Role

Chapter 2

Two hundred and thirty years I have travelled Thera. Fifty
was down in the Dark. Those days I remember easily, almost like it happened but
a minute ago. For some time, I have tried keeping my past and history
and with that, the pain, inside me locked up tight. This all came to pass
as the Battle Immortal Sabiene broke my pschye with her goddess powers of healing
and recuperation. As I sat on the mountain of mist, the shrine of the Kara Chal,
I felt myself and the rage inside of me untangling and unreleasing. It was an
interesting feeling, to say the least. As she brought back the memories of
the Dark, I felt the rage inside of me swell and buldge, as if it was trying
to escape and be released. My vision became clouded, as I felt myself
re-living the times back in the Dark...

Times were tough. Our house, a building half comprised of the caves
around us and an amount of Kobold droppings that will go unnamed, was not a place
where one would find refuge. When my "Father" was home, his friends would
come in and destroy our house in a drunken rampage. I remember sitting on the
concrete floor, nearly drowning in my own feces, seeing my Mother killed in front of
me because my "Father" was not pleased with her. I wasn't really pleased with her, either.
Duergar women are not something the world likes to talk about, simply because they
are not women-like in any way. My Mother killed nearly as many people as my Father. Though
her favourite weapon was a gigantic metallic pan she found on one of her brave trips to
the surface, she still revelled in robbing and murdering our neighbours with my Father. No,
the Dark is not like the surface whatsoever. If you found yourself a shiny item, say... a shirt
of chainmail, if your "neighbours" wanted it, they would burst in to your house and take
it - regardless of the occupants willingness to fight. If you got in their way and they had
bigger weapons (or muscles), you either let them do it and hope they don't kill you, or they
would kill you do and do it anyways.

As I grew up, my Father became less and less in my life, where my weapons became more and more. I
killed my very first Kobold when I was the human age of fifty. As I sliced his arm off with
a lopsided, uneven Drow sword, his arm dropped a massive cudgel. As I ran him through, I picked
up the cudgel and inspected it, wondering why such a dumb creature would hold such a magnificant
weapon. I returned back to my dwelling to find it ransacked once again. Without my Mother around,
there was no one to stop the bastards from stealing all our poesessions. Knowing my Father, he
probably did it himself. I sat on the stone floor, inspecting the cudgel for hours. As I was
about to drift off asleep, my Father came bursting in on one of his very predictable but still
menancing drunken rampages. With his trademark massive boots, he kick the door completely down
and stalked in, looking for something to take or someone to fight. He gazed upon me, not seeing
a Son of his, but an enemy. He yelled at me "Eh yer stupid fark! Where yer git the Little spoon from!?"
and burst out laughing, almost falling over in the process. Being still young by Duergar's age, I
simply sat and looked at him uneasily - not knowing what would come from this. He gathered himself
up and began lumbering towards me, boots clanking against the cold stone ground. I looked up
in to his pale eyes and saw, for the first time in my