Quest: Childhood stories

A quest was thrown by Joran, players were tasked to write a story detailing their childhood.

Aelida | Aran | Harltek | Kessik | Maeyja | Nasgha | Ssolvarain

Aelida
Life is a journey, one that constantly changes. Sometimes each person's journey takes them to the lowest of lows then rises them again to the highest of highs. That is the cruel reality of life. It has it's ups and its downs. However, the true measure of person is how they deal with those ups and downs. The ways one deals with their current life is wholly a result of the past.

My past is one that has much tragedy. I have loved so deeply that its loss has sent me into the maelstrom of darkness. For me, my search for my personal fulfilment has been a search for love. I am not very good in matters of love. I also am rather scared of being alone. It all stems from that summer I spent in The Great Fair with my clan...

The sound of children laughing flows through the air. The encampment of the Algars is filled with several clans, all mingling for the spring horse selling. Aelida shyly played with her fellow clans children. Off near a few tents, she notices another group of children. She walks shyly to them, they look dirty, bedraggled. Their wary eyes look upon her and give her a warning. "Please go, it's not safe" One child whispers sadly.

Suddenly the tent opens, a large Algar man emerges, reeking of ale. A small, woman covered in bruises follows, her face downturned. The man looks around and spies Aelida, frozen in her place. A dangerous look of lust appears in his eyes. "How lovely" he says and grabs her roughly.

Her screams were enough to be heard that Aelida's clan rushed to her aid. It was too late. As her father stood over the man's corpse, Aelida lay on the bed, unconscious. She could feel a warm cloth over her face, wiping away the blood. The healer looked worriedly. "The children and wife of that monster have been taken in by another clan. They live, all are malnourished, and horribly abused, but they will flourish. Aelida's wounds will heal. I do believe she will be able to bear children, but face it Daras, she's used goods. No man will want her. " Her father's head hung low, he knew the truth. He mutely nodded and looked down at the ravaged body of his daughter.

The clan abruptly paced up and left to return back to Algaria. Aelida recovered but the healer's words stuck in her head. She was unloveable by any man. Maybe a woman would care for her broken virtue.

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Aran
Most people would say that their first memory is of their mother. Not me. My first clear memory is not a happy one at all. I was about two at the time.

I was born on a farm and like any farm, we had cats. Strong, mean cats, meant to catch mice. But for some reason, one of them, a grey tomcat of about 11 years old had decided to befriend me from the moment my mother let me out of the crib. It was an ugly beast. Bald spots were all over his body where scars from fights with other cats had prevented the regrowth of hair. His left eye was missing, leaving only a black socket there. My first word might have been "mama", my second "dada", but my third word was "kitty". We were inseparable and nothing could keep us away from each other. "Kitty" even insisted on spending the nights in my bedroom. At first my mother would chase him out of the room, but he wouldn't stop meowing and scratching at the door until she'd let him back in.

During the summer after my second birthday, my mother had found out that "Kitty" would not let anything happen to me, so she felt secure enough letting me play in the sand on the courtyard of our farm. Not that there really was anything out there that would threaten me and I was content enough just playing around in the little sandy area near the kitchen door. The years when my mother had to constantly fear what mischief I was up to and where I would try to sneak off to hadn't arrived yet.

One hot summer day, I was once again playing in the sand, disaster struck. Me nor my parents never found out where it came from, but a highly venomous snake -one certainly not native to northern Sendaria- had found its way to our farm. It had snuck along the outer wall circling the yard and had crept up on me. When I looked up to find out where that strange sound came from, it had me. I was frozen, unable to move. I could only stare in those hypnotic eyes as it softly swayed in front of me, softly hissing.

All of a sudden, a dash of grey moved into my field of view and pounced onto the snake. Snapping out of my daze, I started to cry instantly.

When my mother ran onto the courtyard to see why I was crying -normally it would be something as silly as getting sand in my eye- she saw me sitting in the sand with the rigid shape of "Kitty", entwined with the snake. "Kitty" had saved my life by attacking the snake, but had died in the process.

I was inconsolable. The first week, I refused to come out of my bedroom and all I would do was cry. Two months after that, each time I would spot a glimpse of one of our 4 other cats, my tear ducts would start flowing again. A whole winter had to pass before I even dared to venture out on our courtyard again.

