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DragonLance: Wanderers' Tales

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One of Many letters sent to Mr. Epictongue [May. 9th, 2007|11:12 pm]
DragonLance: Wanderers' Tales

[mood |cheerfulcheerful]

Dear Father,

HELLO! I’m having a marvelous time on my big grand adventure. The journey started off slow, but than I ran into a bunch of strange travelers. They all bravely risked their lives to help elves from Dark Knights currently running a town. Oh if you are wondering where I got this lovely piece of parchment to write on from one of the elves. She’s very important for she will help the pixie along with the centaur to revive a forest.

Did I tell you I’m currently traveling with a pixie, centaur, two elves (one’s a cleric-the nice one letting me having this piece of paper), and a green draconian.

Yes they are all really nice, but the draconian rarely talks. Especially now with the pixie taking a magical ring (she likes shiny objects) and is currently a pink draconian.

No father I am not drunk, but a dwarf did pay for my drinks once. Than he ran into some trouble with blacked dressed humans. They really weren’t all that friendly for I think they ate something that didn’t agree with their stomachs. No one can look like a sour puss all day long as Stewie would say.

I am a little homesick and miss you all dearly. I hope Elsa has gotten over her cold and is back to performing with everyone. Tell Marty that I have not found the perfect juggling balls, but I am trying.

Also a note for Uncle Sebastie that the Players of Gilean are still number one. Give everyone my love!

Your ever-loving daughter,
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Toddler Tale-Telling [Dec. 18th, 2006|09:58 pm]
DragonLance: Wanderers' Tales

[mood |nostalgicnostalgic]

"Sage-girl here is what juggling looks like," her Minator babysitter Marty said. He had trouble speaking common, but Sage couldn't care less as she adored him. Especially over the last couple of months the troupe had been stuck in the mountains. The dwarves were nice enough to give them lodgings until the snowy season ended, but for those with kender blood it became torture. Sebastius, thankfully, kept her father busy at all times. Something the five year old Sage didn't comprehend than, but camt to later on when she was an adult.

Sage giggled as Marty added knives to the balls, hatchets, and bottles he was currently joggling. Sage clapped with enthuasism when the performance was over.

"Now if every audience was like you," Marty started saying, but he stopped. He saw some movement behind Sage, and before she could turn and see she was hurled into the air. She held onto her friends hairy arms as he ran. . .

Later that night Sage sat beside her father as he showed her a magic trick, but it was a distraction from the serious business in the room. She had only months earlier grieved for the death of her mother and had slowly started smiling again. Then they were attacked by black hooded men... or creatures; she never did get to see their faces. Losing Marty would have sent her happy world into complete chaos. Thankfully the dwarves had a cleric in their midsts, but Marty would never be able to juggle again. At least that was what all the adults said, but Sage refused to believe them.

A few days later she was able to sit at her friend's bedside. Despite being so young she could tell the difference in her friendss emotional state. Marty had lost a couple of fingers on his right hand and she had heard an arrow had come close to piercing his heart. She did not look at her friend with pity or sympathy for she had no knowledge of those feelings. She looked upon her hero with happiness and hope.

"Will you juggle for me?" she asked innocently. She held out the fancy scarves her father had acquired at some noblewoman's house. "I tried, but I can't seem to get it down right." Sage watched as Marty slowly shed tears and told her couldn't anymore. "Why not? Have you tried?"

"Sorry Sage-girl, but the dwarf healer said I couldn't anymore," Marty said.

"Why?" Sage simply asked not understanding.

"I lost a few fingers on my hands," Marty showed her. He had been hesitant before, but Sage was different from all types of children. She was enjoying the heritage of both Human and Kender. He wasn't surprise when Sage eyed the bandaged fingers with curosity.

"Oh," came her reply. "Than may I tell you a story?" Marty was relieved when she changed the subject.

"That would be awful nice of you," he answered.

"Once upon a time there was a boy named Billy who lived in the woods with his mother. He was a good boy who helped his mom do lots of chores. Everytime at night the Billy would play the lute for his mother. Than one day when he was chopping wood he had an accident. He accidantly chopped off one of his fingers. His mother bandaged him up and took him to the nearest healer. The loss of his finger deeply saddened him and he lost some of the cheeriness he had at night. His mother had asked him to play, but he refused because he was missing a finger. Months had gone by when one day a stranger came to the door one winter night. The mysterious man passed out when mother opened the door. So then Billy and his mother nursed their guest back to health. They couldn't risk traveling in the snow storm. When the stranger recovered his health he repaid his hosts' kindness. He fixed windows, chopped wood, and even cooked dinner. Than one night he asked about the lute sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. Billy said he used to play, but no more on the account of his hand. When the man had listened and said that was very sad that Billy stopped playing because of his injury. Someone shouldn't give up what they love doing if there is an obstacle in their way. Later that night when everyone was asleep Billy got up and picked up his lute. He tried a few strings, but it wasn't the same. He started crying for believing the words of the stranger. When he looked up he saw the stranger looking at him. He said to Billy 'We already know the melody, but sometimes we have to reteach oursleves the dance.' He picked up the fallen lute and handed it Billy. Billy fell asleep with the lute in his hands. When he woke up the next morning the stranger had left. After that he retaught himself to play the lute even with his missing finger."

