Prucibial the Legend of the Battlefield

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Role

Chapter 1

The walls seemed to shrink and move inward, continueally, everyday. They
pulsed and pushed at him, at his mind and body. He knew so very quickly that
he would go mad if he did not find a way to escape. Perhaps it is that
knowledge of impending doom that sustained his will long enough to finally
escape. His moment came quickly and suddenly. This new guard leaving the door
to the cell open behind him, thinking his prisonner asleep. A split second
thats all it took and then there was blood flowing from his enemies as his
madness finally found a conduit in his rage. The memory afterward is dark and
troubled, skattered movements, sneaking like a bloody thief even though there
was no other way out. He would not go back to that prison, he will never go
back to another prison. Far into the underdark he fled, far into the
wilderness of tunnels he ran till he was looking out from a whole in the
ground overlooking a flowing river. Here he stayed and hunted, rested and
trained till his reflexes were honed once more, till his muscles where iron
and his actions quicker than they once had been. Here he contemplated his
life and his path, here he contemplated the doubt that had crept into his
mind about the path he had walked so far in his life. Doubt about the
village, about his place in it, and about the war that they fought. In
meditation after meditation, night after night, he found his answer. He found
the strength within his doubt, more specifically the strength of his
convictions within the prison of his former life. The prison that magic made
so very cruel, that arcane power used so horribly, so terribly to break those
that were within it. Two nights later he gathered the crude wood and stone
weapons that he had fashioned and began the long walk back to the village,
his village, his family.

Role

Chapter 2

He had found his way to this land he hoped would be pure, though his hopes
were destroyed so very quickly when realization came that these tall ones had
as many if not easily more who let themselves be corrupt by the call of
power. The Sun was bright and the winds and this falling water his father
taught him of was cold as he strode forth from town to city to town searching
and searching. He would ask questions often of those he thought could be
spoken freely too, though they would scoff at his speech or merely laugh and
walk off. Many times he would slow his speech just to be understood for these
people spoke so very slowly, though at times he would get worked up in what
he tried to convey and rush through the words as though they understood him.
Not quite sure where to go next or even what to do to survive he rested at
the mouth of an alley when he heard a whisper, turning he searched with his
eyes into the shadows but could not locate the speaker.

"You wish much and search for much, short one, I have heard you ask many
dangerous questions. There is a place though, listen well and seek where I
speak of if you wish to find those of like mind"

Soon he stood in the ruins, not sure in the least of the speakers intent or
believability, and then he saw the great warrior through the rubble. A great
giant, muscled and covered in a sheen of sweet, fighting off multiple foes.
He moved to investigate and watched for some time.

Role

Chapter 3

Finally, after all this time, after all this struggle. He thinks back
remembering vividly the ferocity of the hook horrors, and the dangerously
close presense of the cave fisher. He remembers the terrible stomach pain and
dissapaiting energy of his body and soul. He remembers the clutching madness
of the endless dark, the clutching madness that he didn't truly recognize or
understand, the madness that slowly crept into his being, infusing his entire
body as he slumped ran and crawled to get away. All to get away from the
terrible truths of his people. His fathers teachings were right, they had to
be there could be nothing else but such, he had seen the terrible devistation
of this power. His father had been frowned upon for speaking out against the
magic that his people used with wreckless abandon. Those same people, his
people, put him in jail for such where he died, the city of
Ehthbliabentebenflet merely put him in his prison of death and left him there
to rot, going on about their self entitled fantastic work without a second
thought. He knew he must flee, the drow and svirfnebli used the same powers
(albeit in a far different fashion) and such could only mean one thing, his
theories must be right, that this power was only prevalent in the depths of
the underdark. Perhaps, perhaps if he made it to the surface he would find
freedom from the clinging madness that his people had taken into their lives,
from the corruption of this power, his father had been right..

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