A Land Far Away

All that he knew

Jessel hummed gently to himself as he scraped the blade along the rough leather. Where was he now? Oh yes, the lather, the lather was ready, the towel steamed…

“Have a seat sir”
“How are we today sir”
“Please tilt your head sir”
“There you are sir, you look fine indeed”
“I’ll have your breakfast ready in a moment, sir”
“Absolutely sir”
“Here you are sir”
“Very good sir”
“Will you be taking lunch today sir?”
“Very good sir”
“I’ll see to it sir”
“Your dinner sir”
“Absolutely sir”
“Good evening sir, sleep well”
………………………………….
Every day was the same, a routine, a dull monotony that saw Jessel and his master grow a little older, a little closer, and a little less likely to change.
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The relationship Jessel had with his master was a long one. Since birth Jessel had been in the household, taught to be quiet in his masters presence, not to speak out of turn, and when he was old enough – to serve. When he was of age, he also officially became employed, and out of his wages were drawn the expense that he had incurred so far in staying in the house. Jessel could do it all, laundry, emptying chamber pots, food serving, food preparation, seeing off unwanted guests with a firm hand. He was not required to greet visitors; most of his masters guests would have found his coloration distasteful.

His mother was a half orc in Amn, she counted herself lucky to have employment at all. Jessel never knew anything of his father, and she refused to speak of him. She had also been brought into the household from a very young age, from an orphanage. They both slept in the same cramped room with but a single window. His mother would often sit and stare out the window at nights, telling Jessel the same stories again and again as Selune traced an arc across the nights sky.

She had grown up there, and she died there, one night.
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His mother had been in pain for many months, and grew weaker by the day. She remained lucid, and in the end had begged Jessel to suffocate her with a pillow. After many nights and arguments he did, and hated himself for it. Jessel wept at her bedside. He sobbed quietly, so as not to disturb the master or his family. Inside he longed to howl, to scream to the heavens at the unfairness of death, the obscenity of it all. In amongst her things he had found a letter addressed to him, with a note to only open it on his next birthday, eight months away.
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Jessel did not hum the next morning as he scraped the blade along the rough leather. Where was he now? Oh yes, the lather, the lather was ready, the towel steamed…
He looked up as his bleary eyed master shuffled into the room. He was old now, he had been middled aged when Jessel had been born, and many years of late nights over port and papers had taken their toll on his health.

Jessel shaved him with shaky hands, a poor shave by his standards, but he did not cut the master, despite everything.

It was some weeks later that Jessel was told his service was no longer required. More of the masters children would be coming in from the country estate and he was deemed an inappropriate servant.

Jessel was given a small pouch of gold and a packed lunch as he was escorted of the masters estate. The master nor his family saw fit to say goodbye despite his thirty odd years of service to them.

Jessel did look back, although he told himself he wouldn't.
…………………………………………
He took passage north to Baldurs gate, knowing his prospects for employment were dim in Amn given his heritage.
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((very nice!))

I sense a great darkness within him.... and..... party on, dude!

The spear point erupted from the giant orcs neck saving Magnus from parrying the next blow.

As the giant green skin dropped another took it's place.....but no....it was Jessel. Face flushed with excitement. "I stuck him Sir!"

Magnus looked to Kert and they grinned. Was this the most unlikely half-blood in the north? He thought back to their meeting.

The looming figure continued to stare at him.
"What do you want?" Magnus rumbled as he gripped the haft of his axe...Tempus would not mind some blood spilt in his own tavern surely.

"Excuse my rudeness Sir. But i've not met one with your, ah, colouration before."

Excuse my rudeness? What in the nine hells? Was this a city born fop in disguise?
".......What?"

"I said Sir....ah sorry Sir i meant no offense. Beg pardon."

He had heard right. It sounded like some snivelling servant from over the noble quarter.

His red eyes took in the figure opposite. A half orc. Topping even his own great height. Tusks... Defiantly a half orc. His grip tightened. But the thing spoke like a weak as piss waste of air dandy...a half orc....he shook his head*
"What is it you want?"

"To learn to fight...Sir."

He grunted. Maybe not so much of a waste of space..... He took his hand from the axes haft.
"I be no Sir. Training room's that way..."

