124 - “How Did I Get Here?” - Korr - A Tale of Heroes

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“Where are you leading me this morning, Parith?” Korr shifted the strap of his leather and cloth satchel over his shoulder so he could pull his shirt more tightly around him. A cool breeze chilled him. The sky was a dark grey overcast and it would probably rain soon. For now, his sandals shuffled on the dusty streets of the Twynne Rivers OuterWall. Even with the chill and the clouds, there were still lots of people on the streets and Korr struggled to keep up with Parith’s quick-footed pace.

“We didn't have much luck in the pubs yesterday,” Parith explained over his shoulder, “and they wouldn't let us in Centre Town to see the library, so I thought we'd try an adventurer's guild. One of the innkeepers yesterday told us about this one, remember? The Guild of the Drunken Sword. Apparently they take their payments in ale as well as cash. Maybe they’ll know how to find someone.”

In spite of his own skepticism, Korr followed. They turned from the wide and busy street onto a much smaller side road. The heavy cloud cover and the closeness of the shops and homes made it much darker than it should be on a summer morning, nearing noon.

Parith held his elbows tight against his side, but his thin, loose shirt did little against the wind. It swirled up dust and debris left in the alleyway as it blew past them.

“So,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in, “Heathrax, Heathrax, Heathr--how did you manage to get this quest, anyway? Did your master just walk up to you with a note and tell you to take it to him?”

The road turned and snaked between buildings and structures, some of which were little more than scrap planks of wood tethered together to make a sort of shanty. Others were more solidly-built houses of wooden beams and stucco, but few were more than one level. Dusty children shouted and ran between the passers-by. Chickens clucked and scratched as if the neighborhood were their dinner plate.

As he walked, Korr responded, “At the Academy, we study the fighting arts and work to become more connected to our world and our lives. We are striving to master our souls and our bodies. Once we achieve a certain level of progress, we must complete a Challenge before we continue. Each disciple must choose a task, a difficult quest, and then must leave the safety of the academy home to accomplish it. The ones that succeed and return can continue their studies.”

“Some don’t return?”

“Some find it too difficult, give up, and then choose to go their own way. A few don’t survive.”

Parith stepped over a small barrel in his path. “So, what, you just raised your hand and said, ‘Hey, I'll take the one with the least instructions’, right?”

Korr sighed as they walked. How long do I have to endure this irreverence? “While my fellow disciples were choosing their Challenges and planning their journeys, I contemplated all that my master had done for me and how he had changed my life.”

Parith stopped and looked at Korr, as if sensing something important was coming.

“So, rather than choosing my own task, I asked him if there were something he wanted to have done, some service I could do for him. I remember he smiled at me with a bit of surprise. Then he thought a moment and asked me to deliver a greeting to an old friend.”

Korr narrowed his eyes as a smile danced across Parith's face. “That's it?” Parith asked, stifling a laugh. “Nothing like--Oh, I don't know--killing some horrendous beast or finding a lost gem of power? No princesses to rescue or oppressors to topple...?”

Korr straightened and took in a breath. “I consider it an honor that he would send me on a personal mission so meaningful.”

They walked on. “But your master didn't tell you how to find him.”

Korr was thoughtful as they turned another corner. “Actually, I asked my master about that.” Korr paused when Parith looked around and stopped, a mild look of surprise on his smile. “I asked him why he couldn't simply take a rest from teaching to visit his friend. I said it might be more joyful for him to see his friend side by side. Or, maybe he could be contacted by the power of an oculus.”

Parith shook his head to get his hair out of his eyes. “And?”

“And what?”

Parith nudged Korr's arm. “What did he say?”

“He said that if he did that then it wouldn't be a challenging task for me.”

Parith couldn't help but let go of all the laughter he’d been holding in. Korr scowled. “You mock me- and my master!”

“Yes, I do, friend!” he said, then urged, “Oh, relax! The more I know you, the more you fascinate me! It may well be to my doom, but, hey, I’ll follow you on your adventure. I guess I can help you earn a mission badge for your shirt.”

Parith stepped toward the door of the pub where they had been standing.

Korr followed, “Actually, it’ll be a tattoo.”

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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123 - “Learning Art, Learning Life” - Korr - A Tale of Heroes

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A damp and almost cold wind rushed through the open spaces in the bell tower, blowing across Korr and his blanket. Korr was used to being uncomfortable. His height, and his gangly and clumsy frame, had always made it difficult to fit into places, like beds, doorways, and bell towers.

