Bergh Longbottom the Taiotoshi, Imperial Shadow

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Role

Chapter 4

A little insane, and mostly harmless, Bergh was once the ships mate to a
brutal pirate. His path diverged one evening when Bergh grew violent over a
hand of poker. In a rash and drunken attempt to vindicate his loss, he threw
his drink down with a crash and swung his Wavedancer swiftly. He'd intended
to sever the greedy hands of his opponent as they collected the loot on the
table before them. Instead he found himself locked in a pose of gleeful and
murderous rage. He was entirely unable to move. The others in the hall turned
to gawk as smoke began to escape from his body in small tendrils at first,
and then billowing from head to toe. Feathers and flesh vaporized in a path
from the pommel of his blade to the boiling puddle his foot stood upon. His
drink. Lousy bastard bartender and his lousy, watery swill. The odor was
horrendous. Massive dark shapes writhed in his periphery as blood filled the
capillaries of his eyes. Suddenly, there was a long pause...

Role

Chapter 3

A crisp, white sheet covered the figure between them. His gruesome wound
oozed clear fluid. He was still breathing. Weakly. Raggedly.

"He's an ignorant, greedy cur, Moyra, we see his handy work in here all the
time, and I will not have him in this ward!"

"He's alive, Kagan, and he has a soul."

"Look at him. Near dead over a hand of cards. No good sense, no moral fiber,
and no ethic beyond the momentary discipline needed to cut a throat and glean
a sack of clinkers. We ought end him now and do Thera a service. He's UUTCK-"

The sheet drifted slowly, as air under it was displaced.

Moyrasat quietly in her chair, gazing out the window as a small pool of
crimson expanded beneath her.

The room was empty.

Role

Chapter 2

"Sit with it. When y'feel yeh know th'doll well enough, y'may ask yer
question." Borom winked suggestively.

Bergh withdrew a rag from his pocket and rubbed a decorated oak statuette of
a very pregnant young woman, slowly cleaning it. He gently kissed the
figurine, and an onlooking girl's mouth dropped open. Her tongue out in
disgust with an audible "Bleh!" A more ethereal voice was moved to say
"That's sorta creepy." Borom issued a polite cough, and lowered his gaze
expectantly toward the arial.

Making no effort to quell his typically brash mannerisms he belted out, "I
say, Oy! Is I ever gonna find me a pot a gold?"

The flames of the tale-telling fire leapt and flared, turning an eerie,
roaring violet.

Borom carefully placed the pointer on the oracle board, and waited. All at
once the pointer began to drift aimlessly across the oracle board, landing
finally on the word "Perhaps."

Bergh cheered and danced as the joy within him bursted forth! He elatedly
handed a decorated oak statuette of a very pregnant young woman over to Borom
and said, "I knowed it from the first day I stepped off the ground, I did.
Perhaps I'll be rich!"

Borom went on to say "Look fer it near sunset, an follow the purplest stripe
o'th'rainbow. Fer purple be yer color of fortune."

Some time passed, while he mulled this over. The bar room prattle picked up
to a dull roar, and "Purple? Eh. What's it mean?"

"The color of kings, you know," said a voice from the crowd.
"Dye's expensive," said another. "Rich folks wear it."

Borom spelled it out for the young cutpurse, "Y'gotta aim big t'win big,
really."

Some more time passed . . .

Role

Chapter 1

There are those who make difficult choices because of a deep, honorable
responsibility. Lives and futures hang in a delicate balance, and when the
choice is made, some dreams are shattered, some lives are lost. But these
choices must be made to ensure the survival of the greater whole. A select
few beings are saddled with the weight of choices like this. Some call them
heros. Some call them saviors. Bergh was neither of these.

For all his effort, the riches he had sought were still far from his grasp.
His seemingly steadfast ignorance had begun to wane. Many years had passed
since that day at the Inn, and the young cutpurse was now aging. In truth, he
had understood the Oracle, and his mind had been made up and path chosen at
that very moment. What he was unable to admit or transcend to was the embrace
of magic, which he feared even more than he hated. That very fear had left
him ignorant to the fact that the roots, the pills, and the flasks he
consumed, and even the weapons and clothing he wore were infused with it. The
knowledge that he would have to face his fear, to embrace it, was his sole
deterrent. But much time had passed. Decades, in fact, and the memory of that
life altering moment, the incident on the boat, had lost its intensity. Much
of the life he'd chosen had lost its intensity. Bergh had begun to look
forward, beyond his next purse snatch. He had matured, and with that maturity
came a sort of listlessness. Sloppiness.

Then, in one moment of overconfident sloppiness, he was rolled by a thief for
everything he had of any value. He made an effort to buy back the tools he'd
spent so long collecting. He offered all the money he'd saved. His entire
life savings, and the offer fell upon dead ears. A haze began to clear, and
he realized something vital: There is wealth, and there is power, and the
former means nothing without the latter.

It was time to follow the path laid out for him those many years ago. Bergh
had victimized many a soul throughout his lifetime, and had many enemies. He
was also wiser now, and realized this skullduggery could be used to his
advantage. Bergh sought his mark carefully, and followed with overt malice
into a battle he was sure to lose. He fought viciously and at length with the
bard and warrior, and at last allowed himself to be brought to his knees.
Bested.

After some time, he stood and approached his adversaries.

'Oy,' he said. 'Hear me out fer a minute, eh?'

There was no response, and no movement from the three.

Soberly he said, 'I been skulkin 'round fer me whole lifetime, cuttin a purse
'ere a purse there. Gots teh makes me a livin, eh?'

One of them nodded.

'Now once this Oracle tells me I oughta strive fer somethin more. Hell if I
knew what that meant. I were young. But I got older. . .'

With that, the bard broke into song, crooning a cheerful, soothing melody to
lift his spirits.

'. . . An' I figured 'er out.'

The bard let out a mad cackle.

'Purple be the color a royalty they says. Look fer it,' he said, and peered
around himself intently. 'Well I din' have teh look too hard then, and I
don't now. I think it be Empire.'

The bard raised an eyebrow.

Bergh flipped a single gold coin high in the air, and said 'I'm 'ere teh take
the oath. Who among yeh'd give 'er teh me?'

A raucous la

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