Cute tale. Plus hurray for Tempus, he may be looking for a few good half-orcs.

Nice

Jessel finds a job

Jessel dashed across the street, weaving through between potholes and over puddles. He looked where he was going and was able to avoid the worst of the muck. He dashed because of the sudden onset of the thrice damned sword coast weather... it was raining... again. For all the bad that could be said about Amn, at least the weather was predictable. The city of Baldurs Gate was prone to sudden downpours which would flood the streets with puddles that would soak the boots of the unwary, and worse yet, create slippery piles of muck from all the livestock that wandered around.

Jessel thudded into the wall of a building and stopped, taking shelter under the eaves. On some days he would walk through the rain when it was warm... but today it was falling bitterly cold.

He shivered and looked out at the rain misted skyline of Baldurs Gate. He had been here but a few days and was struggling to make ends meet. He had been firmly turned away from manor after manor, it seemed there was few if any positions for experienced valets, who tended to remain in their positions until retirement. Coupled with his parentage it was beginning to look grim. He had taken a few odd labouring jobs in return for food or lodging... but his hands were beginning to show the strain with painful blisters developing.

An armoured figure sidled into view around the side of the building. The rain slid from his gleaming armor, his face was kept dry by a jaunty hat, from which jutted a drooping and soggy feather. Small talk and introductions took a sudden unexpected twist with an offer of employment as a valet to the adventurer – Kert Davis. Jessel thought him a loud mouth and a braggart yet he was desperate enough to agree to a month long trial with him. His duties would range from the expected cooking, cleaning, and laundry to the far more unfamiliar – travel, and seeing off brigands should there be call for it.

He had in the past screened guests to the masters house, politely, yet very firmly denying access to beggars, salesmen, and other unwanted visitors. He had kept a club behind the door just in case... but never actually used it.

In fact the only violence he ever had to inflict was on chickens. Every Sunday he was tasked with preparing a roast chicken meal which would involve wringing its neck. Jessel did not enjoy the process at all, feeling a little sorry for the bird, and far more sorry for himself having to do it. He would try to make the process as quick as possible for the bird... cradling it under one arm, apologising, then snapping its neck with a quick jerk of his large hands. Feathers would fly as its nerves twitched, but Jessel would hold it tight, waiting for it to subside...

He had half expected his mother to do the same but she died with grace. Her hands did reach for his but simply gripped his arms for a while before falling away.
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Jessel took his new role very seriously. He spent the next few days gathering all he would need for his travels. He doubtfully purchased what he was assured was a magical healing potion, as well as a sturdy leather jerkin which would keep out the chill as well as providing some measure of protection against the wear and tear of travelling.
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Their first commission under Kerts leadership was slightly underwhelming Jessel thought. They were hunting a stray dog that had fled into the sewer. Kert was insistent that he would dop anything to help a damsel in distress, yet Jessel wondered if that would still be the case if the woman in question hadn’t been amply endowed as she was. In the end it was a moot point as they were unable to find the dog, with Kert stomping out of the sewers muttering angrily. Jessel kept his muttering inside as all good Valets do, knowing it would be his task to clean the muck from Kerts (and his own) equipment.

Jessel remembered back to when they had first met. Kert had declared grandly when introducing himself “I’m Kert Davis, and i’m going places”, he had punctuated the point by conjuring a magical light which he set on the tip of his feather. It shone overly brightly in Jessels eyes at the time. Jessel has slightly chided Kert as they ventured into the sewers chasing the dog. “When you said you were going places sir, I did not think you meant the sewers”.

Kert had not replied.
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*pic restolen for another pc!

A spear finds Jessel... and Jessel finds a spear

Jessel had met Magnus in the “House of the Sharpened Axe”. He had stepped inside out of curiosity, as well as to escape the thrice damned rain. With the rain outside pelting down Jessel had decided to settle in for a while, and he ordered himself a rare treat... a mug of watery ale. It was gloomy inside. Jessel was halfway through a swallow when his eyes met that of a most bizarre looking man, his skin black as coal, and his eyes black with white pupils. Jessel had sprayed his ale across the table in shock, as he tried to breath in his ale.

