Ben´s grudge

[Ben Radau]

Silently the angry dwarf sits inside the Dwarven Outpost and reflects the last parade. First that arrogant and brainless manling who now leads the so called Dragoons. Ha, their horses have more brain and IQ than all of those together. Ordering him to hold a weapon as a parade arm. For months now his spell book, the last memory of his human teacher of magery, was enough for even large parades. And now the horse dung smelling manling ORDERS him to change to a hellebard. Very funny. A short dwarf with a large weapon. And he called him boy.... that manling hasn´t even lifed half of Ben´s age and calls him boy. Slowly the anger gets stronger. And that manling infront of Ben. Dares to turn around and pull on his beard!! Ha, the last he saw of his face was an energy bolt ironing his nose and make all his hair stand up from the ugly head. Unfortunately his so called comrades knocked him out before he could burn the manling to ashes. WHAT A SHAME! The last who dared to pull his beard was happy to be able to eat his guts. The spells needed to keep him alive were very close to dark magery, but pulling his beard....
Ben absend-minded scratched his beard. And then Erik. He has always thought Erik to be a man of almost dwarven honor, but ordering him to shut his mouth. Ben shook his head. What are that for comrades, he sadly thought. Maybe I have to look for other, more honorable companions.
He took a deep breath and shook his head. Being a traitor to Cove, like the Baron and that Odenething? Then better return to the mountains and help his father in the mine. He sighed.  A very dificult decission. His father always told him to be almost human, for he had lived too many years among them.

Time will tell what Ben will do....

[Ben Radau]

The snow gnashes under the dwarf´s iron nailed boots. The breath freezes immideately after leaving the nose, and icicles hang from his long beard. The sturdy figure stops and scans the snow covered mountain peaks that seem to be frozen trying to reach the pale and distant sun. No signs of life can be seen.
Cursing Ben pulls the hood over his face and continous his travel up the small glen. Though exhaustet from the trip his steps are secure and steady. The last animal he had seen was a dead snow rabbit, torn apart probably by a hungry wolf or bear. He detects some barely visible signs, and sighs of relief. A rune, perfectly matching the wall it was carved in, marks the territory of his family. Unconsciously he increases his pace. He remembers his childhood before the shameful banishment from their town. (http://cove.fantasyworld.nl/forum/index.php/topic,2703.0.html) The granite wall, where he finally mastered the old dwarven art of travelling through the stones. He still feels the pain where the damn agapite vein sucessfully stoped his first tries. He calmly smiles and slowly feels the anger leave his body. Still lost in memories he turns around the next corner and suddenly comes to a full stop.
Right before his feet a rotten corpse lies across the unvisible path. He slowly gets down on his knees and uses a dagger to remove some of the snow above the body. A orc with a horrible  and definitely mortal wound across the thorax becomes visible. A fast glance around shows no signs of another living soul around Ben, when he slowly gets up again. All those pleasing memories give way to a horror he thought he would never feel again. The pictures of his search through the destroyed dwarven town he grew up reappear before his eyes, and he stumbles against the wall.
"No, not yet, not here", he voiceless cries. Though icy fingers or fear try to rip his backbone out, he slowly and more carefully continuous his trip, a spell ready in his mind to be released at the smallest sign of danger.
10 Minutes later he can´t close his eyes before the additional prooves: his families mine had been attacked, as they had been before, but this time noone was able or willing to remove the dead attackers corpses... Again he had to step over three dead orcs, one had almost lost his head to a brutal blow, the others had different wounds, each of it mortal. Ben stops his trip and scans the area. He knows he is close to the entrance, but somehow tries to ignore the bad feelings. With a deep sigh he shakes his head to clear his mind, prepares another offensive spell and turns around the last corner....
The hidden portals, covered with ice and snow, show marks of fire and physical force. On poles infront of the cave small, bulky corpses dangle in the frosty wind. Most of them show signs of desperate fighting and thoughtful cruelty of tortures. Slowly he walks on. His father... almost unrecognizable by burn marks.... his brothers, torn in peaces and nailed as a macabre imitation of dwarves... all were there, his whole clan. Hate and grudge washes through his body, and red anger shrouds his eyes and mind....

