A/N
Copyright stuff: Almost all of the characters in this story are mine, with the notable exceptions of Drizzt Do'Urden, Bruenor Battlehammer, Wulfgar son of Beorngar, Cattie-Brie, Regis, Artemis Entreri, and possibly a few other minor characters. Neither the land of Faerun nor the land of Krynn are mine, though some of the places in them mentioned are. All of the above mentioned characters and laces belong to R. A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. New copyright information will be posted here as it comes up in the story.
Other stuff: All forms of review are welcomed, including totally insane ramblings and harsh criticism. I will try to take all criticism into consideration, and I will post changes if I think the critic is right. The chapters will probably be posted rather slowly, since I am currently on a trip around the world and writing is not something I get a whole lot of time for, and I get even less for being on the 'net.
Pronunciation stuff: Suren (sEr-en) Razka (Raz-ka) Avense (ah-Ven-see) New pronunciations will be posted here as the characters are introduced to the story.
Story stuff: All of Suren's poems (as well as one or two of Razka's) that are referred to in the text of the story but not included in the text of the story can be or will eventually be able to be found in The Songs of Suren, of which only Part One is currently up. If you actually come back for the next chapters, check this space, as more 'important' information will be added here as it comes up. Enjoy!
Pen and Sword
By Thom
iIt all blurs in my mind. The flash of the giant's axe, Cattie-Brie's scream, Regis' small body cloven jaggedly in two. The scraping of my bonds as I strained to run to Cattie-Brie's aid, the wicked laughter of the mad merchant as the first arrow thudded into her shoulder, the look of leading, fear, and, perhaps, longing that she directed at me as the second and third bolts took her in the breast and face. Wulfgar's last raspy breath as he lay on the ceremonial deathbed, back in his homeland at last. The countless battles, the all-too-brief periods of rest in between. An image of a battle comes to my mind: an open field, a band of orcs. It is much the same as many other battles. But when, where, why? Regis is not there; Cattie-Brie is. That gives it a time frame. Bruenor still has his old helm. That puts it before Grakoran. The field is flat, no hills or trees, and frost covers the ground. I try to put together the place and the time. It could only be the Quest of the Second Mask, as Bruenor calls it. More than a century of battles fill my mind, and one is difficult to differentiate from the next.
Many times through the years I have decided to end my violent lifestyle, but evil, much like a small child, will not be still and I have always found myself chasing after it again. Now, however, the metaphor has become a reality, and goblin armies and evil wizards will have to wait, because Suren and Razka have strayed too near the cliff's edge once again.
As my memoirs reach the present day, some days, instead of writing, I have looked back at my earliest writings. Though the very first page was written less than four years ago, I notice a distinct difference in my style. When I began, Suren and Razka were but a telltale bulge around Avense's middle, and my exploits as adventurer were fresh in my mind. I wrote with vigor and feeling, describing all of my battles, internal as well as physical, in a passionate, vibrant way. After the second year, I find that this passion is much diminished, and y most recent writings are completely devoid of it. I think that I understand the reason: the children. Of course, there are other factors as well; time distanced me from the events of which I wrote, I wanted to escape from the pains accompanying my adventures, rather than bring them to mind again, and so I subtly shifted from autobiographer to historian, from colorful author to drab event-relater. But mainly I wanted to put that life behind me to make way for a new one. I wanted to raise the children in an environment devoid of evil and hate. The decision was subconscious, but looking back on my actions during that time period I can see a definite pattern.
It was about the time the children started speaking that the main changes took place: when they were about two years old. I removed my swords and other mementoes of battle from my study, and locked them in a large chest, which I put in a storage room, keeping out only Gwenhwyvar. I hid the key away in a box and haven't taken it out since. My reasoning at the time was that the space was too cluttered, but now I can see that the real reason was to keep these reminders of pain out of my children's lives. I filled my study with some remnants of Regis' scrimshandering, a few pieces of Bruenor's forgery, as well as that of a few other dwarves, some local Ten Towns artwork, and a few 'drawings' by the children. I ceased talking of old times with my friends in Ten Towns, keeping conversations on more benign topics such as the success or failure of the most recent fishing expeditions. As I mentioned earlier my writing style changed dramatically. On the pretense that I no longer needed to be cautious of anything, I stopped walking in the Drow heel-toe fashion. By the time the children were old enough to ask me questions, I had successfully eradicated every trace of my past life from my present one.
Though I sometimes remember my time as a wandering ranger fondly, even wish it back now and again, I feel that I have done the right thing. I see my weakening memory for battles as a good sign; I will leave their cataloguing to Bruenor. Suren and Razka have lived the first four years of their lives free from fear of monsters or magicians, and it is my deepest desire that they should continue in that manner for as long as possible. Though I think that living on the surface has shortened my lifespan somewhat from what it might have been were I still in Menzoberranzan, still I hope to see my children raising their own in as peaceful a way as I raised them.