Of course, most of this is from what my parents have told me, but a couple of memories are very clear in my mind still, after all these years. First of all, I remember those big, yellow eyes staring at me, bidding me to just sit still and relax. And I remember vividly the image of "Kitty", stiff and cold as I tried to wake him up again.

Whenever someone asks me why I have such an irrational fear of snakes, I get a lump in my throat. Instead of telling them this story, though, I shrug it off and say "I don't know, I just do". I prefer to think about it as little as possible.

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Harltek
Recently, a bunch of young adventurers were talking in the Guardians hall. They were drinking ale, and eating steaks. Their favorite meal. One of the young adventurers, Harltek by name, stood and said I have a story I'd like to share. The following is his tale...
Most stories you hear about people's childhood are filled with loss, pain, or some other form of hardship. Mine had none of that. The only family members I've lost, have died of old age. My parents are still with me, as are my siblings. I have two brothers and a sister. My sister is the oldest of us four, and is happily married, living not far from my parents in Kotu. One of my brothers is older than myself, and he followed my father in the family business, as a produce merchant in Kotu. The last of my brothers is younger than myself, and still living with my parents. He helps my father and older brother out from time to time, while he tries to figure out what he wants to do with his life.
I was always drawn to stories of the adventures had by members of the Drasnian Intelligence Service. I heard stories in the market while I was young helping my father, and later in taverns over pots of ale. It was in one such tavern that I came across an adventurer named Erepitus. He told me about the Academy, and how some graduates of the Academy could be chosen to be Guardians of the West. He regaled me with stories of his adventures as a member of the Guardians... There were epic battles, epic women, and epic fun.
I went home that evening, and woke my father straight away. I told him that I would be leaving in the morning for Boktor, to see if I might work my way into the Academy. My father looked at me, love in his eyes, and told me that if that was what I wanted to do, my family would always support me. He gave me the name of a turnip farmer from Sendar who knew too much and seemed to spend a lot of time in Kotu for a farmer... This man's name was Erepitus, and if I could find him, he might be able to help. I couldn't believe what my father was telling me. I left right then and there back to the tavern, looking for Erepitus. I found him sleeping with his head on his arms, a pot of ale in each hand, sitting at the table. I walked up to the man, and as I went to tap him on the shoulder, he quickly spun, grabbed my arm, and had a dagger at my throat before I knew it. I looked Erepitus in the eye and said 'Teach me to do that'. He let me go, and said 'Boy, we leave for Boktor at first light. Now help me to my room, I might have had a little too much to drink!' He grinned at me, and I knew this would be the start of something big.

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Kessik
Hafwen looked at the map she saw in Kessiks diary. "What village is that?" She asked and pointed at a dark point in the map. Kessik shrugged. "It's a village," he said, "much like any other. "Yes but can you tell me about that village?" She replied. "I can try but I dont remember so much about the village" he replied. "Why do you dont remember that?" She continued.
"I have only been there once," Kessik, told her. "And I was only a child at the time, so I don't remember too much about it. But it seemed to be quite a fine place." He continued. "Do you want to tell me about your childhood?" She asked and looked at Kessik shyly. "Of course I can do if you want me to do it?" Kessik said. "Of course I want" she replied and smiled at him. Kessik took up another diary from his saddlebags and looked into it.
"There were many other children on the place where the clan lived, as was only natural in a community of two hundred people or so," Kessik said. "The older ones on the place all follow the older Algars during the day, but there were a few other children of about mine age on the place where the clan lived" Kessik continued. "These other two child became my playmates and my friends during the earliest years," Kessik continued. "The oldest boy was named Toarel. He was a year or two older than I was and quite a bit smaller. Ordinarily, since he was the eldest of us children, Toarel would have to follow the older Algars now and then" Kessik said loudly as he read it from the diary. "The second of the boys was Grerigan, a tall, slow boy whose background was more or less unknown since he was adopted. The most notable thing about Grerigan was the fact that he never laughed" Kessik continued. Kessik opened the diary and then he began read.

