Brin's History and Journal
Brin's History and Journal
I'm starting this here, cause Discord has a limit to characters and it drives me nuts. I don't plan to put this in the correct order, but tales and scenes from brin's past since the start of the server to try and give a glimpse into him as a character.
Re: Brin's History and Journal
Hamin walked through the tavern door, pausing just inside to let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light as he scanned the room. The tavern, known as the Sunken Flagon, was located in the harbor district of Neverwinter. Inside, the establishment was unremarkable, with long wooden tables made of sturdy, well-worn planks, matching benches, a long bar stretching across most of the far wall, and a covered arch on the wall to his right that led to the kitchen. Bar wenches passed in and out with empty or full plates. Hamin took a moment to study the diverse crowd gathered within; tradesmen, workers, merchants, and a few well-off patrons occupied the space. He also couldn't help but notice an attractive woman at the bar, engaged in conversation with a man who appeared wealthy based on his clothing and jewelry.
However, Hamin's primary concern at the moment was his hunger. Having just arrived in Neverwinter with a plan in mind, he needed sustenance. He found a spot at a table and, when the serving wench came by, he used some of his dwindling coin to order roasted boar and potatoes. As he waited for his meal, he continued to observe the patrons in the bar and checked his belongings. In addition to his clothing, he carried a longsword and dagger on his belt, a sturdy shield and pack slung with his armor, and a few essential traveling supplies. After ensuring his weapons were dry from disembarking the ship, Hamin dedicated himself to the vital tasks of drinking and people-watching.
Hamin had recently left the region of Amn and had come to Neverwinter with a clear plan: to make this city his new home. He had been a wandering mercenary since leaving his clan's village at the age of fourteen. Standing several inches over six feet tall and blessed with impressive physical strength, Hamin had always used these attributes to his advantage, whether in battle or when negotiating higher pay as a mercenary or bodyguard. Now, at the age of thirty-six, he had roamed across Faerun, experiencing various terrains and participating in numerous military actions and campaigns. However, he was now ready to establish something of his own.
Hamin's goal was simple: in a city plagued by chaos and mismanagement, there was an opportunity to impose order, and he possessed the strength and will to do so. While he had no illusions about challenging the merchants and nobles, he saw potential in the thriving underworld. In a city where the underworld could provide services and order to those with coin, he believed he could carve out a place for himself. So, here he sat, waiting for his food, with a plan in mind.
First, he needed coin, as he had spent most of his resources just reaching the city. Next, he would need to learn about the city's underworld, its sources of income, and who currently held power. Finally, he would require a band of loyal followers, individuals strong enough to wrest control from the current gangs and guilds. Hamin was a capable fighter, but his ultimate goal was to build and lead, not to engage in the fighting himself.
Fortuitously, Hamin had a talent for making money, whether by offering his sword for hire or using it to accomplish lucrative tasks. As he continued to observe the patrons, his food arrived, and just before he tore into the first piece of boar, a shapely woman with a cold smile took a seat next to him. Her appearance and demeanor suggested she was a skilled hunter.
"Hi, I'm Francesca, and I have a job I think you could help with," the woman introduced herself.
Hamin, determined to maintain his focus, tried not to stare at her chest and responded with a snort before digging into his food. This seemed to displease the woman, but she remained seated. After savoring his food with a few messy bites and a loud belch, Hamin finally nodded and said, "Alright, let's hear it."
As Blondie started explaining how there were starving people in need of a brave warrior to bring food from the villages in the south, Hamin couldn't help but feel that things were already going his way...
However, Hamin's primary concern at the moment was his hunger. Having just arrived in Neverwinter with a plan in mind, he needed sustenance. He found a spot at a table and, when the serving wench came by, he used some of his dwindling coin to order roasted boar and potatoes. As he waited for his meal, he continued to observe the patrons in the bar and checked his belongings. In addition to his clothing, he carried a longsword and dagger on his belt, a sturdy shield and pack slung with his armor, and a few essential traveling supplies. After ensuring his weapons were dry from disembarking the ship, Hamin dedicated himself to the vital tasks of drinking and people-watching.
