Gundioc Mallister/Erpheronian/Brigand

Personal Information:

Name: Gundioc Mallister, formally Master Gundioc the Mighty of House Mallister, though he rarely, if ever uses this, merely acknowledges it to appease his brother Mathis, who is obsessive about the restoration of their House. Gundioc is also known as Gundioc the Gross, Gundioc the Fat, plainly: Thousandsons (for his patronage to so many prostitutes and the uncountable number of bastards he has running about because of said patronage), and The Bear.

Gender: Male

Age: 37, Born 14, Dead Tree, 1633 a.S.

Race: Human

Tribe: Erpheronian

Occupation: Brigand

Title: The Bear

Favorite Color: Barsa Dusk

Overview: Spending his childhood with the dreams of chivalry and honor that were inherent in most Erpheronian families, Gundioc had always hoped to grow up a brave and valorous warrior, the likes which had lived in the days of King Thar. Although, he found that the world was not such a simple place to live as the tales would have one believe. Only half of his dream came true; he was quite brave, especially after spending hours at a local tavern with the spirits. His hopes shattered and his dreams lost, Gundioc turned to drinking and became a cruel and heartless man and has lived that way the majority of his life. Now, with the constant companionship of his kin and his wineskin, Gundioc is the great warrior he has always wanted to be; minus the chivalry and honor bit, but all they do is get in the way when you’re trying to have a good time.

Physical Appearance: Constant drinking and engaging in hedonistic pleasures have taken their toll on Gundioc’s body. While quite tall; at just under two peds, he is obese; weighing just over three pygges, five hebs. He is not so large that he cannot function, but it is obviously an impediment to him. Gundioc would have been handsome had he taken care of himself, but his rosy, slightly sagging jowls and drooping brow give him the appearance of an old, bedraggled man.

Hair; that may have once been a dark eophran brown, hangs about his face in long, graying, greasy strands. His receding hairline attests to premature balding and a gray shadow of stubble clings to his throat and face. As he goes without shaving for many days, it is not uncommon to see him with a beard, although it is never well-groomed and only adds to his grizzled appearance. Eyes; that may once have been a dark vontromarine, now appear very pale and bloodshot; a product of Gundioc’s alcoholism and late nights. His arms and hands are calloused and show many scars, evidence of his ability to fight, although many of the scars are self-induced out of drunken clumsiness, a fact he is not eager to point out or have pointed out.

Sadly, the tips of all four fingers on his left hand are missing for the life of a brigand usually carries with it punishment in some form. It just so happened, Gundioc was able to escape before his entire hand was taken. Finally, four long scars run horizontally across his upper back. Grotesque, should one see them; they are a gruesome reminder of Gundioc’s encounter with a Cartashian bear.

Clothing: The stink of sweat, smoke and alcohol permeate Gundioc’s entire wardrobe. He wears multiple layers of clothing to both make it seem as though his immensity is largely muscle and to appear at least slightly presentable. Usually he can be found in a wool or cotton tunic of dark shades like bursa dusk or charcoal to hide the sweat and grease stains that have amassed over the years due to his liberal eating and drinking habits. Over this he wears piece-meal chain mail which hangs either a bit lower or above his ankles, depending on if he was sober enough to put it on correctly. A very large strip of boiled leather is fastened about his girth, as that is where enemies are most like to strike him. The mail and leather are the only armor Gundioc wears, for he doesn’t believe in your armor weighing more than you, which it indeed would, if he were to wear armor.

Over the shiny bits he covers himself with a faded korwyn gold or karikrimson cloak, buttoned or laced down the middle to cover his mail and leather. On top of that he has a large, charcoal, hooded woolen over-cloak, with a round nor’sidian fastener at the neck. His boots and gloves are both thick leather, blackened from use and falling in fires once too often while out camping with his wineskin. His boots and gloves are both studded with small iron spikes, no bigger than a pebble, but still, the better to beat people with when under the influence. Finally, the pride and joy of his garb can be found wrapped about his shoulders at all times. A great hide from a Cartashian bear, which Gundioc himself slew in the prime of his life. The head rests on his right shoulder and the left paw rests on his left. Small leather fasteners keep the bearskin from sliding off his shoulders and because of its size, it drags behind him for at least half a fore, tattered and scraggly where it meets the ground, adding to his already ferocious appearance.

Personality: Since picking up his first horn of ale, it seems as though Gundioc has not been able to function without some sort of alcohol in him. Having been drunk for most of his life, Gundioc seems a very oafish brute, and is. He is loud, obnoxious and vulgar. But, he still retains that animal instinct and cleverness inherent in all beasts, making him most of all, dangerous. However, his wineskin rules him, and so more often than not, his blundering cruelty is seen. His brother, Mathis is the only person he trusts, and even then he trusts him very little.

Having seen his brother grow up in his shadow, he has come to even like him a bit, although he hates him more. His other brother, Ruil, he cannot stand. As Ruil actually has a sense of honor and guilt; those things which Gundioc had once aspired to embody. He has no respect for anyone else, especially women, as is evidence of his having had seven wives, all meeting questionable ends. He is very fond of whoring, and has been known to occasionally be generous to his temporary lovers, although many end up bruised and bloodied by the animalistic passion Gundioc displays. But, sometimes they are not so lucky as to escape with merely bruises as Gundioc has been known to kill a whore or two, especially for disobedience. Gundioc believes himself untouchable and is very conceited. He makes inappropriate jests and uses obscene language and gestures towards those he converses with and does not think twice about present company or consequence.

He fancies himself the life of the party and oftentimes is, being the largest, loudest, most drunk man in the room. He impresses easily and can come across as a very good-humored, albeit crude, person. Although, his convivial nature can abruptly turn around if he is made the butt of someone’s joke or even thinks he has been insulted. He is quick to anger and holds grudges easily, although half of them he will forget in the morning. When provoked, he flies into a rage, drunken or not, and will let his fists and mouth fly; screaming insults and beating anyone and anything in front of him into a bloody pulp.

On the rare instances when Gundioc is sober and awake, he is little better. He is more apt to remember things and he thinks before he speaks, but he thinks very much the same as when he was drunk, accounting for his still crass self. Concerning money, Gundioc will do nearly anything for any amount. He and his brother Mathis are notorious for doing very despicable deeds for even the most modest amounts of money. Gundioc doing so because he savors the amount of pillaging he is able to accomplish en route. His animal behavior and frivolous lifestyle make him the monster that he is and always will be.