It was a cold day and a thick layer of snow covers the ground. Kessik, Toarel and Grerigan walked towards the room where they had their sledges.
They walked towards the snowy It was a cold day and a thick layer of snow covers the ground. Kessik, Toarel and Grerigan walked towards the room where they had their sledges. They walked towards the snowy hillside behind the stronghold. "Are you going to play with yours sledges? Praelgrin asked. Praelgrin was a tall and burly guard with big, black eyebrows. He was blessed with a strange sense of humour. "Be careful if you are going to the hill" Praelgrin said and then walked towards the centre of the stronghold. They were quiet when they walked up to the top of the hill. "Do any of you two think any Murgos will show up today?" Toarel asked and then looked at Kessik and Grerigan. "I dont think so," said Kessik. "If the show up we have to kill them," Toarel said with a big grin on his face. "What do you think Grerigan?" Asked Toarel and looked at Grerigan. "If they show up we have to kill them," said Grerigan very quiet.
They slid on their sledges down the snowy hillside behind the stronghold and then they walked back up to the top and did it again. When it was time for them to return to the stronghold, they had built many snowmen on the top of the hill. In the noon they returned home, wet and snow-covered. They entered the gate and crossed the open space to the door to the common room. There was a fireplace in the middle of the far wall. They sat down at the table in the common room of the inn and stared at the fire. Praelgrin entered the common room. "Are you three wet?" Praelgrin said, standing in front of the fire. "We are a little wet Kessik said and looked down. "Go and get something dry you can wear" Praelgrin said with a grin. They went away and returned a couple minutes later with dry clothes. "Take some food and then you have eaten, you could help us load the wagons" Praelgrin said and looked at the children. They nodded.
After that they had eaten they walked to Praelgrin who put cargos on the wagons. "You drive," Praelgrin said to Kessik. "I have to carry some things. Just let the horses walk." Praelgrin said to Kessik, handed him the reins, and jumped down from the wagon. He walked back and spoke briefly to some other Algars, then returned to the wagon. Kessik drove the wagon and Toarel and Grerigan walked beside the wagon.
It was just dusk when they returned to the stronghold. They walked towards theirs room. Suddenly there came a sound of a movement inside the chambers. "What was that?" Toarel asked and looked at Kessik and Grerigan. "I dont know. Lets find out what it was" Kessik said and opened the door. There was something, which fled out from the room. As certainly, as if he had seen the animal, he knew that the animal that had caused the noise had been a fox. "I think it was only a fox," Kessik said and then they walked toward their room. "How can you know that?" Toarel asked and looked at Kessik. "It is just a feeling I have" Kessik replied and then he walked towards their room.
Kessik closed the diary and then put the diary back into his saddlebags. "What happened more and what did your parents do?" Hafwen asked. "It is another story. I can look in the diary if I can find anything I have written about it," Kessik said and then he prepared himself for going to bed.

The next morning Kessik awoke and looked at Hafwen who still was sleeping. He stood up and then he went to the kitchen and got some food. He returned to Hafwen after that he had eaten the food. He sat down on the bed and then he took the diary from his saddlebag. "Shall you read a little more from your diary?" Hafwen asked. "I can do that if you want" Kessik said. "You can tell me something about your parents or continue reading about what happened with you and your friends," Hafwen said. Kessik nodded. "I will," He said and opened the diary and began read.
Kessik awoke and stood up then he walked to the kitchen and got something to eat. Kessiks mother was in the kitchen. "Shall you follow your father today, Kessik?" She asked and looked at Kessik. Kessik nodded. "Yes, I shall follow him then he shall count the cows today" Kessik replied. Kessik left the kitchen and walked to his father and the other Algars, which should mark the cows. "Are you ready?" Kessiks father said and looked at Kessik. "Yes I am ready" Kessik replied. "You can go and ask Toarel if he will follow us" Kessiks father said. "I shall ask him right now" Kessik said and then walked towards Toarels room.
Kessik opened and entered Toarels room. Toarel looked up when he saw Kessik entered the room. "Hi! Kessik" Toarel said and then smiled. "Hi, Toarel. My father wonders if you want to follow with us today," Kessik said. "What are we supposed to do?" Toarel asked. "He wants us to count the cows," Kessik said. "Are that just us who are going there?" Toarel asked. Kessik shook his head. "No, there are many of the old Algars which are going with us too" Kessik replied. "Why are they going with us?" Toarel asked. "There are cows which are missing and they believes the missing cows have been killed by Murgos" Kessik replied. "I coming with you I shall just get my things" Toarel said and then walked inside the house.
Kessik and Toarel walked across the open place towards Kessiks father. "There you are" Said Kessiks father. "Are you ready for work?" He continued. Kessik and Toarel both nodded. "We are both ready" said Toarel and smiled. Both Kessik and Toarel nodded. Kessik mounted and rode along the road together with the other. They reached the place about an hour later. The older Algars lighted the fire and then they began gather cows for marking. "You can began mark the cows now" One Algar said and pointed at the cows he had gathered. They other talked loudly during the time they worked, but Kessik was quiet as always. "Why are you always so quiet?" Toarel wondered and looked at Kessik. "I have no reason to talk so why should I talk?" Kessik replied.