Hamin had recently left the region of Amn and had come to Neverwinter with a clear plan: to make this city his new home. He had been a wandering mercenary since leaving his clan's village at the age of fourteen. Standing several inches over six feet tall and blessed with impressive physical strength, Hamin had always used these attributes to his advantage, whether in battle or when negotiating higher pay as a mercenary or bodyguard. Now, at the age of thirty-six, he had roamed across Faerun, experiencing various terrains and participating in numerous military actions and campaigns. However, he was now ready to establish something of his own.
Hamin's goal was simple: in a city plagued by chaos and mismanagement, there was an opportunity to impose order, and he possessed the strength and will to do so. While he had no illusions about challenging the merchants and nobles, he saw potential in the thriving underworld. In a city where the underworld could provide services and order to those with coin, he believed he could carve out a place for himself. So, here he sat, waiting for his food, with a plan in mind.
First, he needed coin, as he had spent most of his resources just reaching the city. Next, he would need to learn about the city's underworld, its sources of income, and who currently held power. Finally, he would require a band of loyal followers, individuals strong enough to wrest control from the current gangs and guilds. Hamin was a capable fighter, but his ultimate goal was to build and lead, not to engage in the fighting himself.
Fortuitously, Hamin had a talent for making money, whether by offering his sword for hire or using it to accomplish lucrative tasks. As he continued to observe the patrons, his food arrived, and just before he tore into the first piece of boar, a shapely woman with a cold smile took a seat next to him. Her appearance and demeanor suggested she was a skilled hunter.
"Hi, I'm Francesca, and I have a job I think you could help with," the woman introduced herself.
Hamin, determined to maintain his focus, tried not to stare at her chest and responded with a snort before digging into his food. This seemed to displease the woman, but she remained seated. After savoring his food with a few messy bites and a loud belch, Hamin finally nodded and said, "Alright, let's hear it."
As Blondie started explaining how there were starving people in need of a brave warrior to bring food from the villages in the south, Hamin couldn't help but feel that things were already going his way...
Re: Brin's History and Journal
Brin grumbled as he rolled over in bed. It took a moment to filter into his groggy mind that he was alone in bed, and the birds were chirping, indicating that Dalia had risen with the sunrise, already embracing her role as Queen of the Kingdom. Brin, on the other hand, felt tired and irritable.
First, the people's grumbling annoyed him. They claimed that barbarians had invaded the city and were now ruling it. The fact that Brin hailed from an Uthgart tribe and had married a woman from the city gave them a perfect excuse to complain. They seemed to forget that the previous King had allowed them to starve, let their enemies take food from their children's mouths, and permitted outlaws and monsters to approach the city gates. But to them, Brin was just a barbarian, and even taking a casual piss in a birdbath was considered an offense by the good and law-abiding citizens of Neverwinter.
Brin grudgingly got out of bed and made his way to a bowl of water beside a mirror, near the rack holding his armor. He splashed the water on his face, continuing to grumble to himself. What he truly wanted was to take his wife and his fortune and leave this self-entitled and spoiled Kingdom. He had come here with nothing, and through luck and bold action, had become the King. Not just a King, but a King whose wealth had greatly improved the economy. He had stockpiled food and resources for the city, and he had supported the development of the warbands maintained by the great houses. Neverwinter was no longer hungry; it had schools, a hospital, temples, food kitchens, and even an orphanage. Brin had created an environment for these changes to take place and had supported those seeking to improve the city.
But now that he was married, people were upset. Even Francessca had commented on how the destruction of property had become the new normal. It was just a birdbath, after all. Brin had smashed it in hopes of having one of their old and amusing arguments. Now, even noble-born Francessca was against his "barbaric" rule. Brin let out a long breath and gazed at his reflection in the mirror with his one good eye.
Brin knew what was happening. His enemies, the Myrkyr cult, were using their proxy, the Shadow Council, to destabilize Neverwinter once again. Brin wasn't their ultimate target; they sought the Lich buried beneath the city. They aimed to use the Lich's magic to destroy the Prime Plane and later besiege the divine planes. Despite his desire to escape with his bride and fortune, Brin had to stay the course. If he left, the Myrkyr would wreak havoc, and the power vacuum would attract infighting and greedy nobles. A united and prepared Neverwinter could survive and thrive, but infighting would lead to chaos and put all lives at risk.
