The Pilgrimage (Private)

[Madith Blessedshot]

In an attempt to better battle creatures in the Underdark the Blessedshots were conceived, designed to create the most noise, attract the most attention, and then withstand the aftermath from such actions. The Blessedshots, a unique and rather original division of the Order of the Divine Shield, specialize in ranged, and also close quarters combat, with gunpowder weapons. In addition to such weapon proficiency they are also trained and garbed to take massive amounts of damage. A living warmachine (think a tank) that protects the innocent and keeps the darkness at bay. Even the debilitating fear a mindflayer can bring upon its prey is close, in emotion, to the awe inspiring presence of a line of Blessedshots marching into battle. 

Madith graduated from his class with high marks, though not exceptional. He was driven but not gifted, determined but not fanatic. He had three goals in life; protect others from what he had experienced when younger, find the bodies of his parents so that he may sanctify and put them to rest, and finally, to find the necromancer and bring him to justice. Easy it would not be, however, such goals gave Madith purpose and created a beacon amongst the shadows of evil that he could walk toward.

It was to the surface that his beacon took him, emerging from the Underdark on the Rumerian side of the southern Knockskull Mountains. A small traders post, which had grown into a small village of sorts, was his home for almost two months as he grew accustomed to not only the frigid temperatures of wintery north but also his eyesight to the bright sun. It was during this time, spending a lot of it in the small tavern composed half of permanent materials and the other half of pieces of tents and canvas that Madith was exposed to the various peoples of the surface. To say he had a bad experience would be truly understating the situation.

The peoples, those who found solace and familiarity in such a climate and with dealing with the denizens of the Underdark, were limited to a certain type to say the least. While none could be classified as good only one or two truly didn’t mean him any harm, direct or otherwise. Everyone found his weaponry and armor interesting, though he certainly didn’t realize it was out of curiosity to its worth not true interest in him or his purpose. Madith wasn’t a child and as someone who grew up in the Underdark he was use to shady dealings and those who to dabbled in such. However, he was overwhelmed by the surface, even if instead of darkness everywhere he was now looking at white all over the place, and was an easier mark than usual because of it. He wasn’t an old, jaded, and battle chipped warrior some of the older Divine Shield members had become.

It was during the next leg of his trip, his arrival in Murkin, that Madith’s house of cards on the surface began to crumble. While waiting for the next ship that took passengers between Murkinn, Rumeria and Teeming, Doxenia Madith ran into a group of surface dwarves! While no true dwarf could ever be called “surface dweller” this group had certainly spent more time under the open sky then within the earth’s embrace! Nights-a-plenty of drinking, stories, and merriment followed, both on land and on Lake Shivering, at least until Madith eventually fell ill to a bout of seasickness. Given a herb to help settle his stomach by one of his new friends Madith fell into a deep sleep that so strongly held onto him that it took one of the crew members literally rolling him onto the floor to wake him up. It took several more moments before a groggy Madith had gathered enough of his escaped senses to realize he was being told everyone else had left the ship an hour ago, he needed to depart as well unless he was paying to go back to Murkinn, and that all his stuff was gone. Wait… what was that last part? All his stuff was gone? Madith suddenly realized all that he had on him was his clothes and even then none of his heavier garments. He had been robbed! It was seem that Madith had put too much trust in thinking that being a Blessedshot would offer him some level of respect and protection. In reality the only reason they weren’t dumping Madith’s body overboard in the dead of night is because of a long dwarven tradition that you can’t kill a dwarf you have shared a drink with. Of all things to hold sacred right?

Stumbling down the plank he fell to his knees near the end of the dock and heaved the drink that saved his life and the herb that knocked him out into the cool and rather clear waters below. Groaning and rubbing his mouth and beard with the back of his hand he would stand and trud down the dock and into the small port. "By Helm's shield.." was mumbled to no one in particular as he lift a thick hand to protect his eyes from the horribly bright sun.

[Madith Blessedshot]

While Madith was currently shambling down the street from the docks and was seemingly suffering from a bout of severe confusion, approximately 20 minutes before, upon finding out he had been drugged and robbed, he had been a raving lunatic. The crew member who had awoken Madith was quickly on his way out the door as if a kraken itself was on his heels! He had seen some angry dwarves in his time but this one was downright frightening! Between the motion of the boat in port, and the effects from the drugs and drink over the past few nights Madith not only swore at his ill fortune and naivety but also his inability to stand straight! “When I get me hands on those beardless, water swiggin, orc lovers I’m going to…” About that time he was losing his footing and falling out the door and into the main walkway, “oof!”