Strengths:

Large: Gundioc’s immensity can be daunting and outright frightening. He has a lot of power behind all that bulk and has used this to his advantage on more than one occasion, flinging himself at foes when weaponless. Though quite fat, he is stronger than the average man, allowing him to wield cumbersome weapons, like his war-maul, with more ease, and overpower men (and women) without too much of a fight.

Fortitude: Because Gundioc drinks alcohol as lesser men would drink water, the mind-numbing effects have become apart of Gundioc’s behavior; thus Gundioc functions near-normal when drunk, which happens to be most of the time. He is fairly coordinated and can wield simple weapons with some semblance of skill, although he mostly just thrashes around until his foes lie dead. The alcohol makes him vicious, sending him into a craze until his own personal vendetta is ended. It also allows him to take the bite of most wounds better than other men his size. This permanent intoxication dulls his senses and manifests itself as apathy for his own person. He braves things sane or sober men would not and usually doesn’t remember it the next day and if he does, laughs about it.

Trained: Gundioc’s father did not altogether lack means and experience. Gundioc was taught to read and write Tharian and was trained with the Erpheronian broadsword and shield that most Erpheronians use. He was also taught to ride a horse on his father’s estate. After Borik’s take-over, Gundioc fled and so his military training ended abruptly. As a vagrant, his skill with sword, shield and war hammer were self-taught from watching others around him and attempting to emulate their fighting style.

Experience: Gundioc has lived over 23 years as a vagabond mercenary. He knows guerrilla tactics and how people react to different means of persuasion. He knows where the best brothels are located and which taverns have the finest ale. He knows how to live off the land, although he is no expert, and was taught a few simple remedies to wounds one receives in battle; mainly pouring alcohol wherever there’s bleeding and wrapping it up. A little swig doesn’t hurt either.

Weaknesses:

Obese: Food and drink have and will always maintain a high priority over many of the things in Gundioc’s life; family and friends for one, and as such he has sampled many of the greatest (and worst) dishes Santharia has to offer. Stretch marks pervade his midsection, like tiny little scars, and he has suffered at least three minor heart attacks. His years of decadence have left him more short of breath than he remembers and his slow and languorous movements can be attributed to something more than just alcohol.

Alcoholism: Gundioc will not perform a task without some from of alcohol in him. He has an addiction and fully admits and accepts it, probably even loves it. He spends money frivolously on any spirit and though knows of quality brews, he has always opted for quantity. The reek coming from him is easily discernable and is bad for first impressions, as are the numerous skins of wine or ale he usually procures from his gigantic person multiple times during conversation. This sickness has obviously resulted in physical debilitation as well as mental degeneration, most notably Gundioc’s downward spiral into a more animalistic belligerence.

Mental Instability: Growing up wanting to be the embodiment of chivalry and instead embodying the exact opposite can have a destructive effect upon one's psyche. Gundioc has dealt with this over the years with alcohol, whores and violence, mitigating any serious psychological outbursts which could compromise the sanity he possesses. Gundioc is known for rapidly and wildly changing moods and mismatching his words and actions, such as smiling while crying when there was no joke told or sometimes you can catch him talking to himself over the best ways to roast a boar, even if there is only cheese and greenery at the table. This instability usually doesn’t occur if Gundioc is preoccupied with battle or with a whore, but mostly affects the social situations he is in, making appearing respectable extremely difficult.

Maimed: In losing the four tips of his fingers from his left hand, Gundioc has difficulty wielding weapons in it or keeping a grip on an object with only that hand for extended periods of time. Thus, he chooses to use a war-maul so that both his hands can be used and when not using that, normally wield weapons with his right hand unless it is in his interest to use his left. He can still engage in pugilism, the lack of fingertips merely makes some things in life more of a chore. In actuality, the wound which gives Gundioc the most trouble is the great markings of the Cartashian bear upon his back. In healing, the scar tissue inhibited the workings of the muscles and Gundioc has back aches and soreness fairly regularly. Not debilitating to his actions, but very painful and noisome, should one be in earshot to make out the rampant curses Gundioc emits while contorting to find a more comfortable position.

Wanted: Being a criminal can make one intimidating and gives you some fo’ realsies, down with the G’s and the playas rep, the drawback being most of the other law abiding citizenry of the continent have no problem working towards your death. Gundioc is well-known in the provinces of Vardynn and Nermeran for deeds done when he was younger, and now holds an even more considerable reputation in Manthria, considering many of the crimes the brothers perpetrate are shoveled onto Gundioc's rather long criminal resume. Gundioc is occasionally hounded by the overzealous enforcer or bounty hunter, which can be a most uninviting nuisance at points. Although there are some who manage to be a most challenging foe, most prefer not to forfeit their life in such a dangerous pursuit. Luckily, Gundioc has managed to save himself the embarrassment of being put to death, even living through the ordeal of a prison break. Though he has been jailed numerous times, forty or more, mostly for being drunk and brawling, it is usually so late and the town so small that none knew of Gundioc’s reputation.

History:

In the far north of the Kingdom of Santharia, nestled between the Teiphra delta and the shadows of the Warnaka mountains sits the town of O’rril. It was here that a noble of no real power or influence had his home, passed down from generation to generation, going back almost two millennia to the time of King Myrwodin. This man was Medoc Mallister and with his wife Lara, they produced seven offspring, of which Gundioc Mallister was the fourth.

Now, Medoc was not an ambitious man and contented himself with providing for his wife and children and being a generally good father. He ensured that his sons would know how to read, write, ride and fight, and that his daughters were able-bodied and would not turn into spinsters.

Gundioc was Medoc’s third son, there being Borik, who was eight years his senior, and Merrick, who was two years his senior. Gundioc loved nothing more than to watch from the window where he and his brother Merrick studied their letters at the age of five or six down at the yard where Borik was taught the sword and imagine themselves as great heroes slashing and dodging blows from each others’ quill. Their father was adamant that they learn to read, write and speak well before they were taught the craft of war, and so it was that the males of the Mallister line were usually not learned in the finer ways of swordsmanship until their fifteenth or sixteenth year.

Gundioc was not so bright as his brothers and it seemed his mind was always in a place only known to himself. He would often find himself watching his older sister Katya, the second-born child of Medoc and Lara, knitting and playing with his baby brother Mathis and newborn sister Alia, the fifth and sixth children respectively. Thus, it took him nearly two extra years to complete his letters and to learn to read, write and speak fluently. Though his mother thought it sweet that he should be so attached and have such a simple, innocent spirit, Gundioc was distraught that he should be kept from swordplay for so long.