Sage ended her story with a yawn and clapping. Marty and her looked up to see Sebastius come walking into the room clapping.

"An excellent story my dear. You sound like your dear mother when you speak, but it's time for bed. We must not keep Marty up to long if he is to recover."

"Okay Uncle Sebastie," Sage said as she jumped off her stool. She took his hand as he lead her out of the room. Sage was not surprised when months later Marty was juggling again, for she always believed in him.
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Half-Kender Rogue - Sageblossom Epictongue [Oct. 3rd, 2006|11:47 am]
DragonLance: Wanderers' Tales

[mood |artistic]

“Music powers life. Art reflects life. Life is inspiration, made manifest in our material bodies.”
- Teachings from the Holy Order of Branchala, God of Inspiration

“Knowledge is the benchmark of personal growth. Experience is the benchmark of knowledge. Theater allows you to enjoy the thrills of experience without having to leave you own town!”
- Sebastius, Leader of the traveling troupe The Players of Gilean

“The God’s greatest gift to man is the theater! A hero will save the world once in his life, the actor will safe the world twice a day, five days a week, and manage to do so in front of people, so they can be inspired to greatness themselves!”
- Sebastius (drunk)

“Branchala’s a wonderful chap, as god’s go… best singer you’ll hear! But acting? Boy couldn’t play a villain for anything, tends to preach a bit if you let him, and I happen to know for a fact that he wears far too much eye liner!”
- Sebastius (very drunk)

The continent of Ansalon has been the stage of much war and turmoil through the ages. At times the gods have been silent, even entirely absent. At times the various races and nations have withdrawn in on themselves, shutting out strangers and distrusting anyone different.

But throughout any age, any time of darkness, one race has always kept traveling, exploring, and reaching out people (and their possessions).

Kender have never let little things like barred gates and closed bridges stop them.

Aside from Kender, another group has made their presence known throughout the continent, across the age: the bards and performers of Ansalon, who happen to share a few similarities with the Kender race in general. The oldest (supposedly) most renowned (as advertised) of these traveling troupes are The Players of Gilean.

The Players have been traveling the world as long as anyone can remember. Their numbers have included members of every race and every nationality. Their clientele has included rulers and paupers, ogres and elves, Kingpriests and Highlords. And to the chagrin of many other races, The Players of Gilean have always included at least a few Kender.

One such Kender was Rabblerouse Epictongue, a tumbler and narrator of no small skill with a penchant for performing heart-rending soliloquies while balancing upside down on a giant wooden ball. With a ventriloquist doll propped in his feet. Drunk.

Rab eventually caught the eye, and in turn was caught, by a lovely human actress named Andrea of Tarsis. Small of stature herself, Andrea could masterfully assume roles ranging from young girls, to shrunken old women, with many a precocious heroine in between. Andrea was a favorite of the troupe; performing scenes of humor and solemnity with equal skill and fervor.

After some enjoyable years together the two were blessed with a female child, a half-kender girl the overexcited father was quick to name “Lovely Sage Blossoming Under the Brilliant Sun”. The exhausted and infinitely more practical mother compromised on Sageblossom.

Sageblossom Epictongue was an actor before she could crawl, replacing the tawdry dolls that had previously been used as props in performances. Sage was never far from Andrea’s side, and the friendly child was doted on by an immense number of “uncles” and “aunts”, who included humans, dwarves, kender, elves, a few minotaurs, and (according to her father) a three-headed hydra named Ronald.

When Sage was five years old, her mother contracted a powerful sickness that took kept her in bed and away from the stage. Determined to get better, Andrea would often practice and perform roles from her bed for an audience of one. Sage would practice and perform as other characters with her mother, learning many of Andrea’s acting methods herself.

After a year of sickness, Andrea passed away. Rab and Sage were in mourning for several months before they began behaving as their old selves. Sage’s life would have been much harder had her father not had so much help. Kender are loving parents, though given to bouts of inattentiveness as per their inquisitive nature and short attention spans. Fortunately the human in Sage allowed her to pay more attention to her father, than he did to her… so she never went missing, especially with the troupe as an extended family.

In the twelve years since Andrea’s death Sage has become a sold addition The Player’s of Gilean. She has played roles both small and large, and she has learned some tumbling from her father, as well as basic skills for scaffolding and set design. She has traveled across the continent twice, meeting many people and seeing hundreds of communities. She has yet to experience any true racism for her half-breed heritage, having grown up in an environment that accepted her from birth. Just the same, she has seen hints of racial prejudice in some of the audiences over the years, so she knows it exists.