5 days later a giant explosion disturbs the silence of the Cove mountains. For hours you hear the rumbling of breaking stones and collapsing caves. Only the footsteps of a single and heavy loaden dwarf lead away from the smoke cloud covering one of the larger mountains. Ben Radau has lost his home again. And his comrades also???

[Cor Ari Ta]

(Walks by and reads the boards)

Aye M'frien, I da know 'ow ye feel, Try wal'en en meh boots.

Jess da wha' i da, When them mess wit meh i mess wit them back, an' then ignore them, 'umans 'ave a ignorrant side when et comes ta other races. Ye will nay 'ave ta worreh abou' meh pullen yer beard mate. I da respect wha' ye are.

Signed
           Junior Scout: Cor'Ari Ta

[John Dell]

[OOC: I thought this was an story, ooc information?]

[Ben Radau]

A dwarf stands infront of a giant demon. He is naked but a kilt. Tatoos cover every inch of the fighters skin. A valorite chain runs from a nose ring to an earring. His hair is roughly shaven, only an orange colored iroquese stands high in the air. The stubby warrior swings an axe of ancient, but doubtless dwarven origin. Long forgotten runes seem to glow on the blade. The fighters body is littered with wounds, each of those mortal itself, but the brave refuses to go down. His eyes show a mixture of desperation and joy, the face a mask of determination. The floor of the battle place is covered with countless dead demons of smaller size.

Ben Radau moans and slowly turns on his agapite bed. His whole body aches after yesterdays battle. He doesn´t know for how long he had watched the ancient painting, one of the few things he had been able to recover from the ruined mine of his clan. He remembers the grumbling voice of his father telling the kids the legends of the ancient slayer cult. His father... grief, mixed with anger for the orcoids, washes through his body and for a short moment suppresses his bodies pain.
Unconcioussly he scratches the arrow wound on his head curses. Memories of yesterdays battle raise infront of his eyes. Yesterday...

He still can´t explain why he had wandered to the barracks. Driven out of his Outpost by sorrow his feet had choosen the often used way towards the barracks without purpose. His thoughts were suddenly disrupted by battle sounds from the distance. Without any doubt Cove was under attack!! The clashes of swords, explosion by arcane arts, the horrible thud of arrows hitting flesh gave proove of that situation. Without thinking his training took over and he melted with a close stone vein.
Shortly after he arrivced at the battle scene. The sentry in front of the barracks was deserted, but last forces fought a desperate delaying battle around the inn. Corpses all around showed that the Covian army was hit unprepared, but nevertheless took their toll from the attackers. Reckless for his health Ben broke out of the shadows and fired an Energy Bolt towards one of the attackers. With satisfaction he saw the archer being hit , he could smell  burned flesh. Without a thought of defense he stormed over the battle field, releasing spells left and right, feeling relieved of all the dark thoughts travelling his mind for days now. Ben moved as if in trance, his rational part of thinking like a distant observer, while an unknown rage took over and instincts led his hands. Suddenly all went dark...
After it seemed hours he regained consciousness,finding himself lying on the floor with a bloody streak on the left side of the head. An arrow had missed the vital parts for inches, only knocking him out. Too shaken to cast spells, and with still limited visibility, he slowly got up and leaned on a wall. The rage had left his mind, and the grief returned heavier than ever. A Dragoon leaned over and offered a helping hand, but the anger forced Ben to spit infront of the soldier. He crawled a few feet away, until he finally got up and slowly stumbled away, voices of his old comrades leaving behind.
After returning the his house Ben reached his bed and fell into the first dreamless sleep for days...

After he woke up this morning the feeling of facing a crucial decision never left him. Repeatedly his eyes fell on the painting on the opposite wall, showing one of his ancestors, who was said to be a member of the slayer cult, those dwarves, who couldn´t stand a blame or fate and left their clan to find an honorful death fighting the most horrible monsters.
"Maybe it is more than a legend", he voiceless says. He remembers the feeling during the battle, the relief of forgetting while in rage, fighting without fear for his life. "Maybe there is an answer to my fate", he thinks. "But I have to talk to the Commander first..."
Cursing the pain the dwarf rolls out of the bed and vanishes in the dark. The eyes of the slayer on the painting suddenly seem to glow...