So, as a youngling, while his brothers were offered the chance to swordplay, Gundioc would sulk up in the trees of the hills in an around their estate, usually plucking from the library some anthology detailing with grisly delight the circumstances of some war. Knights and chivalry and the call to arms rang sweet and mellifluously in Gundioc’s head and he was indeed jealous of his brothers, who took extreme pleasure in teasing him.

With Gundioc not a year into his sword training, when he was about twelve, tragedy struck the Mallisters. His mother had fallen ill during the birth of her seventh child, Ruil, and died. Borik, who was now nearly twenty and had grasped the concept of power and the amount of money his family actually possessed was disgusted at the way their father doted over the newborn, as if it had done nothing wrong. Borik had been harboring within him thoughts of overthrowing their father for some time and it took only one year for him to amass enough power of his own to do so.

Gundioc was thirteen. He was out in the yard with Merrick, taking turns riding down a scarecrow with one of their father’s lances. Their father had gone with Borik and two of Borik’s friends, both city watchmen, to hunt in some wood just a day’s journey to the north and across the Teiphra. A horn sounded and Gundioc looked questioningly at Merrick, for he had never heard such a thing before. Upon dusty and lathered horses, Borik and only one of his friends rode, both with fast breath. Nearly the whole estate emptied to see what was the matter and Borik related to them a most horrible tale.

They had been hunting in the woods for almost two days without any sign of life and they pressed farther and farther northward, hoping to chance upon the more feral animals, such as a wolf or bear. Still nothing, so they set camp and were startled to wake to some horrible noise. Borik and father had been in one tent and Borik’s friends in the other. They all scrambled out to find a fully grown bear in their midst. One of Borik’s friends made for a spear, but the bear, obviously upset by finding people within its woods lunged at the possible threat and knocked him into a tree, where he lay presumably unconscious. Seizing this chance, Borik and their father grabbed their weapons and came at the bear before it finished the job.

Their efforts seemed to help, but the bear was relentless, even with the many wounds it had sustained, and tore at Medoc, their father. Borik related that he had not even realized father had been wounded so mortally and continued attacking the bear with his other friend, who had managed to get another spear. After a short time, they finally pinned the creature and killed it, driving a spear through its head. When Borik returned, father lay, his chest a mess of shattered ribs and blood, dead, upon the ground. His other friend had been most unfortunately knocked headfirst into the tree and had died as well.

Tears soaked the ground as Borik and the rest of the party entered the house to make preparations for the ceremony of Medoc’s death, but unknown to all except his surviving friend, Borik’s tale was false. For he had actually murdered father - he and his two friends. But, realizing that should all three return unharmed suspicion would be raised, Borik struck down one of them and returned promptly to tell the tragic tale of how their father was felled by a bear. Thus did Borik secure his position as the head of the Mallister family.

In the year that followed, Borik turned their estate into his personal stronghold. Merrick had become Borik’s enforcer, for Borik was often within, counting his money and laughing over his good fortune, or out with his “friends” conniving and implementing their terrible plans, taking advantage of the poor citizenry of O’rril. He had become a tyrant, overworking their attendants and making their sisters do work not fit for ladies of their position, even going so far as to sell Katya to one of the Duke of Ishmarin’s sons. Gundioc was still young to understand some of the atrocities taking place around him and tried to distance himself from them. It was not until his eldest sister was taken away, sobbing, that he confronted Merrick.

Merrick had always been of at least some help to Gundioc whilst Borik plotted his violent takeover of the lands, but now he was impervious and only ignored Gundioc and berated him for being so stupid and thinking life was all about chivalry and honor. Gundioc, outraged, flew at his brother and the two brawled until it was broken up by Borik himself. He seethed with anger and looked down at the distraught and helpless Gundioc, who had received a sufficient thwarting from Merrick. Borik rounded on Merrick and seemed to be almost ready to slap him for what he had done to Gundioc, but the smile on both their lips utterly shattered Gundioc’s hope for recompense.

Borik swung a hard fist down towards Gundioc and threatened him with death next time he should not show his most honorable brother the love he deserved. Merrick could only laugh and Gundioc, crying, retreated inside to his mother’s room. They had not used it since her death and neither Merrick nor Borik would think of looking for him here.

That night, Gundioc stole away to the kitchens quietly to find himself some dinner and only found their cook, a woman of about thirty, huddled, naked and shivering, on the floor underneath the table. Apparently something horrible had happened to her and she had received an injury of some sort, for a bloodied knife was on the table and the pool of blood about her feet made Gundioc scream. She looked up at him in bewilderment and Gundioc saw for the first time in his life true hopelessness as she managed only a whispered, “Run!” before angry yelling began to descend the stone steps.

Gundioc clambered out through the window before the footsteps descended all the way to the kitchen and could hear fistfalls and screaming, which was soon replaced with his own sobbing as he aimlessly ran into the night. It wasn’t until the moon was covered by clouds and a blacker darkness submerged the wooded hills of their estate that Gundioc realized he had no extra clothes, money or anything to call his own.

Wiping his nose and eyes, his resolve newly hardened with embitterment, Gundioc made his way back to the keep and without even a cricket to alarm his presence, he procured a vast amount of his mother’s jewelry, some clothes for himself, enough victuals for a day or two, and paused at the great mantle of their fireplace just before he made his exit.

There was his father’s sword. The Mallister’s sword. And this place was no longer an embodiment of anything the Mallister’s once were. Wrapping blade and scabbard carefully in a frayed tapestry from the wall, Gundioc acquiesced into the night, never to return.

Unsure at first where to go, for Gundioc knew that O’rril was no friendly place to him and once Borik had found their father’s sword missing, he would be furious and look for him, Gundioc wandered along the banks of the Teiphra for a day, until sleep claimed him. Upon waking, he remembered that his sister Katya had been married to one of the Duke of Ishmarin’s sons and so resolved to head eastward, thinking that if he found Katya, she could aid him.

Gundioc has been to Ishmarin only a few times before, and not much further. It was the largest city he had seen and compared to O’rril was grand indeed. He did not even know where to begin, for he had only ever been here with his father.

The people milled about, preoccupied with their own business and not caring that Gundioc wanted to speak with the Duke. He was just some lowly kid to them and only occasioned a guffaw or snide curse from passers by. Dusk began to settle and Gundioc’s feet were tired and sore from walking about all day. He hadn’t eaten and had made no progress. He wandered about until finding an inn, but the innkeep laughed him out when Gundioc tried to pay in jewelry, so Gundioc made his way to a stables nearby, made a nest of straw and fell asleep.

