was shaggy and unkempt and laced through with greying hairs. And his armour. Yes, his armour, as dark as it was told to be, once ornate, now bashed and heavily scarred from years of fighting, adding ever more to his already fearsome visage. If he had noticed the approach of the traveller, he give no indication, instead simply stared intently at the half empty flagon of ale in front of him, as if willing it to replenish itself. Or burst into flames. A face so stoic could indicate anything. Cautiously, the traveller inched closer, and still the black armoured man gave no acknowledgement of his presence. How must he approach this? His words would have to be well chosen if he had any hope of gaining the answers he sought. Clearing his throat, he began simply.

"Well met friend. Forgive me, but all the other tables are full and only yours has a spare seat. Perhaps you would allow a weary traveller to rest along side you?"

The warrior gave no answer. Still he stared at his flagon. Boldly, the traveller drew out the spare chair and took a seat regardless. Nothing, he thought as he placed the candle upon the table. He sat in silence for a few moments, gazing around the tavern for anything that may draw forth a conversation.

"I have never been to this tavern before. Not easy to find I can tell you! Rather a busy place though isnt it?"

Again he was met with silence. The traveller's brow furrowed. Surely he could not have been so fixated on whatever cheap swill he was drinking to even acknowledge him? To come this far and be ignored was frustrating to say the least, but the traveller was anything if not determined. Once more he spoke.

"Rather dangerous the roads these days arent they? As if the bandits werent bad enough, now this storm has-",

"What the hell dae you want with me stranger?", the warrior finally said, in a tone that was more akin to a growl than it was the common tongue, "Piss aff, and leave a man tae droun his sorrows in peace!"

Now their eyes finally met, and the traveller saw for the first time the intensity of the anger that festered within his mind, the hatred that consumed his soul. It was an unsettling gaze that would chill a lesser man to the bone, but the traveller held his nerve. He had his attention now. He could not allow himself to falter. He let his eyes drift to the greatsword leaning against the wall.

"I came upon a most grizzly sight upon the north east road this morning. Raiders, Vanskerry by the look. Savaged, brutalised. Almost unrecognisable as men, so horrific were their wounds. A man would be forgiven for thinking that a great bear now roamed these parts, but I have seen many wounds in my travels, and no bear I know of has ever wielded a blade the likes of which inflicted those wounds"

With a subtle nod toward a darkened patch upon the great weapon, he continued.

"Theres blood upon your sword, friend. Some of it not yet dried"

He need say no more than that. The suggestion was blatant enough. Slowly, the warrior turned his icy gaze from the traveller to inspect his sword. Reaching out with a leather bound hand he wiped away a small patch of blood with his fingertips. He rubbed it, almost tenderly, betwixt thumb and forefinger, and eyed it with the same cold leer he gave his unwanted guest.

"No more than they deserved", he grumbled in his guttural speech, "and you are nae friend o'mine, pilgrim. If your ramblings hae any purpose i'd suggest you spit it out quickly, or make yer arse scarce". His eyes had not yet returned to meet the travellers.

No use dithering around this then. The traveller inhaled deeply, clasped his hands together and leaned in closer to the table.

"You're right, we are not friends. And our paths have never crossed before. But this is no chance meeting, as I have been searching for you for quite some time now. Village to village, rumour to rumour, I have followed you. Listened to the tales. Seen what becomes of those that cross you. Seen the fear that you inspire. I scarce believed that such malice could enshroud a man, yet now I can see and feel it for myself. There can be no mistaking it. You are indeed he whom I have sought. Tell me, has my search been in vain? Or have I finally laid my eyes upon Sigismund Sinclair?"

The subtle twitch of the warrior's eye at the mention of that name told more then any spoken word could. Turning his gaze slowly from the gore spattered greatsword, Sigismund's icy cold eyes met with the traveller's. As bold as he had been, the robed wanderer felt a forceful chill run through his spine like the frozen sea air.

"Perhaps you have", Sigismund replied in his gravelly baritone, "And perhaps he grows irritated as tae why a threadbare vagabond has taken such an interest in him? I've nae love for cryptic words traveller, and ma patience is growin' thin"

Sigismund's scarred face betrayed no emotion, and yet the traveller could feel the anger rising within the warrior, hidden well behind stony visage.

