Ok, Yeah. This is one of my first works... Also one of my best in my opinion. I'm a little nervous about posting this, but I hope you all enjoy it.
This is the events of the entirety of the campaign that my friends and I have done and dusted. It is all from the point of veiw of my character. The prologue shall be 3rd person, everything else from 1st person, the rememberings of my character a couple years after the whole incidend. And this being my friends and I, things tended to get rather hectic.
I have only got round to writing out the first few chapters of this... and I am not entirely confident of my writing talents. but if i get a few good confidence boosters then I should be able to pull myself together from the sorry state of my mind and get off my lazy arse and do something about that.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own dungeons and dragons. I do not own this campaign, my friend does. I only own the character Shreik and his views. If I owned the other things I wouldn't be writing this.
The Rift-Keeper.
Prologue:
DEAMON-COW!
(A.k.a.: How It Formed)
Shreik sighed. His new life was just settling, and then this had to happen. Of course he had always longed for adventure, like most adolescents, but then again- he wasn't like most adolescents.
Shreik Worm-Tail WAS the son of the shaman of his tribe. He had lived in that tribe for the first 12 years of his life, during which he learned the secrets of the soul energies of magical beasts, the body language of the wild, even the tongue of angels had been revealed to him. But in this "civilised" world, the strange markings on stuff always foiled him. It was a source of constant frustration, and to add salt to the wound, everyone knew it but him, and almost everyone patronised him for it.
He dressed in his black and white studded-leather, a gift from his tribe, and he hooked his weapon of choice onto his belt, his palm lingering on the wooden shaft. The damn thing had taken years to learn to use.
It was similar to a short spear, about 4 feet long, with the last six inches incorporating the blade, its main difference from this weapon and a spear. The aptly named "Ripper" has a serrated edge, its curved spikes raking towards the wielder, with its tip a fine point.
Just as he got to the door, he placed his final piece of attire-his dark red glasses that extend to cover all angles of his vision-over his eyes, concealing one of a few things that give away his true heritage.
Shreik was a member of an incredibly rare sub-race of humans, the Azurian. Having dramatically stronger souls than most others, this manifested in odd ways. Their aging processes increased dramatically, cutting their life span. Their eyes usually glowed a shade of blue, completely encompassing their iris and whites. Shreik, however, was different in such regards as well. 'Ever the misfit'. During battle, or intense negative emotions, his eyes seemed to drain the light from around them, burning an intense black. 'Ever the misfit, so whys it strange that I should group up with more misfits?'
Even his hair, a spiky, medium length wild collection of bangs, was a misfit, with dark blue, almost black tints running along its black medium.
He exited his bedroom, meeting his companions in the living room. The two rather attractive women sat stiffly in the seats. Lady Maeia, the knight without a master, and Mell Liadon, the paladin without a purpose.
'Heh, even in a group of misfits I'm a misfit… one could say that I'm the only normal one, but it'd be a lie.' It was true. He was the only male in the group, and the closest things to a spell-caster in the group that he might as well shed his armour and throw a fireball.
Maeia was a tall woman, reaching a height of five foot eight, but still shorter than Shreik by four inches. She had long, waist-length black hair that kept tidily but delicately behind her shoulders. She had blue eyes, that shade of blue the reminds most of a cloudless sky on a serene day. She had an athletic build, obvious even through her armour, with a slim waist and an hourglass figure; she was considerably more attractive than almost everyone in this village.
The paladin was similarly beautiful, but in a slightly more exotic way. She had jet-black hair that matched her dark skin, tied in a ponytail that extended just below her neck, and a rigorous routine of exercise gave her muscles that rippled with her movement. Her dark green eyes seemed to reflect the fiery passion in her soul, convicting evils unquestionably.
Paladins and knights. Thought Shreik. Two very similar professions if you ask me. Paladins pursue 'evil' with 'just' convictions for 'good' gods… like crusaders really. At least knights serve something substantial; they're sire, rather than the gospel of clerics.
Through silent agreement the party left the house, seeking mercenary work.
Almost as if it was a sick mockery of fate, there was a scream for help from a nearby barn.
Surprisingly, the paladin seemed to care less about this happening, and just stood still as Shreik and Maeia started for it.
Shreik stopped as Maeia confronted the paladin.
"What are you doing?" Maeia shouted at the paladin.
"Waiting around." Mel replied.
"WAITING AROUND? There's an innocent screaming for help over there - you of all people should want to help, let alone the Tree-hugger!"
"I'm not a druid!" Shreik interrupted bitterly.
"The point is that SHE should help!" Maeia whacked Mel's armoured arm before dragging her in the direction of the barn, Shreik following hastily.
As they arrived at the barn, the party set their eyes upon a farmer trying to help a cow through birth, but it seemed a problem considering the size of the cow's womb was twice that of its body.
Shreik, the only one with any experience, led a futile attempt to help the birthing. Just as they thought they were getting somewhere, there was a tearing sound, a loud moo, and then the cow exploded, a red mist forming around the room, coating Shreik and the farmer in blood.
As the cloud dissipated, a large cow-like creature stands in the middle of it, its two cloven feet, claw like hands and glowing red eyes a sure sign of its demonic heritage.
The farmer sighed in frustration and charged the cow-demon with all his might, a pitchfork in hand, and stabbed the cow. Shreik, following suit, runs his ripper through the cow, twisting it as he drew it out, tearing the organs on its way. The cow grunted, but before it can even rally itself, Maeia slashed her blade with practiced finesse, hacking off its arm. The cow screamed, and in a last act of rage charged at the farmer. It missed, falling head first onto the ground and driving its knee into its brain, killing it.
Shreik dropped out of his defensive stance, and took a few steps back.
"The... The cow just EXPLODED!"
The farmer moved over to Shreik. "Yeah, but we just killed a demon-cow!"
"THE COW EXPLODED!"
At this point Maeia slapped Shreik, bringing him to his senses. "SHUT UP!"
"…Okay…"
Mell quickly turned to the farmer. "When was the last time this happened? I don't recall cows giving birth to demons being common."
The farmer thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Well… This last happened when the last Rift-Keeper just started off… let me deal with the corpse, you should bring this news to the wizard."
The party gave a collective nod and started off. Shreik sighed, 'Oh well… off on another dangerous adventure…'