In the morning Gundioc woke to find that the sack with his mother’s jewelry in it and his food were gone. Luckily, he had been sleeping on top of his father’s broadsword and so it was saved from the greedy fingers of whatever pilfering miscreant had left Gundioc to his misery.

He began to realize how hopeless his situation was and broke down crying, unsure of what to do. Apparently, Gundioc was not the only one who had the idea of using this stable as a bed, and soon he was confronted by a middle-aged vagrant, who crawled his way over to Gundioc and asked why he was crying, while simultaneously drawing his hand nearer to the sword. He tried to snatch it away from Gundioc, but Gundioc fought back and the two grappled, trying to wrest the sword away from one another.

Their scuttling attracted the attention of a small crowd and soon one of the local watchmen had come to break up the conflict. It had almost become a brawl, Gundioc screaming through tears for the vandal to loose his grip upon the sword and the man offering false platitudes to calm him while the crowd just looked on.

As their hands wrestled for control of the weapon, Gundioc managed to draw the blade from its scabbard, so that the man was left with the husk of metal and Gundioc now threatened him. The watchmen tried to calm the situation and drew his own sword, edging closer.

Gundioc, anxious and afraid, turned towards the watchmen and then back quickly towards the man, reacting to being confronted on two sides. The watchman urged Gundioc to return the sword to the man, disbelieving Gundioc’s story, all the while edging Gundioc further back into the wall of the stable until he could back up no further.

When the watchman was finally close enough that he could lunge to grab for Gundioc, Gundioc responded with a parry from his sword which nearly took the watchman’s hand off. The watchman screamed and dropped his weapon and went to his knees, cradling his arm, yelling curses and screaming for aid. Gundioc could not believe himself and looked upon his father’s sword, blood at the tip. He felt sick and the vandal put the scabbard down at his feet and backed off, apologizing, while men and women alike were hollering for help. Gundioc could hear the horns and footsteps of more watchmen and quickly he snatched up the scabbard and ran.

Much of the day passed as Gundioc was hunted by watchmen and it was only by hiding in a half-finished grave that he was able to escape them. His senses returned to him as he stared into the lifeless eyes of some rotting corpse and stifled the vomit-laden yelp which rose in his throat. The burning; a pleasing sensation, as he could actually feel himself for the first time since that morning. He could not believe what he had done. He could not believe that he could not escape the filth and horribleness, even so far from home.

He sobbed and hugged the sword near, offering words to his father for protection and guidance, but receiving only overcast skies and silence in return. He pulled himself up from the grave just before dusk, the sun reflecting red off his guilty blade. He finally allowed himself to vomit and cleaned himself and the sword and ran from Ishmarin, further east, further than he had ever been.

Nearly ten years passed. Ten years of wanting help and wanting to help, wanting to show people that he, Gundioc, was a good person endeavoring to make this world better. But, no matter where he turned he was always swindled or cheated, beaten or bullied. He always managed to keep hold of his father’s blade, but his life was difficult even with it. He turned to stealing for food and became extremely good at it, having become involved with thieving guilds in Nyermersys at the age of sixteen.

This led to him becoming involved in a crowd not altogether different than what he had been running from. Gundioc grew large and strong and established himself as a formidable thug in Nyermersys. At first justifying his actions with the thought that it was merely temporary until he could amass enough wealth to move on and become the knight he had always wanted to be.

He fell into the addictions of gambling, drinking and whoring far too easily. He intimidated, brawled and murdered on occasion, for he wanted to fit in and not make any of his actions seem suspicious. And it worked, he became a far more brutal and feared criminal than many of the ones he associated with. He plotted against his employers and “colleagues,” while turning a blind eye to his own actions, pulled deeper and deeper into a lifestyle he continually told himself he hated, but truthfully, seemed to be his calling.

Gundioc was twenty-three, turning twenty-four in just a couple weeks. He had just murdered his former employer, a bandit of some standing in and around Nyermersys, after setting him up with the help of two others, who he had also killed to ensure an expedient escape. Determined to live to celebrate another birthday, he rode east, leaving Nyermersys and his eventual pursuers nearly a day behind.

The horse, which had been trotting or running the entire time, shuddered under Gundioc’s immensity, for he had grown to nearly two peds and weighed only a heb or two less than three pygges, but nevertheless continued on, albeit more slowly. Gundioc didn’t care for the animal’s pain and pushed it onward, digging into its ribs with his boots, he knew that Astran lay ahead and he, with only one skin of ale remaining, wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

Upon seeing the Guardian, great tower of the city, break the foliage before him, a glimmer of awe and memories of chivalry and long-gone kings and knights almost took hold of him, which he did not need to fight hard to suppress, as he was used to dispelling such thoughts hastily. He let his horse saunter down the road and wiped his glistening brow upon his sleeve, uttering a few curses of praise to himself for making good time.

Gundioc knew very little of Astran, only that there were collaboratives in the city which his former employer had worked with. Thinking that news could not easily have traveled that fast, he resolved to find the first inn he could and take a well-deserved rest. His dismounting produced a great ringing and every footfall he made sounded as if made from coin, for he had indeed stolen a great sum of money when he had left Nyermersys, and was determined to eat better than well this night and sleep with one - no, two women.

Gundioc slept very well that night, at least until his room door was thrown open rather audaciously with a boot and realization came slowly to him that most people were much faster than he. He heard the familiar whizzing of a crossbow bolt fly through the air, but only felt a thud and no pain. His senses coming to him, he pushed the now dead body of one of the whores off his person. The other had already risen and was screaming, trying to cover herself with the sheet.

Gundioc saw two men, one with a sword, the other reloading the just-discharged crossbow. Gundioc informed the men that in a few more hours he would be awake if they wanted to come back later, but he received no response and thus rationalized that things would get messy.

The man with the sword came at Gundioc, who grabbed his own sword from under his pillow, for though he was not altogether smart or awake, he had regained some sense, and blocked the blow. He pushed the man backward and rose from the bed, “At least let a man get dressed?” His question was met with another attack which he fended off, and seeing that the second man had nearly finished reloading, he gathered his clothes in the arm holding the scabbard and in one fluid motion rushed at the sword-carrying man.