So, while he yearned to embrace the savage image people whispered about, the most effective blow to his enemies was to be a good and just King, a role he had no interest in at the moment. But for the sake of his people and their future, he had to persevere.
A short time later, fully dressed in a fine tunic, soft boots, golden chains, and cloak brooches, with a feathered shawl and a silver circlet, Brin left his chambers. As he headed towards the royal family's room, he ordered scribes to be summoned. While eating his already prepared meat, the scribes began to take commands from the King.
First, the people's grumbling annoyed him. They claimed that barbarians had invaded the city and were now ruling it. The fact that Brin hailed from an Uthgart tribe and had married a woman from the city gave them a perfect excuse to complain. They seemed to forget that the previous King had allowed them to starve, let their enemies take food from their children's mouths, and permitted outlaws and monsters to approach the city gates. But to them, Brin was just a barbarian, and even taking a casual piss in a birdbath was considered an offense by the good and law-abiding citizens of Neverwinter.
Brin grudgingly got out of bed and made his way to a bowl of water beside a mirror, near the rack holding his armor. He splashed the water on his face, continuing to grumble to himself. What he truly wanted was to take his wife and his fortune and leave this self-entitled and spoiled Kingdom. He had come here with nothing, and through luck and bold action, had become the King. Not just a King, but a King whose wealth had greatly improved the economy. He had stockpiled food and resources for the city, and he had supported the development of the warbands maintained by the great houses. Neverwinter was no longer hungry; it had schools, a hospital, temples, food kitchens, and even an orphanage. Brin had created an environment for these changes to take place and had supported those seeking to improve the city.
But now that he was married, people were upset. Even Francessca had commented on how the destruction of property had become the new normal. It was just a birdbath, after all. Brin had smashed it in hopes of having one of their old and amusing arguments. Now, even noble-born Francessca was against his "barbaric" rule. Brin let out a long breath and gazed at his reflection in the mirror with his one good eye.
Brin knew what was happening. His enemies, the Myrkyr cult, were using their proxy, the Shadow Council, to destabilize Neverwinter once again. Brin wasn't their ultimate target; they sought the Lich buried beneath the city. They aimed to use the Lich's magic to destroy the Prime Plane and later besiege the divine planes. Despite his desire to escape with his bride and fortune, Brin had to stay the course. If he left, the Myrkyr would wreak havoc, and the power vacuum would attract infighting and greedy nobles. A united and prepared Neverwinter could survive and thrive, but infighting would lead to chaos and put all lives at risk.
So, while he yearned to embrace the savage image people whispered about, the most effective blow to his enemies was to be a good and just King, a role he had no interest in at the moment. But for the sake of his people and their future, he had to persevere.
A short time later, fully dressed in a fine tunic, soft boots, golden chains, and cloak brooches, with a feathered shawl and a silver circlet, Brin left his chambers. As he headed towards the royal family's room, he ordered scribes to be summoned. While eating his already prepared meat, the scribes began to take commands from the King.
Re: Brin's History and Journal
The frigid air blew, and snow gusts swirled around Brin as he trudged through the icy tundra of the Spine. He extended his spear, which doubled as a walking staff, planting it ahead before taking each step in his snowshoes. Clad in heavy bear furs, leather armor, moccasins, snowshoes, and leather gloves, Brin persevered as he ascended the mountainside. Though the swirling snow made it seem like a storm, it was merely a blustery day, and Brin lacked sufficient food to wait for clearer weather. He needed to traverse the peaks to reach the lower tundra, where he could find sustenance and trees. And so, he continued his slow and deliberate climb.