Her father has lost some of his fire, content to stay with the troupe as he approaches middle age as a widow. He has even contemplated returning to Kenderhome so he can stop traveling, though he is loath to leave his longtime friends in the troupe. Knowing that Sage will soon experience her own wanderlust, Rab has given her the freedom to come or go as she chooses, promising to keep her abreast of how to reach him should she ever need her father.

With her father’s blessing, Sage is now an adult by Kender standards.
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Minotaur Fighter - Dastrun of Clan Lagrangli [Oct. 1st, 2006|12:54 am]
DragonLance: Wanderers' Tales

[mood |mellowmellow]

Creation myths say that, after dragons, the Gods made three sentient races to live on the world. The short-lived humans bred like rats and live short, violent lives reminiscent of wildfire. The twig-thin elves retreated into the primordial forests to skulk in fear of death and change. Before all others the gods created the ogres, which were the best race.

The ogres were stronger, smarter and lived longer than the elves or humans. Ogres created the first great cities, and the first empire, to grace the world. However, even this near-perfect race was flawed, and in time those flaws spread to devour and degrade the entire species.

It was the god Sargas who lifted the very best ogres up from their fallen brethren. He marked them with his own noble, horned visage so that they would never again be confused with the monkey-like lesser races of the world. Sargas taught his chosen people of honor, glory and unity. Thus were born the Minotaurs, the best of the best.

In the thousands of years since, the Minotaurs have suffered oppression and slavery at the hands of multiple races. Sargas taught that these failures were the fault of weakness in the Minotaurs themselves. Hubris and rage brought defeat to the Minotaurs despite the inferiority of their enemies. Sargas taught them to hold honor above all things, and part of honor was vengeance for the wronged. If the father falls, the son must take up his axe. If the son should fall, then the brother shall follow. When the brother falls, let his cause become the cause of his cousin. And so on. The harshest judges of a Minotaur’s worth would be their own family. Through the maintenance of family honor the perfect Minotaurs would be raised. So the children of Sargas changed, to better match their god and to rise above their mortal peers.

The present-day has brought the glory of conquest to the entire Minotaur race on the continent of Ansalon. Despite tumultuous political and religious infighting in the past ten years, the Empire has united behind a strong new emperor and re-embraced the worship of Sargas who had been thought dead. After a brilliant shock attack against the ancient elven homeland, the Minotaurs have gained their first foothold on main land Ansalon.

Ancient sylvan forests are being cleared to new Minotaur settlements on the southeast coast of the continent. The elves have fled their land while the Minotaurs reap the bounty of the Silvanesti Forests boundless natural resources and the material wealth of the elves’ most ancient capital. The opportunies for honor and the advancement of the Minotaur race are endless in the new colony.

However, even in such a prosperous time dissenters and cowards will be found. Such is the case of Grezignalthi of Clan Lagrangli. Grezig was the commander of a squad of imperial scouts, pushing ahead into the western Silvanesti Forest. The survivors of his command report that a hidden camp of elven fighters was found, and a battle broke out. The reports are conflicted, as the survivors had become fevered by the time they reached secure outposts. However all agree that early in the fight Grezig attempted to flee the battlefield and attacked his own soldiers to do so.

Grezignalthi has been charged with cowardice, insubordination and treason against the empire. His name is to be stricken from clan records, and Clan Lagrangli itself has become shadowed by this dishonor. Scouting parties sent out since have recovered the remains of all the deceased Minotaurs from Grezig’s command, except for Grezig himself. Grezig’s failure to return and face his punishment has solidified his guilty in the minds of the colony command.

Grazig’s younger brother, Dastrun of Clan Lagrangli is now coping with the shockwaves of his brother’s desertion. While most of his army comrades understand that Dastrun himself has done no wrong, shared honor among family members is perhaps the strongest tradition in Minotaur society. Close friends have become distant, genial commanders have become terse, and Dastrun can feel the eyes of those all around him, waiting for him to show the slightest flaw.

Fortunately Dastrun has completed his mandatory tour of duty in the Imperial Army. Where he might once have looked forward to promotion and prosperity by re-enlisting. Dastrun now finds the Minotaur military a very inhospitable place. Aside form his brother, only distantly related clan members are on the mainland colony and Dastrun finds himself very much alone. Minotaurs that do not know Dastrun’s identity treat him as cordially as any other member of the empire, but all who do know treat him curtly and keep a safe distance. Some behave as if dishonor itself were a disease, contagious as any plague.

There is nothing for Dastrun back on the homeland, save to wallow in dishonor among his parents and clan members. However, there is an entire continent of opportunities to gain glory, and Dastrun might work his way up and redeem the Clan Lagrangli. With hostile elven raiding parties, embittered Dark Knight companies, savage ogre war bands, and curious kender wanderers there is much to cause any sane Minotaur concern. However, Dastrun is still a Minotaur, still one of the best of the best; even if he is lowest among them.

Dastrun of Clan Lagrangli must plan for the future.
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