Eck Nestless the Dai Sensei of the Miyama Ryu

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 13

Eck's head swam. He hunched in his hut, wings drawn around him, handling
the small feather The Drillmaster had plucked and handed to him. It was
the only token of the meeting and the only reminder that what had
happened was, indeed, real.

A Drow Weapons-Master had appeared outside The Village. He seemed well
known to Flaaayin and Eck had been drawn into the conversation, which
revolved around the long-standing prophecy which had tested The Village
for nearly a generation.

Eck had, of course, prodded The Warders for information about the
prophecy, especially since learning of the part a Spider would play, but
received only tight lips and non-committal comments. He had learned a
little more from lurking in the shadows, always eager for the mention of
an arachnid, but remained largely unwise to the larger picture.

But the Warders had passed and this Drow seemed to think that perhaps
Eck's spider was the beastie fortold of in the prophecy. If that were the
case old Eck would have to do the unthinkable. He would have to strike
down The Commander.

The mere thought caused the Spider to scurry maddeningly. It seemed
excited at the mere thought of Village blood spilled. Eck was remined of
the dreams, so long ago, of Grimnel on the pyre. Perhaps that was more
prophecy, correct but for which Dwarf.

Flaaayin seemed nonplussed by the Drow's words. He claimed The
Frosthammer's grip on The Village was slipping. Eck was forced to agree.
Again, he knew he'd follow the Dwarf to the ends of Thera, but had no
faith that his Commander could lead him back again. Those were plans he'd
have to make himself. Perhaps it was the lack of foresight which would be
the Commander's undoing. If it was, as Flaaayin claimed, for the
betterment of The Village Eck would be happy to have it come at his hand.

And his spider? Well his spider seemed positively joyful at the notion.

Role

Chapter 12

I'm not the oldest Villager, but I've been here the longest. Perhaps
Yrork has been here longer than me. I don't know and my memory grows
fuzzy. It's the work of that spider in there, I'm sure of it.

I fear for this Village. The young ones are naive and seem to not learn
from their mistakes. It is said among Arials that if you go cracking eggs
looking for gold you'll be forever disappointed. I'm not sure how that
relates, but I'm sure it does. I've see the lads do the same thing again
and again, expecting a different result each time. Are they forever
disappointed? Or am I?

The Commander has been burdened greatly by his ascention at such a young
age. Was it too much? I don't suppose we shall ever know, but at times
his zeal outweighs his wisdom. That much is for sure. I'd follow
Frosthammer to the depths of The Inferno or to the edges of Thera itself,
but I'd make certain to have a plan of escape. I'm not sure he considers
such things.

Perhaps he is emblematic of The Village, for there is no exit-strategy.
What shall we do if we seal up the veil and kill Twist? We haven't
thought about that. We certainly haven't thought about what we shall do
if we come close, so close, and realize it is impossible. What strategy
then? To go on railing fruitlessly forever? Forever?

I think it is possible to seal up that damned crack, but I accept the
possibility that it may be beyond the scope of our talents. Who is to
say, though. If it is sealed it will happen long after I have worn the
chains.

Perhaps all the years alone in the dark have given me too much time to
think. I'm no intellectual, but I suspect I've spent more time with my
thoughts than most of the hut-men. They have blood and beer. I look deep
into the past and far into the future. Have I become too maudlin in my
old age?

I love Allysia. That much is clear to me, even if not to her. In my
greatest enemy I have found my most kindred spirit and I suspect that she
spends as much time wondering if her goals are ever to be within reach as
I do. The Balance? A futile task if I've ever heard of one. To spend your
life running about trying to keep balls spinning upon sticks. Never
resting, always running.

It makes me consider my own task, which is more like pounding constantly
on a wall of iron with your only your fists. Futile? Perhaps I see that I
have made a dent. Perhaps I am as foolish as her. Pehaps that
is why I am drawn to her.

Perhaps it is not so odd, to love your enemy. Perhaps there are no others
who are so like ourselves.

Whine more, bird, and cry longer. The spider goads me into dwelling
instead of acting. At least I hope it is the spider.

Role

Chapter 11

The following appeared in the Arial City Daily Screech, a multipage
leaflet that is popular among the inhabitants of the city in the clouds,
but largely unknown elsewhere as it is published in Avian.

