Zerig, Paladin of Boros.

Alright, so in my previous post I stated that I would write some short stories and generally use this as a tool for my writing.  So no need to wait then!  My friends and I, after long last, have started a D&D game back up in a homebrew setting that we've dabbled in for the past several years.

I've decided to play a (house-ruled) Lawful Neutral Paladin to the World Serpent, Boros.  Here is my introduction/background to the character.

Zerig, Paladin of Boros.

Zerig tried to stay upright as he ran down the hill, it's thick underbrush threatening to send him tumbling at any moment.  The thorns scratched against his half-plate with each step.  Suddenly a sharp pain struck him between the shoulder blades and a white hot pain filled his thoughts.  He brought his arms upward to grab at the piercing object as hit foot finally caught a root and sent him tumbling head first down the hill.

When the world finally stopped spinning in circles, Zerig laid on his stomach, splayed out at the bottom of the large hill.  He could barely move as the footsteps drew nearer, much quieter than his own were, but unmistakable.  They slowed to a stop, still far enough for caution before one drew his bow, the creaking of the wood ready for release breaking the soft sputter of Zerig's breathing.  Slowly a foot was wedged under him and flipped him onto his back, the broken shaft of the arrow lodging itself deeper into his muscles.

Zerig let out a scream, but didn't have the strength to move, his limbs slowly going numb one by one.  Softly the one standing over him spoke to the others in a language he didn't understand, it's punctuation fluid and soothing, almost lyrical.  It knelt down over him and studied his face for a moment, it was a elf girl.  Her elvish features were distinct, the tips of her elongated ears sticking out beyond her wavy brown hair.  Wide eyes looked him over before he heard the grating of a blade being drawn.

She pulled the dagger around to look at it, the blade of black crystal dripping wet with a viscous green liquid.  A few drops pattered against his breastplate, its pungent odor filling what felt like his final breaths.  With a practiced motion the elf placed the blade against the side of his chest, where the armor was weak, and plunged the blade into his flesh.

It only stung for a moment.

Zerig's head lolled to the side and with his remaining moments pictured what had led him to this.
A crusade against the elves, for king and country, to end the merciless slaughter of the innocent.  A worthy cause.

The elf stood and sheathed the dagger once again, moving on to search for more survivors that lay in attempts to hide their fate.  The pack followed along side her and left him to his remaining moments.
He closed his heavy eyelids, slowly the breath began to leave his body, as did his soul...


Suddenly Zerig's eyes opened, he was lying on his back in a soft bed in a small room with little furnishings.  Light crept softly in from beneath the closed door, the muted sounds of conversation beyond.  Slowly he swung his legs around and rested his feet on the cool ground.  His armor had been placed neatly on the floor next to the bed, still fresh with scratches and damage. He subconsciously scratched his side and moved towards the door.

The warm light flooded his room as the door swung open and he walked out onto the loft.  Below him, several patrons of the inn were gathered around a large table, laughing at each others stories.  The table was filled to the brim with food and ale, all of it untouched.  Zerig made his way across the loft and to the stairs that led to the main floor.  As he began to descend the stairs a loud bell rang from outside of the tavern, it's chime echoing across the walls. At the third ring, the patrons stood in unison, their conversation apparently over.  In turn they began to walk towards the door, silent with purpose.  With renewed curiosity, Zerig made for the door behind the last patron and walked outside.

Beside the tavern, the temple was the only other building in this clearing, but it felt wrong.  All of the colors were muted and faded, even those of the earth and sky, as though it had all been watered down.  He followed everyone as they made their way beyond the edge of the buildings and stood out in the middle of a field, each person shoulder to shoulder.  Zerig looked around, confused at this series of events.  After a moment one solitary chime rang out from the bell and the sky turned a dark grey and the ground began to shake.  The rumbling increased but it only seemed to affect him, the others stood stalwart, looking off into the distance.

A loud cracking and rumbling, like an entire forest suddenly being ripped from its roots came from the horizon and it was all Zerig could do look at what caused such horrific noises.  From the edge of his sight came a huge gaping maw, ever open, devouring the earth as he moved onward towards them.  His eyes went wide, but was unable to move, the sheer terror holding him in place.  The others lifted their arms and heads and began to take flight, their bodies floating towards the great mouth.  They floated upwards and beyond the mouth, landing on top of the head and beginning to walk out of his sight, down its back.

When the last of them had faded out of view the maw continued forwards, toward him until it was only a few hundred feet away when the rumbling stopped.  The mouth closed and before him was a great black scaled head, two reptilian eyes staring directly at him.  It felt like an eternity had passed before it spoke.  The sound came from everywhere at once, threatening to tear him apart from the inside as he listened.