In the dormitory of the academy where he had grown up, there had been more room than this, but the reedy and spindly mattresses were still never quite long enough for his legs or his head. The fact that he had been crowded into a room with a half dozen other disciples did not make it any more livable.

Korr had struggled to learn the motions and forms of the art. Where other, even younger students advanced much more quickly, his body didn’t respond as naturally to the quickness and delicate motions it required. He remembered extra hours of practice in the stone-floored courtyard, sparring with other disciples. They had been patient with him, but he never got close to their skill level. Many times, he ended up with his back painfully flat on the hard stones, staring up to the clouds in the sky. Sometimes, when they would practice after evening meals and meditations, he would end up looking at the stars like he did now. In any case, he always seemed to be on the losing end of the throw.

The others were quick to laugh at his position, but also quick to give him a hand up to try again. The master said that even if he wasn’t learning to fight, he was learning how to live.

When he had begun growing into a young man, after thirteen or fourteen winters, the master and a few of the older disciples had talked to him. It was a night he remembered well. They had been in the meditation hall, one dark winter evening. The large open space was lit by a central fire in a large pit, and dozens of candles glowing around the perimeter of the room. All of the disciples had ended their meditations and stood to leave. Korr had remained, eyes closed, head bowed, with his face to the fire, struggling to clear his troubles from his mind.

He heard the brushing of robes and opened his eyes to see three of the older, most skilled students sitting near him, bowing their heads. They all wore their daily white meditation robes, and they glowed with a bit of yellow gold in the candle light.

Korr glanced from one face to another in the quiet dim. The smell of smoke and candle wax filled the hall. He wondered why they were here. I must be in some kind of trouble.

In a moment, the master stepped into his view, also in white. He was an old man, with very long and thin white hair, and a long beard. Korr had seen him on the sparring floor, however, and knew of his prowess. His seemingly frail arms moved without effort, and the disciples he opposed twisted and tossed around him as he breezed between them, leaving them all flat on the floor. Korr knew he would never be at the master’s level.

The master clapped twice, quickly, and all of the disciples there looked to him at the signal.

“Maan Korr is your brother. He is diligent and his effort is constant and true.” The master said. Korr didn’t smile, even with the compliment, because he sensed there was more coming. “But he struggles to learn the forms and the movements of the art. Even some of the simpler motions are beyond his grasp.”

Korr’s dropped his head. He knew what was coming. He was not keeping up. He would be sent away. The silence in the room, sparked only by the crackling of the fire, hung heavy on his shoulders.

“What are his weaknesses?” the master asked.

The others hesitated, unsure. Finally, one of them spoke. “He is not so nimble.”

“His movements aren’t quick enough.”

“He tries, but he doesn’t execute properly.”

“He struggles to keep his balance.”

Then it was quiet. Korr bowed his head low to the floor, partly to show deference, and partly to hide himself.

The master continued, “And what are his strengths?”

This question surprised Korr at first. Even though, in practice, the master always showed the things the disciples did right and wrong, he had not expected this.

“His arms and legs are strong.”

“That’s true! When he does land a hit, you know you’ve been hit!” A ripple of laughter went through them. Korr raised his head, confused. The others were looking at him, smiling. He wondered if they were mocking him, but they didn’t seem to be. The master stepped in front of him and got down on his knees.

He said, “So, what can be done? What has to change?”

Korr looked around in wonder. What was going on? What would happen to him?

One of the other disciples raised her finger and suggested, “We could practice with him more.”

Another said, “We could help him with his forms!” Others nodded.

The old master shook his head. “He already practices more than anyone else. That hasn’t helped.”

Once again, the hall fell silent. Korr felt a cold wind blow down from the smoke vent in the ceiling. He wanted to pull his robes more tightly around him, but he didn't dare move.

A motion from his right. Another disciple raised a finger with hesitation, but didn’t speak.

The master noticed and nodded to him. The boy cleared his throat and finally bowed his head. “Master, you have taught us that we should find the weakness of our opponents, right? That we should shape the art of the fight to those weaknesses, right?” The master nodded and the student continued, “What if we were to shape the art to Korr’s strengths?”

The master stood and clapped his hands twice again. Korr looked up as the master smiled and nodded. Korr suddenly saw that this is where the master had wanted the discussion to go all along. He looked at his fellow disciples in wonder and disbelief.