Q:...here with Eck Nestless, formerly of the First Arial City Underdark
Expeditionary Force, but now a Scout for the Barbarian Village of
Battleragers. I'll start by letting you know, Eck, odd name there, one of
the old numbers, is it not?

A: Yes. It certainly is. Eck is Olde Arial for the numeral 'five.' You'll
find, I'm afraid, that many of the Nestless are named as such, the
denominations given by the egg-tenders who care for them before they
hatch. Easier to keep track of if you go by numbers. Ach, Zet, Rah, Tatz,
Eck, and so on.

Q: Fascinating. I wanted to say thank you for meeting with us. It's
awfully hard to pin down members of The village for an interview. You'll
notice that I'm using just regular old ink, none of
that other kind. But as I was saying, it's hard to get you Villagers to
talk, and when you do, it's usually nothing printable, the foulest talk
you could imagine, but you've been nothing but unfailingly polite. Hardly
barbaric at all. Why is that?

A: Oh, certainly that is a remnant of my upbringing. We were taught, of
course, the best of manners. It was the least they felt they could do
for us, as most of us would not turn out to much, I'm afraid. Either the
army or the streets, and in either case a bit of manners could only help.
It was their way of giving us a wing up, if you will, the least they
could do.

Q: So, manners aside, I notice quite an assortment of blades hanging
there. Might I ask which....

Role

Chapter 10

Eck looked down at the dead Blade. The buzzing in his head was deafening.
After being denied for so long and shriveling at each mage struck down
the spider's lust for blood had finally been fulfilled again.

The hated buzzing threatened his sanity, but it felt so good. So right.

Eck stroked his beak as his mind danced. They were his sworn enemies.
They would kill him given the slightest chance, but killing them
delighted the damn spider. Oh, it would be so easy to give into the
beastie's wants, to strike anyone, kill anyone. The buzzing grew louder
at the thought.

No. Eck focused his concentration. The spider would be denied. He would
continue his work of weakening the bugger. He could feel it die a little
each time the magic grew dimmer in the world. But if a Blade
happened to get in the way....

Role

Chapter 9

An Arial? stands in the middle of The Village. All the torches have gone
out. The only light comes from haphazard fires. The Shrine glistens.
Blood. The Destructor lays crumpled over the healer.

The trapdoor under the shrine opens. Ruby red light spills out from
beneath, illuminating the standing figure. Eck. His beak smashed to
pieces. He calmly uses the tooth of a lion to saw off his wings.

A spider-web.

Daytime. The Village restored to normal. Eck laughs with Grime. The air
is thick with meat-smoke. Grime grabs tongs and turns to the
roasting-pit. Upon the charcoal is Grimnel's corpse, beard burned off,
cooking slowly. Grime turns toward Eck and uses the tongs to pluck his
own eyes out.

A ruby-red apple.

Guttering fires. The Village in night again. A man-sized creature
skitters across the ground. No beak, no wings. It is Eck, with too many
legs. He (It) moves toward the center of Hut of Rememberance, which now
contains a giant web. Bloody cocoons stuggle amid the strands.

Eck wakes.

Struggling for breath, a deep buzzing in his head, Eck strikes a spark
and ignites the oil lamp. A spider web covers the ceiling of his hut. His
hands hurt.

Role

Chapter 8

The Minotaur fumed and stomped about, occasionally pausing to bellow his
own name. Eck wondered if the poor beast were touched in the head. After
some time the monster put his arm around Eck's shoulders and escorted him
past the Massive Giant.

With that single step across the threshold of the village, Eck Nestless,
long storm-tossed and lost became a soldier again. It felt good.

He did not build a hut from scratch, but rather found a shabby one in
need of some repair. From the feathers and bandages scattered about he
assumed it had once belonged to an Arial Defender. He set to cleaning the
simple space.

Eventually he fell asleep.


Terrible Dreams.

Role

Chapter 7

After that it was just a blur. Flashes of memory. Their smiles at his
return, the shocked looks on their faces, the blood. Following the sound
of skittering in his skull to daylight.

After that there were more dark deeds. A bed, bloodstains on the walls,
the sound of a human child cut short. Other things, even worse, but
always ensconced in that ruby glow.

After that, a gnome, resting at his altar. Shaking him awake, tripping
him, cutting him, the spider's skittering quieted for a moment. What was
that?

