Randoms

The Role Playing Game

"Hwauh! Take that, and that! And some of this, oh and some of that you cow!" yelled the nameless adventurer as he slashed and hacked at a pair of rampaging trolls. He had just been enjoying a good pint of mead at the local tavern when the two bullies barged in and ate the barmaid. As the only one with any lick of skill, he had risen from his stool to do battle with the fiends.

Within a few moments the trolls had fallen, and the adventurer felt exhilerated, it was his first real battle. He was surprised at how easy it had been, his sword had almost been controlling itself. With the beasts dead he sheathed his sword and began to make his way out through the gaping hole the trolls had put in the side of the wall. He figured he should be on his way.

"Wait, kind sir!" Called one of the patrons of the bar. It was Harmick of Farlan but the adventurer wasn't quite sure how he knew that, he had never met the man before. "May we know the name of our saviour?"

The adventurer thought long and hard about that one. What is my name? Ro . . . no. Willia . . . no, too cliche. Err . . . Yorick? No, too dramatic. Uhh . . . "Rheagar. Yes, Rheagar is my name. Rheagar of Wind's Reach," the adventurer said confidently. 

"Well thanks for saving us sir," Harmick said, smiling. Rheagar nodded as he stepped through the jagged hole, gingerly avoiding the sharp wooden edges. 

The man stepped into the cool night air, savouring the rich town around him. He hadn't noticed all of the buildings before, hell he didn't even remember arriving. The earliest thing he could remember was that cup of mead.

Rheagar began to venture down the road, heading for the forest. He figured he had to get going, there was somewhere he needed to be. It was written down in his journal, but he was too lazy to check.

The man raised a hand and tugged on his ragged brown beard, pulling the dried blood from the hairs. Funny, he thought, I don't remember having a beard. He removed his hand from the tangle of hair and ran it through the locks atop his head. A satisfied smirk appeared on his face as he arranged it into the style he liked. He marched onwards, content.

As he continued on he felt a nagging feeling, urging him to open his journal. He grunted, heading forwards, not wanting to bother with the book while it was dark. He figured he was in the right direction, it wasn't like there were many options.

It was a few more moments of that infernal tugging before his journal leapt from his pack, landing before his feet on the road. Cursing, Rheagar stooped, collecting the book from the ground. As soon as he held it the pages flew open, landing on a star chart. Oh, that's interesting. Where is my sign? Hmm . . .  ah, there it is! The sign of the warrior, sturdy and tough. 

Suddenly Rheagar felt like he was stronger, and . . . taller. He flexed a muscle, not realizing his true strength. "Awesome," he muttered, admiring his own might. He felt that nagging again and turned back to his journal. It had flipped some more pages and was showing him a list of classes and fighting styles.

Rheagar pondered the page, trying to remember what he had trained in. I'm a . . . Paladin, yeah. Trained in the use of one-handed blades. Yes, that sounds about right. What the hell happened to my memory?

Once again the journal had flipped around, and was now displaying a page that had records off all of Rheagars skills and his proficiencies. When did I start keeping track of this crap? Who cares? Well . . . while I'm here, I suppose I could take a look. Hmm . . . I thought I was a little bit more intelligent than that! And I'm not that slow! And since when did I ever try to learn magic? Who needs magic when you have prefectly good steel in your hands? Eh, whatever. At least this garbage is settled. Now I can get back to adventuring-ing.

With a grunt, Rheagar returned his journal to his pack and continued on, eager to get moving again. It wasn't long before he had passed through the forest, and had a pack full of junk that he had found.

"It will be useful at somepoint," he had told himself, even when he had picked up an old cooking pot, rusted and dirty.

The adventurer looked out along the grassy fields that stretched out for miles. He spotted a sprawling city in the distance. He decided he would head there and try and barter with his few possessions. 

Rheagar clambered down the rocky slope that connected the forest to the grasslands, not at all worrying about slipping and injuring himself. That kind of stuff just didn't happen to him.

He hurried onwards, bored of just travelling. He wished he could just instantly teleport to the city, but he knew that was impossible, for he had never even been there before.

So forwards he trudged, not even noticing he had stumbled into gian territory. It wasn't until he felt the rumble beneath his feet that he saw the angry giant lumbering towards him. His face fell, understanding that he could not possible possess the power to defeat such a large beast.

"Aww, you son of a bitch," he cried, drawing his sword. Even though the fight was unwinnable, Rheagar refused to retreat. He charged at the giant, ready to slash at it's legs. With a mighty swipe the giant hit Rheagar with its club, sending the adventurer tumbling through the air.

The man hit the ground hardm feeling all of his ribs shatter. His life's blood tricked from him, pooling around his body. His journal landed before him, the page open to his logs of past events.

My last entry is only at the tavern. Rheagar just stared at the book, dissapointed. His eyes suddenly filled with rage.

"FUCK THIS!" he cried out, his dying words.