"My interest is in finding the truth behind the tales. The story I have heard of your past is one shared by so many across Pendor, and yet none have garnered attention like yours has. And for good reason, I am lead to believe. For you gave hope to many once, as a man far different to he that you are now. Those brave companions that followed you inspired, and the woman Claire was s-"

Too late the traveller learned the folly of his words. Eyes widening rapidly and face struck with lightning fast fury at the mention of that name, Sigismund lunged forward with unnatural speed and grabbed the traveller by the rain soaked collar of his cloak. Far from fast enough to avoid the warrior's wrath, the traveller found himself hoisted quickly from his seat and his back slammed against the table top. The half empty flagon flew and ale sprayed as the wind was knocked from the traveller's lungs. The warrior's gloved hand was quickly upon his throat and his rage racked face hung menacingly above his own.

"You mean tae torment me, wretch?! Sigismund snarled, spittle darting from his lips, "You mean tae remind me of my anguish?! You DARE speak to me of what has been?! What I have been?! What devils have sent you here tae torment me?! By what right would you plague me with sorrows?! BY WHAT RIGHT!?"

Both of the traveller's hands scrabbled at Sigismund's iron grip on his throat to no avail. Gasping for what little breath he could attain, he rasped.

"They called you the...the Hero of Madigan. know...why..."

Sigismund's grip loosened. If through reason or a miraculous change of heart, the traveller did not care. Sigismund's face softened. His gaze slowly drifted upwards before turning outwards to the tavern floor. The room had gone deathly silent as all heads turned to face the commotion. Sellswords, ruffians and commoners alike gazed at the black clad giant, some with apprehension, some with derision, and some even with twisted amusement. All stared and all Sigismund saw as he looked from face to face around the tavern. His eyes finally snapped back to the traveller still pressed onto his back beneath his grip. He withdrew his hand and forced a wry, sinister smile.

"Well why didn't ye just ask then?" The mockery in his voice was thinly veiled.

The traveller inhaled deeply and rubbed his soon-to-be bruised neck tenderly before pushing himself up and off the shabby table. The tavern slowly returned to normality as Sigismund continued to glare at those that still dared to look. Satisfied that no other took further notice, the warrior sat back down and fixed his gaze upon the traveller, still sporting the same wry smile.

"You're a bold one, aren't you rover? I probably wid hae killed you hae the circumstances been different. You're the first tae mention that 'Madigan' pish tae me for a long, long time. Only mad bastards believe in the prophecies of mad bastards. Would'na be fair tae kill a man just for that. That, and I like this tavern. Would'na want tae get blood on the furniture"

Sigismund bent toward the floor and picked up the flagon that had been thrown off in his rage. He tipped it and scowled in disgust when but a scarce few droplets fell from the cup.

"Fine", began Sigismund again as he brought the flagon to rest once again on the table, "You want tae know the story of Sigismund Sinclair? You want tae know why they thought I was this 'Hero' the folktales like tae babble on about? Aye, i'll tell you. On one condition"

The traveller could hardly believe the change in the warrior, who was a few scant moments ago close to bloodshed, now somewhat amiable. Still rubbing upon his reddened neck he replied.

"And what would that be?" he asked, equally in exasperation and astonishment.

"That you supply the ale, traveller! And you'd best order up a few rounds. Were gonna be here a while"


Last edited by Sir Celdiur Moriendor on Wed Jul 25, 2018 12:31 pm; edited 5 times in total
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Marcus the Shadow Fighter
Marcus the Shadow Fighter

Posts : 1148
Join date : 2011-08-20
Location : A windy cavern somewhere near Helsinki

Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) Empty
PostSubject: Re: Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!)   Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) EmptySun Jan 29, 2017 6:49 am

Very nice story.

Grandmaster of the Shadow Legion
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Sir Celdiur Moriendor
Sir Celdiur Moriendor

Posts : 430
Join date : 2011-11-03
Age : 28
Location : Scotland, Great Britain

Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) Empty
PostSubject: Re: Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!)   Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) EmptyMon Jan 30, 2017 1:30 am

Thanks! You could probably guess that it's not done yet. Had a bit of writers block so decided to come back to it some other time!

This might be the first in a long list of stories i'm planning on writing. More specifically, the expanded background stories of the companions. I'm going to follow closely to what they already tell you about themselves in game and then flesh it out as much as possible. Im hoping that if I do a good enough job the Dev team may even make these stories official but i'll just have to wait and see.

And i'm using this as a chance to develop my writing skills, so please feel free to give some honest feedback about how its going!
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PostSubject: Re: Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!)   Sir Celdiur's Scribbles (Because hes too cheap to buy Microsoft Word!) Empty

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