After that, things taken, fed to the Noldarian's forge, again, the spider
quieted each time the veil thickened a hair. Perhaps we were on to
something.

The Smith spoke, a pledge was made, the spider quieted further.

Role

Chapter 6

The oblivion of sleep. Then the oblivion of wakefulness. With no light
and the embrace of stale air, there was little to differentiate between
the two. then Eck turned his head slightly and saw the door.

What he actually saw was light around the edge of the door, a ruby glow
framing a rectangle. More red light spilled out through what was,
unmistakably, a keyhole. He crawled toward it.

And it retreated into the darkness.

It was like a mirage in the desert, always seeming to be some lengths
ahead of him, yet he could not reach it. He cursed this place, shutting
his eyes and feeling the blood rush to his face. This was no place for an
arial. He belonged in the open air. This was shit.

When he opened his eyes it was right in front of him. He stood and
reached for where the knob would be, just above the keyhole's light. In
an instant the frame of the door shrunk, the light changing shape, until
it formed a key which hung in the air in front of him. A glowing, ruby
key.

As Eck reached for it, its aspect changed. It became, in an instant, a
ruby spider. He drew his hand back and gasped, his own exhalation
startling him in the quiet. The spider danced, spinning an invisible web.
He stepped back.

The spider collapsed and became an apple, glowing with the same ruby
light. Eck stepped forward and reached for it.

Role

Chapter 5

The mission was an abject failure from the first moments. A detachment of
twelve was reduced to ten by the time they had all reached the end of the
deployment rope. Two recruits were simply unaccounted for. Perhaps they
had gone AWOL, but a slick of blood at the bottom of the rope indicated
otherwise. Shit.

The first day felt like a month. The Captain and Seargant argued in
hushed tones and it quickly became clear that they detachment was lost.
Fearing mutiny, a vote was taken and the decision was made to attempt a
return to the surface. Backtracking proved fruitless. The map that had
been made simply did not reflect the reality of the terrain. Being simply
"lost" became "hopelessly lost and hunted by chittering monsters in the
dark" very quickly. Ten became seven by the end of the first day.

They awoke the next morning to find that the youngest member of the team
had used the tongue-swallowing technique to escape. Six.

Three days later the Captain ran shrieking into the darkness. Five.

A week after that they entered a massive chamber and risked a flight to
the top. Whether they were bats or bugs or whatever up there, they drank
the blood of two more. Four.

Four. They were not the toughest, simply the luckiest, but their luck
persisted. They survived two months down there, creeping, searching for
the currents that would lead them to the Overworld, all thoughts of maps
and runes forgotten. It was while they were sleeping that Eck saw the
door.

Role

Chapter 4

It quickly became clear that the "training" was either a joke or a plan
to get the detachment killed. The nuances of survival in a cavern
environment were glossed over. Tactics for fighting Drow and Duergar,
Cavefishers and Displacer Beasts were barely mentioned.

Most of the training was memorizing runes, instructions on how to make
maps, and a relentless pounding into their skulls that at least one of
them must remain alive and return with the information. Even a Nestless
one could tell that they were being sent off to die. Still he did his
best to learn what he could.

He learned how to eliminate scat in a smooth walled cavern, so as to
leave no trace. (Take it with you.) He learned what to do in the event of
a Fisher attack. (Run like hell.) He learned what to do if facing a Drow
torturer. (Try to swallow your tongue.) He memorized runes that looked
like squids, runes that looked like eyes, runes that looked like spiders,
runes that looked like nothing more than scratches.

Maps, maps, maps. How to determine depth by dropping a pebble down a hole
and listening for it to hit bottom. (Also, you must never drop anything
down a hole, lest you alert the whole of the Underdark to your presence.)
How to determine which of a pair of forking tunnels leads to the surface
and which leads deeper by feeling for the faintest of air currents on
your wide-open eyeball. (Also, how Duergar will build fires to change the
currents and lead the unexpecting deep, deep to their doom.) How to gauge
the rate of decline by the speed at which a rivulet of water descends.
(Thin spots in the veil can make water flow more slowly, quickly, or even
uphill in the Underdark.)

Shit.