A great shattering and the two men fell two stories through the inn room window, Gundioc making sure he would have a nice softish landing surface in the form of another human being. He rolled himself off the dead man, the impact of the ground and Gundioc together had crushed his ribs. Curses came out in torrents from Gundioc’s mouth, the landing had not been as soft as he hoped and he knew that his wrist was probably sprained or broken.

Gundioc picked up his clothes and sword while lights were lit and shouting could be heard. The whizzing of another crossbow bolt; this time, no whore could be sacrificed for Gundioc’s protection. Gundioc shouted in agony as he placed his fingers over his new metal nipple which had sprouted from his abdomen. He barked a series of words up at the man and took off half-running, half-dressing, through the streets.

The first horse he came upon he hauled himself upon it, belly-wise, and slapped its flanks, cutting its tether with his sword. He could hear more shouting and felt another burst of pain as another bolt found its mark. Gundioc yelped and brought his hand back to his behind, where it appeared he had sprouted a tail, slightly off-center, but it was dark, so Gundioc had to give the man credit.

The horse’s galloping caused Gundioc to lose most of his remaining clothes that weren’t already half on and he cursed with every hoof-fall. The horse took him from the city and disregarded the road. Gundioc did not care, however and managed to hang on for only about twenty minutes before the awkwardness of his mounting disallowed him from maintaining his hold any longer.

He fell into a bush, nestled just beneath a tree and gave a loud bark as the bolt from his behind snapped off on the ground. He rolled for a small ways until the tree stopped his descent and struggled to sit upright as best he could without agitating his wounds further.

His pants half on and without shirt, or boots, he sat, pretty much naked in the thicket for almost an hour, sword drawn and sweat soaking the ground beneath him moreso than the morning dew. His lids grew heavy and he looked down at dried blood painting his lower torso. The sound of breaking twigs and the swish of grass caught him from falling into unconsciousness and he looked upwards, groaning.

Much to Gundioc’s surprise, there was only a youth with a hatchet. Gundioc’s mouth was dry and filthy with the reek of liquor, and he almost managed a great guffaw and some inappropriate greeting before the man with the crossbow was upon the youngling. There were some words exchanged between them which Gundioc did not altogether understand for he had started coughing while trying to pull his immensity upward.

Knowing this youth would probably be killed, and while Gundioc's pursuer was killing him, Gundioc would take that time to attack. He was startled by the sudden body at his feet, which turned out to be that of the man with the crossbow, a hatchet buried in his head. Gundioc sighed and slouched back against the tree.

Gundioc awoke sometime later in a hobbit-hole, bandaged and healing. It turned out that the youth which saved him was his younger brother Mathis, whom he had left behind when he ran from Borik’s tyranny at Orcenhold. Gundioc embraced his sibling, telling him of his “grand deeds” while simultaneously impeding upon the hospitality of the hobbit couple, whom Gundioc had little respect for. And while not necessarily liking Mathis, rather disliking him at first, and though he would not admit it, he was thankful that he had family with him.

Finally, after nearly a month the two left the Silvershire home. Their wanderings took them from town to town, depending upon how high Gundioc’s arrest count became in one area, then moving on to the next, until they finally settled in Milkengrad for a few months.

During Gundioc’s and Mathis’ time together, it could markedly be discerned that Mathis, though much more reasonable than Gundioc, treaded in many of his same footsteps, including alcohol and women, though perhaps not to such a great extent. The two had become of a similar humor and though they did not always prefer the other’s company, their choleric dispositions were usually directed more towards the average citizen, and in Gundioc’s case, his lovers.

They had not been in Milkengrad but three months before Gundioc had been able to woo a most fetching young barmaid at a local tavern, near the Balgen-side of the harbor. It must be said that though Gundioc was an alcoholic criminal, and his aliases included Gundioc the Gross and Gundioc the Fat, he was not altogether unhandsome and his charm whilst inebriated was something not entirely understandable, but effective. She had not been but sixteen and Gundioc frequented the tavern often, making explicit his desire to wed the “best broad Sarvonia over, excluding Ava herself a’course.”

The ceremony was small, the girl’s family practically put under duress to allow it and a dowry secured of such substance that over half of Gundioc’s current bounty could be paid, a fact which Gundioc was quite proud of. The young couple lived with Mathis in the apartments Gundioc and his brother had secured for them upon their arrival in Milkengrad and it seemed as though the union was untroubled, at least for some weeks.

Gundioc happened home, drunk as usual, one midday, and found his wife in their bedroom with another man. To a normal, sober person, doubts would arise, but upon investigating they would have found nothing to be wrong, for his wife was not wholly undressed and the man was dressed very finely and appeared to be even older than Gundioc, and far less becoming, if Gundioc could say so.

However, Gundioc had just recently been in a fight at one of the local taverns and his spirits were roused, so he assumed the worst and immediately went after the man, roaring exclamations and curses that could probably be heard in New Santhala. The man grabbed a bag and tried to evade Gundioc’s wrath, but Gundioc grasped him, his wife trying to subdue her monstrous husband. Gundioc rounded upon her, loosing his grasp upon the man, who took this temporary respite and fled the room, leaving only the young lass to her angered spouse.

Gundioc had his hands about her throat, her mouth moving as if to speak, but finding herself unable. Spittle flew from the giant’s mouth as he breathed hard, teeth gritted, explaining how she had made a mistake and would not chance to make another. Her breathing ceased and Gundioc suspended her body far after her hands laid without fight upon his own and the rose had faded from her cheek. And it would never be known to him that the man who had evaded his rage was a doctor, confirming his wife’s speculation that she was pregnant. He stood, in a red stupor, even as his brother entered the room.

Mathis was upon him in an instant, thinking he could still save the girl. His fingers wrestled with Gundioc’s to free her throat, and Gundioc, still in a daze, now rounded upon Mathis, delivering a sharp backhand to his brother’s face. He turned, dropping the body of his now-dead wife upon the floor. The dull thud not even breaking Gundioc’s anger. Mathis returned the strike with a swift knee to Gundioc’s groin.

Gundioc groaned in agony and stepped backward, towards the bed and placed his hand upon the post to steady himself. He looked up at Mathis, who maintained a guarded stance and wrenched the post from his bed, lunging at his brother. Mathis drew his blade and parried the blow, causing a chunk of wood to be shorn and fly from the post. Gundioc moved quickly for one so large and repeatedly struck at his brother, whose attempts at blocking him were all successful, until Gundioc had only a sad piece of block in his hand.