-Drizzt Do'Urden /i
Copyright stuff: Almost all of the characters in this story are mine, with the notable exceptions of Drizzt Do'Urden, Bruenor Battlehammer, Wulfgar son of Beorngar, Cattie-Brie, Regis, Artemis Entreri, and possibly a few other minor characters. Neither the land of Faerun nor the land of Krynn are mine, though some of the places in them mentioned are. All of the above mentioned characters and laces belong to R. A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. New copyright information will be posted here as it comes up in the story.
Other stuff: All forms of review are welcomed, including totally insane ramblings and harsh criticism. I will try to take all criticism into consideration, and I will post changes if I think the critic is right. The chapters will probably be posted rather slowly, since I am currently on a trip around the world and writing is not something I get a whole lot of time for, and I get even less for being on the 'net.
Pronunciation stuff: Suren (sEr-en) Razka (Raz-ka) Avense (ah-Ven-see) New pronunciations will be posted here as the characters are introduced to the story.
Story stuff: All of Suren's poems (as well as one or two of Razka's) that are referred to in the text of the story but not included in the text of the story can be or will eventually be able to be found in The Songs of Suren, of which only Part One is currently up. If you actually come back for the next chapters, check this space, as more 'important' information will be added here as it comes up. Enjoy!
Pen and Sword
By Thom
iIt all blurs in my mind. The flash of the giant's axe, Cattie-Brie's scream, Regis' small body cloven jaggedly in two. The scraping of my bonds as I strained to run to Cattie-Brie's aid, the wicked laughter of the mad merchant as the first arrow thudded into her shoulder, the look of leading, fear, and, perhaps, longing that she directed at me as the second and third bolts took her in the breast and face. Wulfgar's last raspy breath as he lay on the ceremonial deathbed, back in his homeland at last. The countless battles, the all-too-brief periods of rest in between. An image of a battle comes to my mind: an open field, a band of orcs. It is much the same as many other battles. But when, where, why? Regis is not there; Cattie-Brie is. That gives it a time frame. Bruenor still has his old helm. That puts it before Grakoran. The field is flat, no hills or trees, and frost covers the ground. I try to put together the place and the time. It could only be the Quest of the Second Mask, as Bruenor calls it. More than a century of battles fill my mind, and one is difficult to differentiate from the next.
Many times through the years I have decided to end my violent lifestyle, but evil, much like a small child, will not be still and I have always found myself chasing after it again. Now, however, the metaphor has become a reality, and goblin armies and evil wizards will have to wait, because Suren and Razka have strayed too near the cliff's edge once again.
As my memoirs reach the present day, some days, instead of writing, I have looked back at my earliest writings. Though the very first page was written less than four years ago, I notice a distinct difference in my style. When I began, Suren and Razka were but a telltale bulge around Avense's middle, and my exploits as adventurer were fresh in my mind. I wrote with vigor and feeling, describing all of my battles, internal as well as physical, in a passionate, vibrant way. After the second year, I find that this passion is much diminished, and y most recent writings are completely devoid of it. I think that I understand the reason: the children. Of course, there are other factors as well; time distanced me from the events of which I wrote, I wanted to escape from the pains accompanying my adventures, rather than bring them to mind again, and so I subtly shifted from autobiographer to historian, from colorful author to drab event-relater. But mainly I wanted to put that life behind me to make way for a new one. I wanted to raise the children in an environment devoid of evil and hate. The decision was subconscious, but looking back on my actions during that time period I can see a definite pattern.
It was about the time the children started speaking that the main changes took place: when they were about two years old. I removed my swords and other mementoes of battle from my study, and locked them in a large chest, which I put in a storage room, keeping out only Gwenhwyvar. I hid the key away in a box and haven't taken it out since. My reasoning at the time was that the space was too cluttered, but now I can see that the real reason was to keep these reminders of pain out of my children's lives. I filled my study with some remnants of Regis' scrimshandering, a few pieces of Bruenor's forgery, as well as that of a few other dwarves, some local Ten Towns artwork, and a few 'drawings' by the children. I ceased talking of old times with my friends in Ten Towns, keeping conversations on more benign topics such as the success or failure of the most recent fishing expeditions. As I mentioned earlier my writing style changed dramatically. On the pretense that I no longer needed to be cautious of anything, I stopped walking in the Drow heel-toe fashion. By the time the children were old enough to ask me questions, I had successfully eradicated every trace of my past life from my present one.
Though I sometimes remember my time as a wandering ranger fondly, even wish it back now and again, I feel that I have done the right thing. I see my weakening memory for battles as a good sign; I will leave their cataloguing to Bruenor. Suren and Razka have lived the first four years of their lives free from fear of monsters or magicians, and it is my deepest desire that they should continue in that manner for as long as possible. Though I think that living on the surface has shortened my lifespan somewhat from what it might have been were I still in Menzoberranzan, still I hope to see my children raising their own in as peaceful a way as I raised them.
-Drizzt Do'Urden /i