Just before sundown, Kessik saw something to the south of them at some distance. Kessik walked towards the rest of the Algars. "There is someone to the south of us" Kessik said and then pointed southwards. The Algar who was guarding the place looked in that directions and nodded. "You are right" he said and then told the other Algars that they should be prepared for a fight. Kessik wore two swords as always. He saw a Murgo who was sneaking around among the trees just besides the campfire. He sneaks up against the Murgo and then attacked the Murgo. Kessik killed the Murgo fast and easy since he took advance of that fact he could sneak up and attack the Murgo in the back. The fight was short and bloody, since the Algars were prepared and could attack most of the mugos when they not expected that.
"Why are you always so quiet, Kessik?" Praelgrin asked and looked at Kessik. "Do you remember what happened to Grerigans parents?" Kessik asked. "Not really" Praelgrin replied. "Well his parents got killed since they dont were awaked about what could happened" Kessik replied. "Do you know what happened to Grerigans parents?" Praelgrin asked and then looked at Kessik. Kessik nodded. "Yes he told me what happened to his parents and that is the reason he always are so carefully" Kessik replied.
"I remember his father, not the best one," Praelgrin said. "I know" Kessik said. "You and Grerigan are both very similar to each other," Praelgrin continued. "I think we were affected by each other very much since we spent a lot of time together," Kessik said. "It is time to return home" Praelgrin said and then mounted. They returned home about one hour after sundown. Kessik walked towards his room and then sat down on the bed.
"That was the end of the page," Kessik said and then closed the diary. "What happened to your friends" Hafwen said and looked at Kessik. "I have dont met any of them for years" Kessik said and then prepared for doing some errands.

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Maeyja
Watching my sister being sold to another man was one of the most painful days of my life. Her dance was splendid, full of a sensuous sexuality that only someone of immense skill could perform. She deserved all the gold in the world, but she sold for a mere 4 pieces to a man I loathed. Watching that slimy Nadrak miner put that leather collar around her neck made my stomach turn, but my sister held her head high, letting everyone around her know that no one deserved her. That single moment burned something within my mind, something that I have truly learned and lived by... That no matter how much gold I am sold for, I am worth much more than any man could pay.
No, it wasn't my sister's beauty or ability to dance that made her so valuable, it was her faith and confidence in herself that made her absolutely priceless.

Seeing her leave my family to some stranger and to watch her be demeaned to a bit of property angered me beyond belief. My sister and I remained quite close throughout our life, being taught how to tan, sew, cook, and dance together by our mother. There was one thing, however, that we couldn't learn from our mother's words alone. Our mother loved our father and to us, she never looked like an object of property. The term "property" wasn't something we really understood and her explanations were just meaningless words. As much as I wanted to hate my mother for taking me to watch my sister be sold to another man, I later knew it was necessary for me to understand it and accept the life ahead of me.

After my sister had been sold and my period of grief had ended, I vowed a number of times to never love a man who owned me and I would demand complete respect. It was from then on that I took great care in learning to use the daggers bestowed upon me, learning to keep a watchful eye and ear for whatever ruffian that would attempt to lay his hands upon me. Frankly, he would never deserve to touch me. Perhaps this was truly the beginnings of my training as an assassin. Mernak merely sharpened the edges.