Enraged, Gundioc withdrew his own blade from his belt, their father’s blade, and continued his assault. Their duel took them from the bedroom to the common room, to Mathis’ room, and back into the common room, severing drapes and handicapping furniture throughout the apartment. It wore upon both of them heavily, neither of them being able to find a mark upon the other, until finally Mathis swung high enough that Gundioc could not raise his blade in time and he could feel the bite of metal into the side of his neck.

He stumbled backwards and put his off-hand to his neck, feeling the warmth of his own blood already soaking through his shirt. He held his neck defiantly, and launched himself at Mathis with recklessness, swinging wildly and with such force that through the ringing of metal, one could see the longsword Mathis wielded become chipped and scarred.

Finally, Gundioc landed the choicest of blows, a viciously delivered slash into the side of Mathis. It was deep, very deep, and Mathis twisted away so suddenly after the blow had landed, that their father’s blade leapt from Gundioc’s hand and clattered to the floor, next to a now prone Mathis.

Gundioc’s footsteps echoed loudly in the now seemingly dead apartment. The realization that his brother might be dead assaulted his consciousness and he limped to the window, one hand upon his neck, keeping the ebb of blood at bay, the other upon his groin, as it was still tender from the knee he had received earlier. He screamed outside for a healer - no, a hundred healers, and made his way back to Mathis, his great bulk grudgingly kneeling next to his dying brother.

He removed his hand from his neck and in perhaps the only act of caring Gundioc had ever or would ever show, reached out to Mathis, whose eyes slowly opened in a resigned manner, “Your sword...?” Mathis asked, and his hand went to the hilt of that ancestral weapon, their father’s weapon, attempting to grant Gundioc back his blade. Gundioc withdrew his hand, seeing his flesh pale through the blood and broke out in hoarse laughter. His immensity careening backward onto the floor as hurried footsteps entered the room. “Keep it...” Gundioc replied.

Mathis could not have made a more swift recovery, and extremely lucky for the both of them he did, for the rocking of the boat they were now patrons of was much more preferable to a prison cell. Mathis had arranged everything, knowing full-well that they both may be incarcerated once the body was found in their apartment. Gundioc posed as a Helcrani warrior, and Mathis, his progeny.

It was an easily discernable mistruth, but the captain’s love of coin proved to be greater than his curiosity and no conflicts were aroused. Gundioc looked over at Mathis now, who clutched at both the railing of the boat and his midsection. Gundioc almost felt sorry - almost - and rubbed his own grisled neck.

The boat ride had given their wounds time to heal, and within a few short weeks they were in Naurooth; gateway port to Northern Sarvonia. After spending most of their coin to re-equip themselves, and Gundioc spending his on alcohol and a brief night to remind him what a woman’s company was like, they found themselves quickly traveling northeast, to Worldquest.

In Worldquest, finding their financial situation in dire need replenishing, the brothers endeavored to employ themselves in a mercenary band of exiled Remusians called The Lanrul’s Lot, lead by a fearsome ice tribesman, known only as Seregon the Northman.

The band served as a company of hired swords, but whilst not battling for coin, they battled to indulge Seregon’s fetish of killing orcs. Gundioc didn’t really know why Seregon loved to purge their kind, and didn’t much care, except that the orcs, while having something in the way of loot, had little in the way of women. But Gundioc managed to muscle his way through these desolate times, making friends easily with The Lot. They loved his humor and the obscenity of his ways; the fact that he was also a formidable fighter impressed them as well.

Seregon’s intermittent purges provided for The Lot well for a few years, and there was the occasional township which hired them, but nothing horribly important or big. Mathis and Gundioc had earned quite a reputation for themselves within The Lot. Mathis being quite a strategist and tactician and Gundioc being a monster on, and off, the battlefield.

Finally, news came to The Lot that an orc horde had attempted to take the northern town of Beornoth, failed, and would probably return with greater numbers to finish what they had started. Seregon knew this would give The Lot a great opportunity for wealth, and they set off north, through the Prominents and into the Wilshirer Heath.

Ironically, it was of the same tribe they had been purging, the Aszh-Oc, and Beornoth’s plight could have been averted had The Lot not been so aggressive in the previous years, for this was the Aszh-Oc’s response and retaliation to the violence they had been experiencing.

Whilst Gundioc boozed and brooded over the lack of decent looking women in this town, Seregon, Mathis and the council had met to discuss a strategy to employ against the orcs, for the horde would soon be upon them, much larger than the first which had nearly taken the town. They had been here for almost a week and the city was not yet prepared for such a defense, the walls were battered and broken in many places and the militia which the town had provided were poorly equipped and untrained.

Gundioc mused that he could have taken the town himself, had he been allowed. He saw Mathis approach and finished his ale, wiping his mouth and grinning maniacally, eager for the bloodshed about to ensue, for the dust of the orc horde had been discernable for a few hours and Gundioc was anxious to split skulls with his newly acquired warhammer he had “purchased” from one of the residents.

Mathis and he geared up and with The Lot rode to meet the approaching orc force, which Seregon was able to convince to forestall their attack until the orcs and men were more organized. The Aszh-oc agreed, for they were an honorable sort, and Gundioc saw the majority of the horde, in all its vastness and grinned, gracing his fingers over the finely polished steel of his hammer.

He finished two more wineskins before they had returned to the village and Mathis explained to him on the way that Gundioc would need to return back to the orcs later this evening and challenge them to single combat. Gundioc would have been extremely suspicious of this suggestion coming from anyone other than Mathis, but was explained that this would buy The Lot time to prepare defenses.

Gundioc did not doubt his own ability as a warrior, merely doubted the honor of the orcs, though he shouldn’t have. He acquiesced after being promised as much ale as he’d like upon his reutrn and so retreated to his tent to replenish his supply for the upcoming challenge.

Gundioc rode slowly out the orc encampment, taking his time to fill his gluttonous form with food and drink, he had not eaten all day and figured that should he be struck suddenly in the gut, he may lose his drunkenness. The Aszh-oc met him before he chanced to fully get to the camp and his intentions were questioned.

It was simple, as Gundioc explained, him and their champions, in combat, to buy both armies more time to prepare, though the orcs needed it not. Though Gundioc was immense, it was obvious to the orcs that he was drunk and the grin on his face attested to madness, so they accepted. They did not cheapen the challenge by sending a less-worthy foe than their greatest champion, for that was the agreement, and after dismounting his horse, Gundioc was beset by a most fearsome orc.