“This will be a difficult task. You will be creating a new art, a new style. You four will begin in the morning. You will work with strength and stability instead of quickness and balance. You will all learn much in the process.” He stepped away, his robes flowing, and glanced back at Korr with a nod.

Korr had immediately bowed low, this time with deep gratitude and relief. His eyes had dripped tears onto the wooden floor as his friends patted his shoulders and left.

Korr lay back on the wooden floor of the bell tower, with his fingers laced behind his head. He breathed deep, staring out of the window spaces and savoring the chilly breeze blowing through them.

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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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122 - “Another Part of the Plan” - Tonklyn - A Tale of Heroes

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The inn was one of the finest in the CenterTowne quarter of Twynne Rivers. It had cost Tonklyn a couple of gold pieces to the house master just to be considered for a room. But this was no Outer Wall corner pub, either. This was a tall stone structure with fine rugs on the floors and delicate sheets on the thick, padded mattresses. Heavy velvet curtains hung from the posts of the bed. An ornate table with a set of fine porcelain basin, pitcher, and cups, as well as thick, soft washcloths. All sat at the ready, waiting for him to wash before sleeping.

He wore a loose, light night robe that flowed as he stepped across the room. He picked up a wine  glass that he had poured a few minutes ago and walked through a doorway to the left of the table. He stepped out onto a narrow stone balcony overlooking the city.

A chilling breeze blew past him, rustling his night robe and his hair. There air was cooler than it had been, and carried a hint of dampness. That will bring clouds, and maybe rain tomorrow. I hope it lingers.

He had spent a lot of his time on this journey remembering his recent changes of fortune, going from simple scholar boy to the Chancellor of the future Dragon King. His time with his new master had been both exciting and terrifying. If the old scholars and high priests that he had slaved for only knew what was to hit them... In only a few days. Then, soon enough, this entire kingdom will shake to its knees. 

The shadows on the balcony behind him hissed and billowed, sending an unnatural chill past him. He had known his master would contact him. That's the only reason why he wasn't already in bed and asleep. It had been a long day.

“Tell me,” the dragon's voice whispered through the shadows, “of the meeting. Is the attack in place? Is everyone ready?”

 Tonklyn's lips turned a bit in a subtle smile. He's like a child hoping that acrobats will come to the festival. 

“Yes. All is ready. Drakes and mages are gathering as we speak. Though our brothers in the Church are not so confident.” He didn't even try to hide his sarcastic disdain.

“They can't back out!” The shadows rippled with anger.

“Clearly not. At this point, events will proceed, regardless.” Tonklyn hoped that would stay off his master’s wrath, but it only seemed to anger him more.

“The Bishops might betray us. We must strike swiftly!” Rage was building in the dragon's voice. Tonklyn tensed.

Find your calm. Breathe deep. Ease your fear. He thought of his reminiscing through the past few days and focused on Kirraxal's voice. The dragon had learned to speak common much more clearly than he had when they first met. Thinking about this detail allowed him to keep his own emotions in check.

“They won't betray us, I think. That would reveal their own involvement.” He took a deep calming breath. “Truly, I feel confident that all will go well.” After a moment, Tonklyn continued, “Although I agree that it's a good idea to quicken the attack by a day. That opportunity will catch the Church by surprise and allow us to sow more chaos.”

Kirraxal didn't respond immediately and Tonklyn sensed a calming coming through the darkness. “That will serve me well,” the shadows finally said, then added, “did you discover the cathedral archives?”

Tonklyn’s shoulders tensed again and he took in a sharp breath. He felt that same wave of fear every time he had to tell his master anything bad. It wasn’t easy, but he had learned to walk the delicate balance between frankness and equivocation. This time, he chose the former. “No, sire, not yet. They have an extensive library near the main hall, but--”

“Let that be your primary task then! There is a good chance that the dagger and the scrolls we seek will be found there. If you can find it, the chaos of the attack will give you an excellent opportunity to plunder it.”

Tonklyn exhaled. “Yes, sire. It will be done!” He hoped that his voice sounded convincing. Or do I need to convince myself?

The shadows warped and twisted one last time, and the voice hissed out, “Good. Do not fail me, human.”

“No, sire. I will not!” Tonklyn said as the normal darkness of the night returned. “I will not,” he repeated, alone once again.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Start the whole story from the beginning. Start from where this current story arc begins. Start from where the current story part begins