He looked around in embarrassment, but for the time being the only one who had noticed was the demon-man who called him over. Jessel had purchased for him a drink by way of apology for his rudeness, and introductions were made. The mans name was Magnus, a northerner, and follower of Tempus. Eventually Jessel had conceded that he was lacking experience in how to defend himself. Magnus took him to the adjoining training room, and had trounced him easily with a dulled practise axe, carefully knocking him senseless with a well timed blow from his shield.
When he came to Jessels first concern was that he hadn’t hurt the poor fellow. Magnus had laughed, reassuring him that in order to hurt him, he would have needed to hit him first.

Soon after that things took an even more interesting turn as Magnus was just as easily thrashed as Jessel had been, by a smart mouthed dwarvern mercenary. A small shady figure who had been watching from the corner of the room stepped in and offered the dwarf a commission to track down and kill an orc in the cloakwood. The mercenary who was perhaps smarter than he appeared, refused, however Magnus stepped in and convinced the hin that he could dispatch the orc in good fashion... and retrieve its magical axe.

Jessel volunteered that he also knew a suitable companion for the venture – Kert Davis, his employer, who (by strange co-incidence) had just rounded the corner. Introductions were made and the party set off for the cloakwood with high spirits.

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The high spirits soon soured as they came to realise that they were grossly unprepared to deal with the brambles, lack of light and woodsmanship. Kert and Magnus were almost at the point of bickering over directions when an arrow sailed out of the trees at them...

Kert and Magnus swiftly sprung into action freeing their weapons from scabbards and bindings as they raced towards their attackers... who revealed themselves as goblins. They lay about them, dealing death... Jessel had paused a moment unsure of what to do...

Despite the skill of Kert and Magnus, the press of goblins was beginning to take its toll on their defense... spears and rusty weapons were getting closer and closer to causing damage. When a goblins darted towards Kerts with a spear, Jessel charged towards its with his club held high.

He swung with a powerful blow that started overhead, came back and down in a full arc, and continued across his body... At some point in its trajectory it had connected with the goblins head, sending it crashing sideways out of the fight. Jessel looked down as he felt a small pinch of pain in his belly... he had charged straight onto its spear. The sounds of violence ceased as Magnus and Kert killed the last goblin. Jessel gripped the spear and gave it an experimental tug. It was not a deep wound, but could have been fatal had it gone any further. Magnus removed it for Jessel and sealed the wound, releasing magic from a scroll.

Jessel was cautioned to stay back despite his valor, and given a short bow to use.
As Kert and Magnus picked over the bodies Jessel took nothing for himself... aside from the spear which he had impaled himself on.

They had eventually found the orcs camp, where four orcs were at rest, one larger than the others who kept an axe near at hand. The party launched a surprise attack, taking down an orc with thrown axes and arrows. The remaining orcs were met head on by Kert and Magnus who fought well together. In time there was just one orc remaining... the larger orc with the magical axe. The orc fought with great strength and skill inflicting wounds upon both Kert and Magnus despite being wounded himself. When the chaos of battle presented the orcs back to Jessel he dropped the bow, and ran quickly in with the spear, plunging it into its unprotected back. Just as quickly Jessel jerked it free, and savagely stabbed the orc again through the side of its neck, forcing it to the ground where it gurgled unto death.

Jessel had boasted a little then, as high spirits got the best of both him and the group. Magnus had taken the axe, hefting it approvingly while Kert scavenged what he could from the camp.

As the party made their way back towards the edge of the forest a wyvern had swooped down, they had all sought the cover of the trees, but it was too late... they had been seen already...

Kert and Magnus engaged it directly, hewing at it with magical blades, Jessel stayed back trying to send arrows into the side of the thing, but missing every time, wary of shooting either Kert or Magnus. The wyvern was eventually taken down after a hard fought battle, but there was little mood for celebration as fear of more wyverns overtook the group, and they made haste back towards the pre-arranged meeting place with the Halfling who had commissioned the raid against the orcs.

Bizarrely enough the Halfling was revealed as a disguised goblin who had snatched at the axe. The goblin had fought like a corned rat, but three against one were poor odds for the thing. It could not avoid the combined attacks from Kerts sword, the magical axe wielded by Magnus, or Jessels scavenged spear. They chose not to puzzle to long over the goblins motivation but sought the safety of civilization.