The orc nearly came to his chin, and its muscled rippled and bulged as it swung it’s mace at Gundioc, whose ability to battle inebriated was a much sought-after and respected skill among The Lot. Gundioc bore the brunt of many a strike, was cut, bruised and bashed, but blocked the more lethal and crippling blows. Gundioc had been told to draw out combat, give the orcs spirit, then dash it with his hammer.

Gundioc laughed while he and the orc seemingly engaged in a sort of oafish dance. The other orcs remained silent, watching their champion land strike after strike upon Gundioc’s rotundity, luckily a boiled leather gut-piece had been fastened for Gundioc to disallow any grievous injures to be sustained and after about a half hour, Gundioc began to tire and tugged at the wineskin on his person, splashing his face and mouth to rejuvinate his spirit, as the orc warred on.

Finally, growing bored, Gundioc fought back. Pushing the orc backwards with the shaft of his hammer and delivering a felling blow to its head. It walked, as a chicken without a head for a few brief seconds, before its eyes rolled upward and its knees gave way.

Gundioc’s laughter split the ominous silence that had been sustained by the onlooking Aszh-oc, and he asked them to send another, to which they obliged, two, three, at least four more times, to the point where torches were needed as it grew dark.

Gundioc had beat them and withdrew back to the city, his greatness shaking with fits of giggles and a limp. He had sustained a plethora of injuries, all minor or moderate and his comrades of The Lot rejoiced in his return, but quickly set to work building the defenses. Gundioc sat and drank and watched.

Gundioc awoke to the sound of battle music in pre-dawn light. Frost clung to his armored body and he reached into his stiffened tunic for his wineskin. Taking a long, cold draught of the stuff, he belched loudly and erected himself, trudging off to the infantry lines, for he fought much better on foot rather than cavalierly, as was most of The Lot’s wont.

The battle lasted less time than Gundioc had been fighting the previous eve, though he was able to fell many more an orc this day, with a victory claimed by The Lot and the township of Beornoth. The orc warlord perished along with a goodly number of his troops and the remaining orcs routed, southward, back across the Prominents, to their homeland.
Their celebrations took them far into that night and well into the morning. Beornoth awarded The Lot a huge sum of money, and large amounts of food and alcohol.

Gundioc was so pleased he allowed himself to sleep with one of the town’s rather plain women, before celebrations were finally ended and The Lot prepared itself to move onward. Mathis had been invited into Seregon’s pavilion to discuss dispersal of payment, and found Seregon to be hoarding most of it. Gundioc was ill-pleased and the brothers resolved to attempt to steal it and leave before daybreak, leaving The Lot to the wiles of their corrupt and weak leader.

Mathis and Gundioc entered Seregon’s pavilion late that night, hours after he himself had retreated and Gundioc proceeded to choke the man, a skill he had become quite adept at. Though Seregon was an ample warrior, his strength was no match for Gundioc’s, who nearly suffocated the graying mercenary before breaking a good many of his ribs with sharp kicks and leaving him unconscious in a pile of his own filth as the brothers Mallister exited the tent, and left the cold and damp of the morning to fill the air of their once-comrades, as they road north and east, wealthier than they’d ever dreamed.

It had only been a few days since they’d left The Lot and their wanderings had taken the brothers to the Imlith Mountains. Once past these peaks, they would have to either brave the orcs of the Wilderon full-on or lose time going southwardly and around, between the heath and the Shadowlands, until they could reach Barsalon.

From there, the brothers knew they could reach Remusiat with little effort. However, the Imliths proved to be much more a difficulty than they should have been. Though fairly travelable, the mountains were infested with creatures of all sorts, Cartashian bears included.

It hadn’t been exceptionally cold the past night or two, but this night proved to be different. Combined with the snow already on the ground, the snow falling from the sky turned the night into a very uncomfortable experience for both brothers. They always took turns on watch and Gundioc, not being able to keep himself from shivering, decided to walk about with his wineskin to keep his blood flowing and his senses sharp. He brought along with him his warhammer, just in case, and belted it to his back, the metal radiating cold and giving something to flee from as he walked.

He did not know how for how long and how far his wineskin led him, but he allowed himself to be led up into the surrounding rocks, whereupon he discovered a rather large cave. Without a torch, he entered, feeling the warmth of the earthen hole combined with the wine and placed his hand upon the wall to guide himself. His bumbling echoed off the walls, but a noise came that was not human after some time and Gundioc laughed jovially, thinking his carousal had roused some den of fox or rabbits.

Instantly, Gundioc’s head exploded in pain as his laughter was met with a tremendous roar. Only blackness in front of him, Gundioc turned and stumbled backwards, feeling his calf burn and watching his own blood beat him to the snowy ground outside the mouth of the cave. Gundioc picked himself up slowly, pulling his hammer from its position and looking down at his bloodied calf and then at the enormous creature framed by the stone arch. Gundioc stood his ground and roared a defiant challenge to the bear, which charged.

Gundioc could barely fend the beast off and was forced onto the ground, where the bear drove into his back with its great claws and Gundioc could not help but scream in agony, his voice ringing in his own ears as the bear batted him over onto his wounded back. He bit his tongue to endure to pain, feeling blood in his mouth and gripped a rock under the now red snow. The bear pounced again, hoping to tear Gundioc’s throat out, but Gundioc struck with the rock, his strength augmented by the anger, fear, adrenaline and alcohol coursing through his body.

The bear flinched and wavered for a moment, allowing Gundioc to strike again and again, until it withdrew its immensity from Gundioc. Gundioc grasped for his hammer and rolled away from the animal, going down on one knee, for only now did the pain of his injuries become fully felt. The bear growled, trying to paw at its face where Gundioc had made his bloody mark and roared its final roar.

Gundioc was prepared and lifted his girth off the ground, swinging his hammer round, where with a sickening crunch of bone and a great yelp, the bear fell limp, its momentum taking Gundioc with it. Luckily, Gundioc remained conscious enough to help his brother by the time Mathis had come to assist, and they took the bear’s pelt, its meat, and any other trophy that could remind Gundioc of this awesome encounter.

Over the next month, Gundioc healed slowly, but was warmed by his new cloak, still smelling of viscera. Finally, they reached Barsalon, where Gundioc was properly cared for and the brothers ventured northward, with a few small skirmishes with the Losh-oc, until crossing the Gathorn Mountains, where Remusiat lay, cradled in the north of the continent.

The brothers dropped some considerable flow while in the city over the course of nearly a month, helping local economy greatly. Gundioc had acquainted himself with some of the best taverns and brothels and could regularly be seen, drunk and jovial in the streets well after the sun had ceded its reign to the moon.