Role

Chapter 3

Private Eck the Nestless gazed at the arials around him. He was used to
being the shortest in the room. Along with his slightly bent beak his
height identified him as one of The Nestless, but so what? He had heard
that Cwaw Bloodbadge, Captain of the Palace Guard had been Cwaw Nestless
and that his limp had been with him since he hatched, not since the Troll
Wars. Eck felt that anything was possible.

He was used to being the shortest in the room, which is why he was
surprised to be with nine others, eight of whom were only slightly taller
than him, and one of which was fractionally smaller. They all came to
attention when the huge, black-feathered Major entered the room.

"Were they brave?" the Major asked. With one voice they assured him they
were. He seemed pleased. He informed them that they were all to be
promoted and placed as a detatchment of the Arial City Underdark
Expeditionary Force. Fear washed over Eck.

"Shit. Shit!" he thought as the corporal's badge was handed to him,
"Shit." It was well known among the troops that the whole Underdark thing
was pretty much suicide. Only twenty percent of those chosen for the
Expiditionary Force returned, and many of those that did spent a few
short years drinking themselves to death in the seedier pubs, recounting
stories of Cavefishers, Drow, and a suffocating darkness. "Shit."

Their training was to start the following day.

Role

Chapter 2

p. 2072

The Nestless that do survive are raised in this Rookery, where they will
live until they come of age. At this point there are largely two paths
open to them. Most of the able-bodied will join the Arial military, as
the education afforded them by the healers does not provide them with
many usable skills. The weaker ones will often become beggars, shaking
their tin cups and useless wings for coppers.

A handful of Nestless have become renowned bards, and few Therans
are aware that famed travelling minstrel Frawkaw Onewing had such
an inauspicious beginning.

Sadly, options for the Nestless are quite limited and most who join the
military are front-line troops, not expected to live long in actual
combat. Whether warrior or beggar, the Nestless are doomed to be
second-class citizens.

For those arials unfortunate enough to be abandoned before they take
their first breath, a sad life truly awaits. And forthwith did Elgar
Brightfeather take me by the hand and lead me to a market to begin my
education of Arial cuisine, including the fascinating tale of the lizard
which had been the basis of my soup. It seeems that...

Role

Chapter 1

From An Examination of Theran Societies, Vol II
by Niknud Stumpfoot, Assistant to the Chief Chronicler of Hillcrest

p. 2071

And then did Elgar Brightfeather, gracious host and guide to the city in
the clouds take this humble narrator to a building of nondescript design
located down an alley of the magnificent city in what can only be
described as 'the least striking vista in all of Arial City.' But I
digress. For a thorough examination of the architecture of Arial City
and indeed, all Cities in Thera, please acquire An Examination of Theran
Architecture, vol. I-IX by yours truly.

A sharp rap upon the door by Brightfeather's staff brought forth a kindly
faced (inasmuch as a face dominated by a fierce beak can be 'kindly')
female of the race garbed in, what I had come to learn, were the robes of
a healer. She led us into a room in which sat perhaps two dozen eggs,
which were, at the time, the largest eggs I had ever laid eyes on.

They were laid out in, for lack of a better word, 'cribs' and held above
the ground at a height of about a gnome's nose. A hearth in the center of
the room blazed with a gentle fire and heated the room to a cozy warmth.
Having taken in this scene I was ushered up the stairs and served a fine
broth made from some sort of flying lizard.

As I sipped my soup it was explained to me that Arials who find
themselves "in posession" of unwanted (for whatever reason) fertilized
eggs often simply hurl the eggs over the city's walls to smash on the
mountainside below. I smiled and nodded my head until the full
realization of what this meant hammered me on the head like a giant
swinging a tree-trunk. I choked on my soup and considered the Arials'
rightful place among the finer races of Thera!

Arial life is too short, they explained, to be sentimental about such
things. However, they continued, not all unwanted eggs are to meet this
fate. Some are left, by cover of night at the doors of shrines. As an egg
must be kept constantly warm, this puts the embryo inside in terrible
danger. Upon discovery, these eggs are, if deemed to still have life
inside them, rushed to this place. The home of the Nestless.

Only about a third of The Nestless hatch, heated by the fires tended by
the healers. And they tend to be small, often malformed, and frequently
die shortly after hatching. All because of a few hours exposure to the
night air when they most needed the heat of their mothers.

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