They avoided a troll along the way back, and made the rolling farms outside Baldurs gate before midday...

love the character and the stories... You should have picked a better face in game though. To ugly to look at it.

Jessel gains a lot

A week later found Jessel in the practise room in the house of the sharpened axe. Jessel thumped at the practise dummy with his club, alternating strikes to different areas of the target with each hit. He had been practising steadily now for a few days, trying to emulate Kert and Magnus by fighting with a shield in one hand, and a weapon in the other. He was still clumsy for sure, but he now felt comfortable enough to start carrying a shield with him, whenever he left the city.

At the urging of Kert he also spent most of the orcs gold on a breastplate, and a curved sword which he liked the look of. He found it had just the right amount of heft to be satisfying to swing, but short enough to be unobtrusive.

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With Kert away on business, and Magnus nowhere to be found Jessel resumed taking on jobs to make ends meet. Whilst returning from a mail delivery to Beregost, Jessel was bitten by a dog. It had quietly padded after him as he walked, and bit at his exposed calf, causing a painful wound. Cursing, Jessel spun and reached for his club which hung from his belt. It took only a single blow to the skull to put the overly aggressive dog out of its misery.

Jessel had limped on to Baldurs gate, wishing a pox on all dogs.

He was called out to as he limped past the blade and stars by a taller man in pale blue clothing. Next to him stood a shorter woman in voluminous black robes. They enquired after his wound, and introductions were made. The mans name was Arbitheroh, the woman was introduced as Tha’is. Jessel did not think much of the meeting, until Tha’is offered to heal him...

She took his hand in hers, looked into his eyes and spoken a single word which Jessel could not quite make out...

A calming, cooling energy flowed into him, draining both tension and pain fom his body.

The wound had closed.

Arbitheroh made his apologies and left, leaving Tha’is and Jessel standing alone in the dark street. She pulled back the hood of her robes, revealing rare dark skinned beauty. Jessels breath caught in his throat. Gods, she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. Dark skin, dark eyes accented with kohl, dark hair, a perfect smile. He stammered his words, and thanked Tymora it was dark, as it hid his flush.

Jessel offered to escort Tha’is home and she accepted gracefully. They talked at length of many things, and parted ways as friends. She had made a very strong impression upon him with both her beauty and kindness, and he resolved to learn more of her over the coming weeks.

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Actually not too big to fail.

Kert had a few contacts in the city which were bringing in contracts. Jessel was expected to accompany him to watch his back, guard his flank, and prepare camp every night. Preparing camp was easy enough, even watching Kerts back, or caring for his armor. The most difficult thing he was finding... was Kert himself. Jessel was used to being in a structured, formal, calm environment, wheras Kert (being something of a country lad) was anything but. He had a habit of calling out to strangers, being abrupt, rude sometimes, unreliable... it was all becoming rather distressing to Jessel who was finding himself very much a fish out of water.

It transpired one day that Kert had been given a contract to rout a few hostile “critters” from a cave some way south from Baldurs Gate. Kert seemed confident despite the fact it would be only himself and Jessel going. They were able to find the cave easily enough despite stumbling upon a band of ogres.

The issue as it happened was what found them, once they found the cave....

“There is a bridge ahead, sir” said Jessel as he poked his head around the corner, peering out into the darkness, “looks natural, over water, from the sound of it”. Kert nodded, and checked the buckles holding the shield on his arm once more. It had been dealthy quiet thus far, rattling both Kert and Jessel who had seen discarded mining tools and signs of fighting. Kert moved around the corner, a glowing ball of light attached to the jaunty feather on his hat.

Suddenly an arrow clattered past them, then another from the far side of the bridge, Kert charged towards the dangers unknown, Jessel turning as he heard a noise... from behind them! A small scaly dog faced creature, a kobold! The battle joined, with Jessel holding his own, and Kert slowly being forced back along the bridge by a seemingly endless stream of kobolds. “Jessel, run!” shouted Kert, as five bright flashes of light streaked out and hit Kert square in the chest.

