DEVON THORMANE’S TALE CONTINUES… WITH AN UNEXPECTED TWIST!
Having slain an entire landscape worth of Briarthorn, Thormane had collapsed where he stood, too exhausted to venture on without rest, and rest he did. Thormane slept soundly… Perhaps TOO soundly… When Thormane awoke, it was already mid-day. Hed apparently stripped down to his loincloth in his sleep, and slept all through the night. His whole body was sore and bloody, and he was dehydrated. The hot sun had been beating down on him for several hours, and wherever his body was not caked with blood and grime, it was soaked in sweat and seared from the rays of light. He quickly donned his clothes, grimacing at the pain of it against his sunburnt flesh. He needed that bath. And a good meal. He sat up, yawned, and stretched out his battered limbs. It was time to get back to it… But where did he leave his hammer… HIS HAMMER… IT WAS GONE!
Thormane whirled to and fro in a panic, spinning around in circles, checking under rotting corpses, looking behind nearby stones and trees as if the hammer walked off to find shade of its own accord… All to no avail. His hammer was indeed gone, stolen by god knows what… Thormane had grown attached to the weapon over his years in service to the realm. It had been forged for him by the Immortals, and was an honor to him, symbolic of his tenacity in its own way. He refused to let it go- so he made a side quest of his own priority above his current mission to discover Longshore’s fate- He would reclaim his forge-hammer.
Thormane spent the better part of the day investigating his surroundings for clues, eventually discovering a pair of hastily concealed tracks leading away from his makeshift campsite off in a direction opposite of Homestead. The tracks appeared to lead into the Pine Barrens… Home to many and more briarthorns, as well as numerous other dangers. Sick as he was of slaying the briar, Thormane refused to move on without his hammer, and so he set off into the Pine Barrens to find it…
Strange, losing a weapon like that. What manner of creature would take his hammer, yet leave him alive? The truth is, a great many heroes and villains inhabited Cairn, not all of them beasts and legends… Some of them, other survivors, just trying to find their way… Just trying to get by.
Getting by had always come easy to Nicholas, or Nicky, as he now fashioned himself. On the seas, he’d made a name for himself hunting pirates. He’d even claimed the Admiral’s Hat of Black Powderkeg Bart, one of the fiercest reavers ever to terrorize Cairn waters. It was on the seas that he also developed a taste for rum, for which he developed a love affair only challenged by his taste for women. Once he came of age and could no longer weather the storms of seafaring life, he sold his ship and used the funds to start his own business.
That business was a bar, and he named it “Freighters”, after the ships he loved so dearly. It was in this fashion that he got by yet again, running Freighters on land this time, with a big ol’ pirate hat mounted behind the counter, a surefire way to start a conversation. A surefire sign of history, something every successful bar needs- And Freighters became a modestly successful one at that- In the Capitol before it fell.
In the chaos of the Blackiron Docks, Nicky had managed to steal away like several other savvy entrepreneurs with enough of an opportunistic instinct to find the benefits of the apocalypse. He regretted running, and leaving it all behind… After all, he had built a small empire of especially… “needy”… Clientele. The most needy of which still told tales of Nicholas after he’d gone…
Nicky would never forget Garrund, after all he did for him, and had vowed to find him once again, if he was still alive. After all… He owed him more than booze for everything Garrund did for him back then…
Nicky had drifted off in his rickety boat, only coming to as it was nudged into consciousness by the shore, small rocks in the shallow water thumping off the hull, weeds rustling and water lapping at its sides. Ol’ Nicky “Rum Runner” Kotch stood up, and realized hed drifted into what looked like Arkovia…
He’d taken Black Bart’s hat with him, as well as his old sailing uniform. His trusty Oaken shield and Reaver’s sword. Now, the sword was just about useless in his hand. His sword arm had been wounded so bad in a raid against Pirates that it was only really good for appearances. He carried it in the hopes of being able to intimidate, perhaps avoiding a fight, as his true fighting days were done.
His shield arm, however, was still more than capable, and the Oaken shield he wielded was no ordinary shield. This particular shield had been enchanted by the Gildam Arcanum, as a sanctioned ceremoninial honor which had been presented to him on behalf of the Imperial Navy for his valiant efforts against the Pirate scourge some 40 years before the fall. The enchantment allowed the shield to absorb impacts, and blast kinetic energy out at the source, like a fiery backdraft. This was Nicky’s primary means of “getting by” now, until he could find himself a place to set-up a market… Hell, until he could even FIND a market to work with in these dark times… Booze was impossible, until he had the facilities required… And so it was that Nicky Kotch decided to scrounge up all the weapons and armor he could find. He would hold and sell, to the highest bidders and for the right prices… He would be an arms dealer!
DISCLAIMER: NICKY RUMRUNNER KOTCH IS A PACK MULE;
As I do not use Grim Stash, and have barely any inventory space in HC, and no high level HC characters- Havent even beaten Normal/Vet in HC yet, and my highest level is a 40- I created Nicky as a means to help my story driven classless builds journey. He will operate as a gear holder, farmer, and money maker. That is his only function. It is for this reason that I have allowed him to utilize classes, however he is restricted to no offensive skills, and is only allowed to use the “move to” command for the left mouse button/primary keybind.
Nicky hoisted his legs over the side of the boat and took his first wobbly steps on dry land in days. Stretching his back, he took a look around at the place… Small, quaint, and nice little fishing village… Or it wouldve been, if it hadnt been for all the bandits around…
Taunting the bandits as only an old salty sailor can, Nicky sauntered into the crowd of them, shouldering his shield before him like a badge of honor, the bandits taking one looked at it and dismissing its value- What could an old warped wooden shield like that possibly do?
Those were the last thoughts the bandits had, their stikes reverberating back into their arms, and tearing into their organs, the bandits keeled over and collapsed where they stood, their insides no longer functional. With the immediate threat handled, Nicky had to get his bearings… Ever a tenacious and astute explorer, he knew the element of surprise would suit him best. Were he to simply charge in-land, more bandits would be alerted to his presence, and he might find himself waking up to a dagger in his chest next he slept. He crept along the riverbed, and took his time slowly reaching a nearby summit from which he could assess the geographical landmarks and understand his current location.
Looking at his map, he appeared to be in what was known as the “shaded basin”… It made sense, he had wandered for several hours after all. If he followed the nearby trails, he could likely reach Homestead by Midnight. He kept moving, this time stopping when he happened upon a hill with the most curious discovery…
At the base of the hill there were at least 30 carcasses of dead Briarthorn being feasted upon by indigenous wildlife. Nicky slipped past, and found what surely must have been the culprit of the massacre at the top, laid out, naked but for a loincloth, and fast asleep. A hammer rested upon the ground nearby, the setting sun glinting off its mighty mass. The fates had smiled upon ol’ Nicky once again, it seemed, and he hefted the hammer upon his shoulder, walking off with his first piece of merchandise…
To commemorate the occasion, he took out his bottle of Burrwitch Brew and drank deeply. Ah… Now here was a drink that bit back! He would have to share this with Garrund when he finally met him once again, if he was still alive…
STAY TUNED FOR NEXT TIME…