When I was first sold at 14 to an elderly war veteran, I hated him for the first year we were together and spoke to him very little. For some reason, he never made much of an effort to quell my anger. Perhaps it was because he had an endless supply of patience. I dutifully cared for him and in the late evenings, he began to teach me, perhaps unconsciously, of a world I never knew before. His retirement from the army left him many stories to tell and in those stories I learned of war, politics, and strategy. Little did I know that this would be a crucial factor in the future I would be building with the Angarak Lord, Raife. In my twentieth year, when he was approaching his last months, he set forth to sell me a suitable buyer. I will never know why he was compelled to sell me to Cyras, who I later found out to be the Grolim Lord of the Angaraks. He did offer an excellent price and seemed to hold an air of decency that my master must have liked. That simple transaction has complicated my entire life... but currently, for the better.

And what of my pride held for so long and my vow to never love a master? Even now, with the unraveling of my love for Raife, I feel ashamed. My beloved sister had taught me a lesson I thought I would never forget... To always remember that I am above any other man. Did I let that go for Raife? I must always remind myself that the pride and resolve that I developed because of my sister and the knowledge and skill taught to me by my first owner shaped me in a way that has made Raife respect me and perhaps, in his own harsh way, love me too. Truly, I will forever thank my sister and the dear old man for all they have taught me. Despite the chaos that has occurred in my life so far, I have gained something that is more valuable than anything else - love.

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Nasgha
BEHOLD, I am Torak, King of Kings, Lord of Lords. I was before aught else was. I will be when all that has been made is unmade, yea, even beyond the end of days.

The words crawled across the parchment like miniscule insects. Not the entire Book, unfortunately, but she had read that first paragraph so many times, she had it memorized. A noise from behind her made her frown. She turned and raised an eyebrow at the bound and gagged Cherek boy in front of her. "Oh really now," she began, her voice quiet and strangely melodic. "If you keep moving, I shall have to tie you tighter." The boy stopped moving, his young eyes going wide. "I will not hurt you, you know. This is all just playacting." She smiled sweetly and put the parchment back in her pouch. A movement near the wall of the house surprised her. She quickly unbound the boy, and in that same quiet voice, warned him "If you tell, I will cut your heart out while you sleep." The boy nodded fearfully and Nasgha turned in time to face the headmistress. A stern woman, Nasgha hated her. Nasgha was the only Angarak in the orphanage, and the headmistress never let her forget it. The headmistress glared at Nasgha, who smiled as sweetly as possible. "What are you doing out here?" Nasgha made her eyes go as wide as possible and, assuming an innocent expression, she said "We are only playing, is that not true?" She nudged the boy who nodded quickly. "Oh yes, headmisstress. We're playing." The boy smiled bravely and put an arm around Nasgha's shoulders. She cringed inwardly at the boy's touch, suppressing the rage that rose. How dare he? But she endured, for the sake of appearances. The headmistress narrowed her eyes and, without another word, stormed back into the house.

Nasgha turned on the boy, the smile leaving her face. "I told you never to touch me." Her childlike innocence was replaced with a fury that only Torak himself could match. Oh yes, her God would be very pleased with her. Nasgha smiled sweetly again, her dark eyes smoldering. "Now, I shall kill you anyway." Swiftly, before the boy could react, she brought a knife from her cloak and thrust it into the boy's heart. Or as near to his heart as she could gauge. She was, after all, only twelve. She wrenched at the knife and swore when it stuck in the boy's ribcage. After a few more tugs, she swore again and let go of the hilt, allowing the boy to fall backwards.

The sun blinked out as a sudden mass of dark clouds converged overhead. Lightning streaked through the sky and the rain pounded the earth. A small group formed around the dying cherek boy. She heard her name shouted more than once, but when she turned back to see, the woods closed around her. Clutching the tattered parchment with the words of her God inscribed upon it, she turned her back on the only home she had ever known. Eastwards, to the home of her ancestors, an ancient voice called to her from the depths of her soul. She nodded. She would heed His call, and spend her life in His service, slaughtering the heathens of the west and paying tribute to her God.