Jessels heart pumped furiously as he dashed around the corner, then turned with his scimitar at the ready, ready to swing at the first Kobold following Kert. The battle was joined again with Kert and Jessel fighting side by side, doing well for a short time, then they heard casting again... a ruby ray shot out of the darkness , striking Jessel clearly in the chest...

He staggered, his scimitar seeming an impossible weight in his hands. They began to fall back slowly against the tide, each faltering, and taking wounds from the press of rusty weapons against them

There was more casting from out of the darkness, and another spell hit them...
Jessels last sight as his eyes closed towards a blissful sleep was of five white glowing lights shooting towards him.

He came to outside the cave, with Kerts worried face only a few feet from his own. “Don’t worry Jessel, i’ll clean your wounds” Kert said looking down to a bottle in his hands. Jessels eyes followed Kerts gaze... it took a few dazed seconds to register that the bottle infact belonged to Jessel and contained a powerful wood alcohol...

Kert upended it over Jessels wounds, just as Jessel called out “sir, no!”. Jessel was forced to relive every wound as the alcohol seared at the wounds. “Argh! Shit! Shit! Shit!” screamed Jessel...

Kert told Jessel of what happened after he was put to sleep, and then knocked into unconsciousness. Kert had barely been able to kill the last kobold, and scare the caster off. Only through tremendous effort had he been able to drag Jessels bulk from the cave to the bright sunshine outside. Both had consumed the better part of half a thousand gold coins worth of potions during the battle and would see no reward.

They walked back in dejected silence, both in physical, and financial pain.

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A cultural 70xp experience

Jessel was drinking Dwarvern spirits. With every painful, brutal swallow, his split lip would burn, his eyes water, and a line of fire would run from the back of his throat to his belly, where it roiled uneasily.

Across the table from him sat Magnus, who was spouting something about mages, and a raid gone wrong. Jessel wasn’t really listening... his mug was getting empty, and who knew dwarves had spirits anyhow? Oh.. souls. What? Why is Magnus still talking and not drinking? Why is he and the room starting to tilt... hold on. Thats me... just fix that.. yeah, time for another drink...

He is a weird looking man with his freakish coloration. Must be a story there... oh... this is the story...

I should listen... this man is my friend... even if we were fighting a few hours ago... like brothers... brothers who punch each other in the face...

I shouldn’t punch him in the face though... I could have killed the tilted bastard... hang on... thats me. It felt good though... fighting... I like hitting things...

Getting hit back hurts though... another drink will take that away..see... cant even feel my nose...ah.. ow... my eye!

I have come to close to dying to many times now... and lost so much gold... i need to find a better way... but tonight... im getting drunk! Just like everyone else... its not so bad... these dwarvern souls... kind of harsh, but growing on me...

Oh...im on the floor... but i was just in my chair...

I think I will vomit while I am here.
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Life imitates art.

Jessel sat with a wizards spellbook in front of him. It meant nothing to him, odd sigles and squiggles, which made his eyes loose their focus. Looking at them sideways seemed to help. He sighed. Things were so much easier back in amn.

Every morning he knew what he was supposed to do that day, what would happen that day, and who everyone really was.

He placed a clean sheet of parchemtn next to the book then dipped the nib of his quill in a pot of ink, and drew a circle, in which he placed a small dot in the middle of.

The small dot was him, the circle was his life in amn. He knew his place there. He knew everything inside that small small circle, and nothing could get in from the outside...

He placed another sheet of parchment on the table, drawing a small dot in the centre of the paper. That was him in Baldurs gate. No protective circle now... he felt much smaller. But he wasn't alone here... was he... no, so many people. Jessel drew a handful of squiggles which circles his dot in seeming random fashion. Some closer than others.

He frowned at the parchment, which was becoming rather messy. There was something wrong with this picture... hmm, yes. Some of those squiggles needed teeth. Yes, that is more accarate. And some needed arms, holding knives behind there back... and some neeeded knives in their back... and some needed to be chasing, or biting others...

Jessel looked back and forth between the two now very different looking parchments. A huge contrast.

He really wasn't sure which one he liked better. Neither were particuarly nice places to live.

Why can't life just be easy?

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