"Not.... Your.... Time...."

The gravelly speech echoed in his mind and down across every nerve in his being.

"I... yet... have... work... for... you..."

Zerig stood silent for a moment.  "What do you mean you have work for me? Am I dead?"

"Not.... Your... Time...." the great serpent replied.

It opened its mouth and he felt rooted to the very ground, unable to move as the great beast opened its mouth and moved towards him, devouring everything.

Zerig wanted to scream, but couldn't find a voice with which to do it.  He stood silent as his form was sucked into the great maw of the devourer.....


Suddenly Zerig's eyes opened, a soft wind blew across the ground and the long grass brushed across his face.  He slowly stood and took in the calm field around him, it's only covering a sparse selection of bodies left from the retreat.  Zerig took a step forward and felt a bar beneath his foot.  He looked down to see the shaft of a polearm, decorated in gilded scales.  He leaned down and picked it up, the shaft ending in a great maw from which a giant blade spewed.  Two reptilian eyes placed just above the blade, watching him.

Beside him lay the dead, members of his former crusade that had been executed by the elves.  He oddly felt no pity for them, no remorse at their loss or fury towards the elves for their execution.  He smiled for a moment, the wind blowing against his face and he left the battlefield.

The Great Serpent devours the just and unjust alike, after all.

The End.


So that's my character background.  I'm more and more excited to get this campaign rolling, especially after finally getting this written.  Thoughts? Opinions?  I'll post more writings in the future, for sure.

Thanks for reading!

In which I give in to the Ziltoidian Overlords.

Blogging is something that I've wanted to do for a while now, however I never felt as though I had anything too important to say on either side of the coin for most things. Generally I find myself pretty agreeable and non-confrontational. However, recently I've been reading through the blog of my friends Ariana and Kristen and that, coupled with my general desire to write (and lack of inspiration thereof), made me decide to bite the bullet and start my own.  I will use this space to write thoughts, opinions, local happenings, short stories and all things in general that are nerdy.

My goal will be to write often enough so that it becomes habit, and thus will help me continue to work towards an eventual (and I do mean eventual) career as an author.  This has been a life goal of mine since I can remember.  I used to write stories as a kid about my friends and I (Matt, Ryan and Jordon).  Our favorite game to play was to pretend that we were the sons of Gods, specifically the Greek and Roman ones.

Matt was the son of Apollo, Ryan was the son of Hades, Jordon was the son of Zeus and I was the son of Poseidon.  We would run around vanquishing medusa, harpies, cyclops and other nasty beasts.  So naturally this was the first inspiration I had for a story.  A tale about how my friends and I would discover that we were the sons of gods and how we got our powers and then go off fighting evil.  I don't think I ever wrote more then a dozen or so pages (a lot when I was maybe only in elementary school), but that was the first clear memory I have of wanting to be a writer.  Years later I heard about the Percy Jackson story and laughed.  I suppose I wasn't the only one with imaginings of being the child of a deity.

Then in middle school I discovered D&D, and my creativity took off.  Character backstories, history, countries, lore, magical weapons, ancient evils, entire worlds needed creating.  I attempted to run a few games to only minimal success, however I continue to play to this day (about 16 years now).  While we continue to play, I don't write much these days.  I have been focusing a years worth of writing attempts into a solid month during November for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, for those who are unaware of the acronym).  The goal being to write a 50k word novel within the confines of 30 days, for the prize of kudos of your loved ones and a pat on the back (a well earned one if you've ever tried and succeeded).

I've attempted it the past three years and only succeeded on my first try.  I wrote a steampunk mystery, set in the late 1800s about the equivalent of an airship 'Titanic' going missing and the following cover-up.  Two years ago I attempted a sci-fi horror about the madness of space (filled with all sorts of alien goodness) but realized I'm terrible at writing convincing horror.  It felt more as though I was writing an adapted Resident Evil 1 script (Take this lockpick... You.... Jill.... The Master of Unlocking) and I could only write a few thousand words before losing any and all interest in the story.

Last year I had a bit more success in my attempt at a 'Lovecraftian' Western.  This is a genre that I really want to come back to and might even go so far as to try it again this coming November.  It rings with a 'Dark Tower' sort of vibe with me, minus the Stephen King (or more specifically the first book of the series, which is the only one I've read).  We will see what inspires me this coming November.

So blog one is complete.  Here's to (hopefully) many more, and much more success in writing.

Cheers.