Muir's letters home

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Wild Wombat
Frost Giant
Posts: 737
Joined: Sat Jan 03, 2004 5:35 pm
Location: Alexandria, Virginia, USA (DC 'burbs)

Muir's letters home

Post by Wild Wombat »

Fresh from his first bath in months - approaching three as far as he can tell - Muir returns to his room and takes pen to paper, writing a leter that he will never send.

Mother,

It has been months since I have written. I am sorry, but as you read my words, you will understand why.

As you will remember, the last time that I wrote, I was getting ready to board a ship from Waterdeep bound for Silverymoon. The trip was uneventful, and I stayed below decks and to myself, for reasons that you know well. Truly though, I longed to be up in the rigging, above the spray, watching the gulls twist and turn over the wake, diving for morsels of fish guts that the crew pitched overboard. But, more than ever, I must keep to myself and avoid the sun, no matter how I long to feel it on me.

Upon arriving in Silverymoon, I could scarce believe what a wonder it is. So many different people going about their ways in a carefree manner. Not that they are ignorant of the dangers that surround them, they are simply confident in their ability to fend them off. But more than the people, it is the city itself that is a wonder. There is a bridge here that is indescribable. If I tried to put it to words, you would think me daft, so I will not make the attempt.

However, in my wandering about the city, I discovered that I must have some allergy to something in the northern city air, for I began getting headaches and frequently felt mildly nauseous. Because of that, I decided that some fresh country air was in order and I ventured forth outside the gates ... and my headache did indeed begin to fade.

I was on a hilltop gazing down on the city and I succumbed to the temptation to nap. My first sleep without a pain in the back of my head in over a week. I should have known better. Me, of all people, forgetting that there is never a good time to drop one's guard.

While I dozed I was set upon and taken captive by some folk that I came to learn were, if you take my meaning, Red Bastards. It seems that I was noticed even before my arrival in Silverymoon. Most likely I was noticed in the close quarters of the ship from Waterdeep, in spite of my best efforts. Apparently, I was being followed and my exit from the city was an opportunity to take me.

I have spent the last three months in captivity. I was given little to eat and not much more to drink. I was subjected to beatings two or three times a day. Professional beatings, designed to inflict as much pain as possible without ever breaking anything. I have some familiarity with the technique.

But if that were the end of it, I would consider myself among the lucky. Much worse were the visits from the Red Bastards. They never physically touched me themselves, leaving that to their henchmen. But they did touch me even though they never laid a finger on me. I was made to endure all manner of things, ranging from extreme heat to extreme cold; from bright light to the absence of it. I was submerged in water which was then frozen and then exposed to light as bright as the sun (yet I still breathed, due to some magic I can not begin to fathom). I could go on with the experiments I was subjected to, but there is no point. Each one was more painful than the last and they never seemed to end. Most times the experiments did not end until I lost consciousness. The experiments were, however, more bearable than I let on: I did not want to reveal my true strength.

In the end I (quite obviously) was able to escape. Some folk with their own enmity for the Red Bastards assaulted the place I was being held, and it was enough of a distraction for me to slip out. It was easy enough to follow my "rescuers" back to Silverymoon, but once there, it was not easy to avoid being seen by their employer. Fortunately, we share an enemy and thus, while not friends - is there such a thing for one such as I? - we have made common cause.

But, Mother, three months of deprivation have taken their toll. I am weak, in body, at least, and the headaches have returned. I will have to husband and nurture my strength for some time, I am afraid. I expect that my new companions will look on me with some contempt, especially one of them, as foul tempered a Dwarf as has ever been vomited forth from a stinking cesspit of a mountain hole. The others may eventually accept me, though likely not fully, except, perhaps a second Dwarf, who seems to be intelligent and worldly enough to put aside his prejudices.

Your Loving Son.


(There is no signature)

Once the ink is blotted, Muir takes the page to a small brazier, where he lights a small flame. He carves a small piece off a block on incense he carries in a pouch and adds it to the fire. Once the smell of the incense is noticeable, Muir adds the letter to the flame, saying softly, "See that these words wind their way to my mother's eyes, heart and soul."

Muir stares intently into the flames, watching the shadows flicker as the flames slowly die. When the embers cool, he gathers the ashes up and casts them to the winds, repeating "See that these words wind their way to my mother's eyes, heart and soul."
Current NWN1: Murgen Kjarnisteinn (AKA Grumpy Scout)

Current NWN2: Muir Cheartach, AKA The Pale Faced Pie Man

R.I.P.: Croaker Lyosbarr, Knight of Yartar, Lord of Lhuvenhead (NWN1)

"In no uncertain terms, i am adamantly opposed to any ingame mechanics that penalize players for wanting to meet up with other players, when their goal is to roleplay." - White Warlock
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