By midday, Brin reached the mountain's crest, pausing to survey the far side. He spotted lowland valleys in the distance, but they were still more than a day's journey through the snow. Nevertheless, he pressed on after taking a bite of his dried meat rations. The snow on this side of the mountain was calmer, and Brin made better progress. He marched throughout the afternoon, never taking extended breaks, only stopping when the fading light made it hard to discern perilous gaps in the snow. With great skill, he carved an underground shelter from the snow, his endurance and strength unaffected by the day's travel. Under the snow shelter, he pulled out three logs and some kindling from his pack to create a small, slow-burning fire. He used the logs to maintain the fire overnight. Brin then laid out an oiled skin to rest on, consumed most of his remaining rations, and ate some snow while waiting for sleep, pondering the circumstances that had led him here.
Brin, who had celebrated his fourteenth name day just ten days prior, was fleeing from his mother's husband. Lirna, his mother, had warned him to escape the night before his name day. Her husband intended to challenge Brin to a duel on the morning after he was declared a man, and the outcome of that duel would be Brin's death. Gham, a brutal warrior and the local clan's chief, had raised Brin to be a tribal warrior, teaching him warfare and hunting. Although Gham had treated him harshly, he had fulfilled his duty to the tribe. Brin, thanks to his unknown father's blood, was incredibly strong and hardy, even at a young age. Yet, despite his strength, he was still young and no match for Gham's experience. To save his life, his mother had sent him into the wilderness with a heavy cloak, spear, and snowshoes. He had followed her advice and found himself miles away, now struggling to survive in the Spine of the World.
The next morning, Brin woke up, swiftly gathered his belongings, and donned his boots, which had been drying near the dying fire. Once dressed, he strapped his pack to his leather sack and left the shelter. No new snow had fallen during the night, so it didn't take him long to regain his bearings. He continued his march through the day, making steady progress downhill without rushing. As he reached a small grove of trees he had been seeking, he heard sounds from within. There was roaring, indicating the presence of a beast, either a yeti or an orc, and it seemed excited. But within those roars, he heard a human scream. Brin dropped his sack and rushed towards the noise. In the lower ground where the snow was not piled up, he moved silently in his moccasins, approaching unnoticed. What he found both enraged and shocked him.
Two young yetis, not yet fully grown, were trying to climb a large boulder in the center of a clearing. Their backs were turned to Brin, so they had not noticed him. The source of their excitement was a young woman at the top of the boulder, dressed similarly to Brin in leather leggings, moccasins, and heavy furs for warmth. She was pregnant and was using a sharpened wooden spear to fend off the beasts' attempts to climb. Without a moment's hesitation, Brin charged forward. The closer yeti was boosting its companion onto the boulder, and Brin's spear pierced the first yeti's back and exited its chest as the creature howled in pain. Brin was flung aside by the dying yeti, but he quickly regained his footing, only to find the second yeti fixated on him with fury. Brin drew his hunting knife, but the size and rage of the approaching beast were daunting. Brin crouched low, hoping to dodge a rush and get behind the creature, but if it caught him, he knew he would be finished. He had no idea about the fate of the other yeti or the girl, but he hoped she had managed to escape.
However, thinking had no place in this fight. The beast charged, and Brin acted. At the last moment, he dove low to the yeti's left, narrowly avoiding its wide-reaching arms. His intention was to get under the creature and out of its grasp. But his dive was abruptly halted as the yeti grabbed his heavy bear cloak. Brin tried to free himself from the cloak, but the beast pulled him close, seizing his left shoulder and swinging him around like a ragdoll. "Should have stayed for the duel," Brin thought as he struggled against the yeti's grip. But it was a futile effort, as the beast had the upper hand, gripping Brin's throat with one hand and his leather tunic with the other. As Brin tried to break free, he was hopelessly outmatched.
Then, fate intervened. Just before the beast could strangle him, a wooden spear tip pierced the yeti's neck at an upward angle. The creature, momentarily stunned, released Brin. He fell to the ground and rolled away, gasping for breath. The yeti flailed, trying to grasp the spear embedded in its neck, blood pouring from the wound. After a few more moments, the beast lay motionless. Brin retrieved his knife and spear from the first yeti he had killed. The young uthgart maid, who had been observing from a distance, approached him.
"I'm Rif," she said.