Righting himself, or at least what he thought was right side up, he started down the halway, “filthy snotling-fondlers! To steal from a dwarf! To steal from a Blessedshot! To steal! ARGH!” That rant had been cut short upon his attempt to the kiss the stairs leading up to the deck… and it was a rather forceful and graceless attempt at that. It was while he was all but rolling down the plank that another round started, or at least there was an attempt to, “when…. I… get… my…. hands….” then he was vomiting into the water before moving toward the interior of the port while shielding his eyes.

Moving off to the side of the road, the shaded side, he found a crate… a small one, and plopped down with a groan. Rubbing his face with his dirty and coarse palms he would try to make the world stop spinning on will alone before reaching down to fumble within the hem of his right boot. A sigh of relief, though painful relief at that, would be expelled from his pale mouth upon realizing what he was looking for was still there. Keeping it within the boot he stood with the help of the wall behind him and continued along the shaded side of the street. Of course it was a sunny and clear day so the merchants were out in force and with merchants came the lovely sounds of shouting and bartering, the loud crashes of crates, barrels, and who knows what else, and of course the smell of seafood! All of which worked in harmony to create a symphony of noggin’ pain and a stormy stomach for our poor Madith.

Turning down the first side street he came across he would soon find a small enclave between two buildings. Looking around he would notice an empty burlap sack atop a stack of barrels and then promptly pick it up. Moving carefully as possible between the buildings, the sounds of waste crunching beneath his heavy boots, he would pull the burlap sack over his head, his entire body fitting within of course, before lying down on the ground and promptly passing out. For the next 18 hours or so Madith slept rather soundly, only opening his eyes once or twice for some reason or another, while his body worked to counter the toxins. It was the “plop plop” of water against his burlap cocoon that slowly brought him back to consciousness before the sounds of something settled upon his ears… was that chewing? He remained still and even though it was dark outside he still could have sworn a shadow had just moved within his field of vision. It was all but confirmed when he felt the whiskers of his beard move around a bit. “What te’?!”

Sitting up quickly, too quickly even though he had been sleeping so much, he felt something small fall to his lap and then heard a squeak. At the same time he felt some else tumble from his head and onto his shoulder. “Vermin in me beard!” He bellow with a wince while trying to pull the burlap sack from over his head, all the while several rats ran out and into the darkness. Heaving from the effort the burlap sack was tossed aside and Madith stood there seething while his chest rose and lowered with great breaths. Carefully lifting his beard so he could inspect it his look of concern was replaced by anger as, from the depths of his thick whiskers, emerged the little head of a mouse. Wiggling its nose at Madith it soon took flight to escape the raging dwarf, “blasted varmints!!!” Though he was rather incredulous at the thought of vermin being in his beard that did do a pretty good job of cleaning out bits of food and such from the last few days of festivities: he would never admit it though. Falling back against the wall he would slowly lower himself to the ground to take a seat and catch his bearings. He had been drugged, robbed, and dropped off in Teeming before finding his current bed between two buildings for Helm knew how long.

As the rain began to pick up Madith laid his head back and looked toward the dark sky above. He had read about weather of the surface but other than the snows seen in Rumeria had yet to experience any. The raindrops were a bit chilly and he would have to find shelter soon, the goosebumps on his skin told him as much, but at the same time they felt refreshing, as if Helm himself was letting cleansing water fall from his outstretched hand, so that his loyal follower could find comfort. Reaching up he rubbed his wet face before running his digits through his hair and then beard, you know, just in case there were anymore creatures lurking within those prized hairs. After he was satisfied nothing remained, at least that was alive, he reached down and began to fumble within the hem of his boot once again. He would soon be pulling free several coins, of varying worth, from within one at a time. It wasn’t a small fortune by any means but it would allow him to survive for the time being. A silent prayer was given to Helm and also the stubbornness of dwarven boots. One of the things in creation could match the stubbornness of a dwarf and that was their footwear! Have you ever, without a tool, patience and at least four dwarves working as one, tried to get a dwarf’s boots off? I think not! You know why? Because it can’t be done! That fact alone is why he still had his boots!

After putting half the coins back into the hiding spot within his boot he placed the remaining money into a front pocket in his pants. Standing once again he cleared his nose and throat before picking up the burlap sack to return it to its previous place atop the barrels and after having done so made his way back toward the main street to see about finding something warm to eat and something strong to drink. It was against his back that the first rays of sun began to peak over the lake’s horizon, the rain clouds above already beginning to move on.