Gundioc had been frequenting one tavern in particular, not for the alcohol, but because he had found a lusty beauty that was usually there as well, and fancied himself with her. Early one morning, leaving the tavern, the spirits showing on his face with a drowsy smirk, he followed her through the streets of Remusiat, back to her home. He slumped down across the cobbled street, waiting until sleep was obviously upon her.

He rose after an hour or so and entered the house, the door unbarred, which he was thankful for, and stumbled about for a bit, trying to find the bedchambers. His noisome entrance had easily awakened the inhabitants, and soon enough he heard the familiar metal upon metal swish of a sword being taken from its scabbard.

Gundioc turned and grinned, thinking that this women had been expecting him and was only playing. What faced him was a man, large compared to others, small compared to Gundioc. Gundioc’s grin swiftly downturned and he bared his teeth in rage. The man gave him a warning, which Gundioc disregarded, seeing the woman behind the man and knowing how to get to the prize which was rightfully his.

The fight lasted barely thirty seconds, with Gundioc suffering only a minor cut, and the man knocked unconscious with one blow. Gundioc was upon the woman instantly and reveled in his victory. She didn’t fight, she didn’t scream or yell for help, and in a short time Gundioc left, complimenting her on her style.

His swagger through the pre-dawn streets led him to the inn Mathis and he had been staying. He dreamt a strange dream, where animals seemed to be gnawing at him, pricking holes in his body, until he finally awoke with a loud snore upon a cold, stone surface, cursing the animals for being such bloody buggering bastards. A square of light, about a ped to his left and the bars on the window and door indicated he was in prison. He cursed again, realizing his situation and curled up to go back to sleep.

The town militia had come to the inn and after Gundioc had not woken when they poked and prodded him with their various instruments of war they asked Mathis’ aid, a request he courteously declined. Having no other option, the militia grappled with the bed and took Gundioc, bed and all, to prison. The site of a man being carried in bed while blood slowly pooled on the sheets from the prodding he received from the militia must have been quite a thing so early in the morning.

Gundioc spat at the feet of the men looming above him. They had tied his legs with chains and his arms as well and he was forced upon the floor of the dingy cell, face pressed near to the premises that he used as his toilet. The smell was awful. Gundioc impolitely explained to them the origins of their families and the fun he and certain female relations would have later on when his sentence was up.

Gundioc was then told his sentence was indefinite and for every day he spent in their most comfortable of prisons, this would happen. Gundioc bit his lip through the pain and tasted blood upon his tongue. This just happened to entail removing the topmost segment of one of his fingers, the pinky, to be precise. Gundioc interjected a spit-parade and his roaring curses drove them, laughing from his cell. He cradled his bleeding, not-so-whole hand and wiggled away from his bathroom, humiliated.

Gundioc endured four more days of this and hatred consumed his whole being. He hadn’t a drink the entirety of his stay and the only food he was allowed to consume looked eerily similar to the flesh he had been losing over the past few days. His left hand was now almost three fourths the length it had been upon arriving and that night they took his thumb-tip, easily the most painful of all the fingers and Gundioc had been dreading it the entire week, while thinking of new insults for the guards as his vast supply was running terribly short.

That night, while Gundioc slumbered, his brother Mathis, with the employment of an assassin named Krath and several willing Remusians came to the prison, quickly storming the sparsely-populated lower levels and releasing a most jovial Gundioc and his fellow prisoners, who, Gundioc observed, possessed the entirety of their hands. That woman must have been worth something to someone, he mused and followed his brother out into the city. The carnage at the prison had disallowed them from spending any more time in this place, and Gundioc was glad for it.

Making their way to the harbor, they commandeered a galley and with the assistance of many escaped prisoners and especially Krath, were able to navigate themselves to the safety of the port of Ludor. From there, Gundioc and Mathis freed themselves of the others and Mathis paid them their dues for helping the brothers.

Another boat, a little more than a year of port-stops, and Mathis keeping a watchful eye over Gundioc’s ever-deteriorating behavior and the two finally made landfall back in the Kingdom of Santharia; back home, where the ale was as warm and inviting as the loins of the pretty maids the land had to offer. Gundioc gave a great guffaw and slapped Mathis on the back. Gundioc was now thirty, five years had got them this far.

Ciosa held their attention for a short time, perhaps a month of two, allowing the brothers to reacquaint themselves with Santharian tradition and Gundioc with women and wineskins, his hunger for the two never more vibrant as he had a short leash during their voyage. He had come to almost hate Mathis for following him about at the various ports, like some chauffeur, and had been itching to get his brother from underneath his skin. But, the reckless nature of both brothers, not just Gundioc, and an ever-growing amount of jail time decided their eventual departure, northward, they decided, to Marcogg.

Marcogg had proved to be an immediate success with both brothers. Gundioc loving it for the diversity of drink and dames, and Mathis for the styles, both in clothes and armaments. Gundioc thought Mathis’ foppish tendencies were ridiculous and it was a subject of ridicule whenever the two went drinking. Mathis, obviously annoyed with his brother’s ranting on how appearance didn’t matter, instead told stories of Gundioc’s failings and Gundioc saw this as Mathis thinking himself a better and wiser warrior than himself. And although they preferred each other’s company to anything else, tensions between the brothers rose.

The brothers had never known popularity outside of criminal circles before, but five years in Marcogg had corrected that. It seemed that people flocked to the pair. Loving Gundioc for his raunchy humor, drunken fits and indiscreet sex life, and despite anything Gundioc said, they loved Mathis for his attractiveness, both in appearance and especially in personality, for Mathis was the embodiment of charisma. The two competed for attention, each in his own way, just to spite the other brother. Their crimes amassed as a result of this and so did the purse for the capture of the two, and despite them being easily accessible, few attempts were ever made at their lives, and those that were, failed miserably.

Normally any chance for festivity would be turned into something grand for the pair, but on Mathis’ twenty-seventh birthday, this was not so. Their fortune nearing its end and in its death throes from the north, they had resolved to make the best of the rest of their wealth over the next few weeks. This night they had found four of the highest quality entertainers and were determined to spend at least that many hours pleasing every one amidst the Banditwoods. With enough alcohol to kill a herd of Kanapan bull, and some to spare, the night looked to be promising.

(Despite my efforts, for whatever reason, the forum disallowed the entirety of my CD to be posted at one time. I don't know if the character limit was reached or if there is a character limit, but I have posted the rest below.)