By midday, Brin reached the mountain's crest, pausing to survey the far side. He spotted lowland valleys in the distance, but they were still more than a day's journey through the snow. Nevertheless, he pressed on after taking a bite of his dried meat rations. The snow on this side of the mountain was calmer, and Brin made better progress. He marched throughout the afternoon, never taking extended breaks, only stopping when the fading light made it hard to discern perilous gaps in the snow. With great skill, he carved an underground shelter from the snow, his endurance and strength unaffected by the day's travel. Under the snow shelter, he pulled out three logs and some kindling from his pack to create a small, slow-burning fire. He used the logs to maintain the fire overnight. Brin then laid out an oiled skin to rest on, consumed most of his remaining rations, and ate some snow while waiting for sleep, pondering the circumstances that had led him here.
Brin, who had celebrated his fourteenth name day just ten days prior, was fleeing from his mother's husband. Lirna, his mother, had warned him to escape the night before his name day. Her husband intended to challenge Brin to a duel on the morning after he was declared a man, and the outcome of that duel would be Brin's death. Gham, a brutal warrior and the local clan's chief, had raised Brin to be a tribal warrior, teaching him warfare and hunting. Although Gham had treated him harshly, he had fulfilled his duty to the tribe. Brin, thanks to his unknown father's blood, was incredibly strong and hardy, even at a young age. Yet, despite his strength, he was still young and no match for Gham's experience. To save his life, his mother had sent him into the wilderness with a heavy cloak, spear, and snowshoes. He had followed her advice and found himself miles away, now struggling to survive in the Spine of the World.
The next morning, Brin woke up, swiftly gathered his belongings, and donned his boots, which had been drying near the dying fire. Once dressed, he strapped his pack to his leather sack and left the shelter. No new snow had fallen during the night, so it didn't take him long to regain his bearings. He continued his march through the day, making steady progress downhill without rushing. As he reached a small grove of trees he had been seeking, he heard sounds from within. There was roaring, indicating the presence of a beast, either a yeti or an orc, and it seemed excited. But within those roars, he heard a human scream. Brin dropped his sack and rushed towards the noise. In the lower ground where the snow was not piled up, he moved silently in his moccasins, approaching unnoticed. What he found both enraged and shocked him.
Two young yetis, not yet fully grown, were trying to climb a large boulder in the center of a clearing. Their backs were turned to Brin, so they had not noticed him. The source of their excitement was a young woman at the top of the boulder, dressed similarly to Brin in leather leggings, moccasins, and heavy furs for warmth. She was pregnant and was using a sharpened wooden spear to fend off the beasts' attempts to climb. Without a moment's hesitation, Brin charged forward. The closer yeti was boosting its companion onto the boulder, and Brin's spear pierced the first yeti's back and exited its chest as the creature howled in pain. Brin was flung aside by the dying yeti, but he quickly regained his footing, only to find the second yeti fixated on him with fury. Brin drew his hunting knife, but the size and rage of the approaching beast were daunting. Brin crouched low, hoping to dodge a rush and get behind the creature, but if it caught him, he knew he would be finished. He had no idea about the fate of the other yeti or the girl, but he hoped she had managed to escape.
However, thinking had no place in this fight. The beast charged, and Brin acted. At the last moment, he dove low to the yeti's left, narrowly avoiding its wide-reaching arms. His intention was to get under the creature and out of its grasp. But his dive was abruptly halted as the yeti grabbed his heavy bear cloak. Brin tried to free himself from the cloak, but the beast pulled him close, seizing his left shoulder and swinging him around like a ragdoll. "Should have stayed for the duel," Brin thought as he struggled against the yeti's grip. But it was a futile effort, as the beast had the upper hand, gripping Brin's throat with one hand and his leather tunic with the other. As Brin tried to break free, he was hopelessly outmatched.
Then, fate intervened. Just before the beast could strangle him, a wooden spear tip pierced the yeti's neck at an upward angle. The creature, momentarily stunned, released Brin. He fell to the ground and rolled away, gasping for breath. The yeti flailed, trying to grasp the spear embedded in its neck, blood pouring from the wound. After a few more moments, the beast lay motionless. Brin retrieved his knife and spear from the first yeti he had killed. The young uthgart maid, who had been observing from a distance, approached him.
"I'm Rif," she said.