Doctor Legion
New member
The wound still burned like whitefire.
He flawlessly remembered the moment when it happened, when he lost his left arm. The misshapen stump left behind reminded him each and every day of what he lost when he stormed the Hells. Men and women who made their oaths to him did so out of comradery. Some died, others were injured similarly to him. Yet they pursued his dream all the same, standing beside him and fighting the same demons that gnawed away at their number. Friendship held them together. Friendship determined that their bodies be recovered, so that they would be buried in realspace. Gaiseric honored the fallen with a speech and hot tears, knowing nothing could bring them back.
That was over a year ago. The legendary Band of the Ivory Skull diminished into a splinter of its former glory. Gaiseric himself had his aspirations dulled by time and pain. He was getting older. Time would see him dead eventually, as it did all things. Reckless drink ate away at his organs. He could feel it sitting in his stomach when he tried to erase his conscience and embrace temporary bliss. He despised the sensation, wanting no less than to rip out his own heart and wring it dry from the stench of ale.
He called himself a fool each and every day. Those nights not spent in transit between partying and intoxicated slumber were the ones he feared the most. When the candles died and all he was left with creaked and moaned in the dark, he felt truly alone. The only solace he possessed was the sword at his side. He trained with it relentlessly, perhaps only in a pathetic attempt to secure some new glory despite his new impairment - he did not know. All he focused on was that he could still swing it effectively enough to fight with.
It was at the Tavern of the Merry Ogre that he found refuge one particular day, the last few Ivory Skull members still willing to put up with his nonsense drifting away to the corners of the small village of Ram's Horn for bartering or other business. He confided in his first drink of the day after a long journey to the base of the Wild Mountain, an untamed wilderness he had hoped would produce some adventure worth breaking himself out of his self-medicated pattern. The innkeeper, the "Merry Ogre" it seemed, pinched a tankard and gave Gaiseric his desired ale.
The beast stood taller than three men, her natural musculature barely concealed by her layered dress. She had her thick, wiry black hair tied back in a simply ponytail and her powder-blue face wrinkled in a fanged smile.
"You're a new face! Have any tales to tell?"
Gaiseric leaned his cheek into his hand, staring into the golden-brown liquid placed before him. His eye twitched with the scars almost splitting it from his head, his fiery-red hair concealing his furrowed brow. He gave her a warm smile and downed most of the beverage in one go, cold foam sticking to his stubble.
"I could talk your ear off, my friend, so long as you keep this fantastic brew coming!"
He laughed, trying to drown out the knot twisting in his guts.
He flawlessly remembered the moment when it happened, when he lost his left arm. The misshapen stump left behind reminded him each and every day of what he lost when he stormed the Hells. Men and women who made their oaths to him did so out of comradery. Some died, others were injured similarly to him. Yet they pursued his dream all the same, standing beside him and fighting the same demons that gnawed away at their number. Friendship held them together. Friendship determined that their bodies be recovered, so that they would be buried in realspace. Gaiseric honored the fallen with a speech and hot tears, knowing nothing could bring them back.
That was over a year ago. The legendary Band of the Ivory Skull diminished into a splinter of its former glory. Gaiseric himself had his aspirations dulled by time and pain. He was getting older. Time would see him dead eventually, as it did all things. Reckless drink ate away at his organs. He could feel it sitting in his stomach when he tried to erase his conscience and embrace temporary bliss. He despised the sensation, wanting no less than to rip out his own heart and wring it dry from the stench of ale.
He called himself a fool each and every day. Those nights not spent in transit between partying and intoxicated slumber were the ones he feared the most. When the candles died and all he was left with creaked and moaned in the dark, he felt truly alone. The only solace he possessed was the sword at his side. He trained with it relentlessly, perhaps only in a pathetic attempt to secure some new glory despite his new impairment - he did not know. All he focused on was that he could still swing it effectively enough to fight with.
It was at the Tavern of the Merry Ogre that he found refuge one particular day, the last few Ivory Skull members still willing to put up with his nonsense drifting away to the corners of the small village of Ram's Horn for bartering or other business. He confided in his first drink of the day after a long journey to the base of the Wild Mountain, an untamed wilderness he had hoped would produce some adventure worth breaking himself out of his self-medicated pattern. The innkeeper, the "Merry Ogre" it seemed, pinched a tankard and gave Gaiseric his desired ale.
The beast stood taller than three men, her natural musculature barely concealed by her layered dress. She had her thick, wiry black hair tied back in a simply ponytail and her powder-blue face wrinkled in a fanged smile.
"You're a new face! Have any tales to tell?"
Gaiseric leaned his cheek into his hand, staring into the golden-brown liquid placed before him. His eye twitched with the scars almost splitting it from his head, his fiery-red hair concealing his furrowed brow. He gave her a warm smile and downed most of the beverage in one go, cold foam sticking to his stubble.
"I could talk your ear off, my friend, so long as you keep this fantastic brew coming!"
He laughed, trying to drown out the knot twisting in his guts.