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Ssolvarain
Author's note: Please note the fact that since Ssol has been around and done a lot of different RP just for the hell of it, I figure I should give him a clean start. Nevermind the fact that I have an ongoing RP project that I've been putting off for many many months.... Heh...

There's a small village deep in the jungles of Nyissa, where the arts of poisoning first were developed. This wasn't a way to make money or cause havoc. It was simply a way of survival that grew out of hand into the thriving markets of poisons and drugs that exist today. No one single village can claim to have "invented" the poisons or drugs, it was more of a cultural sharing, and the villages stayed the same, selling the things that were demanded by the outside world. The great war between the West and the East took place, slowly grinding to its end as Torak and his tower of iron were vanquished. This particular village was slightly responsible for this, having sent many brave poisoners to aid the West, though many did not return home. Time crept on, as it does in all places, and here begins our true story...

"Mooooom! Mom!" came a shrill, excited voice from outside the small hut. Grumbling to herself, a mother sets aside her weaving and steps outside to see what her young boy is yelling about. A young boy, head shaved bald, comes running up to his mother, hopping and bouncing with sheer happiness.
"Ma! They're gonna teach me! They're gonna teach me!"
"Who is gonna teach you what?" His mother replies with a slightly worried frown upon her face.
"The elders! They said I can be a poisoner! Just like dad and grandpa!"
"That's good to hear, I'm sure you'll make them both proud."
Ssolvarain failed to notice the tear sliding down his mother's face however, a tribute to the two generations that fell during contracts with outsiders.

*Whap!*
A sharp cuff to the boy's head as he snaps his attention back to the simple dagger before him.
"Oww..."
"Pay attention! A poisoner is as susceptible to his own poisons as he is his victims! One false move and you could kill yourself faster than I could treat you." Barks an older man standing behind the boy.
"Yes ser!" Comes back the sharp reply.
A few years had progressed, the boy was now seven. Young for any village when it came to training poisoners, but this one was younger yet when he began his training at the age of five. He did not dream the dreams of other children in the large cities, nor play their games of fun and laughter. His dreams were of poisons and preparations, his games were the sharpening of his masters' blades. He did his best in this large, long hut that he called home to please the heroes of myth his mother told him of since his youngest years. The demeaning work he suffered, the endless lessons and tests, all of it he buried deep within himself and left it behind so that he could become a hero himself.

A pair of figures sit across from one another at an ancient wooden table, hewn from wood in ages past.
"Today, you will begin another set of studies, added to your current ones. You will begin learning of the human body, and how it functions." The gray bearded man across from the growing boy said.
"Yes master," replied the boy, now eight years of age.
"The ability to know and understand how the body works is not only an offensive edge, but also defensive one as well."
The lesson began, and a new set of skills is learned. His mother hasn't stopped in to see him lately. It was a long trip from the main village, but she used to make it at least every day. Now, she did not come at all. Had he been studying too hard? Had he simply not noticed?

Another year came, as the old one washed away innocence found in almost all children around the word. His mother had died during the last year, taken by a strange fever not encountered before. Many of the village died, one of the boy's masters included. Tears were shed for the loss, but his apprenticeship would not wait for this personal loss. He was needed, he was to be one of the prized poisoners of this village, and nothing would halt his progress, or so he was told...
A heavy, inward-curved dagger sliced towards his opponents throat, laying it wide open.
"Good hit! I think you are learning the feel of the blade, it's abilities, but also it's limitations."
A wooden dummy stood before the child, standing tall for his age of ten. The steel khukuri, or kukri as the younger generation now called it, rested easily in his hand. His instructor grinned to himself for a moment, then disappeared into the hut behind him for a moment. When he appeared, he bore another kukri and handed it to the child.
"You will now learn to use both in concert. This is dangerous, so don't try to do anything flashy or hasty. We didn't train you this hard for this long, only for you to lose a finger or a hand."
"Yes ser" was the now-ingrained reply as the boy tested the weight and balance of the weapon now placed in his left hand.
Another lesson progressed, and time once again resumed.

The masters stood together outside the hut, countless candles illuminating a ring of packed dirt, the wooden dummy, the inner doorway of the hut behind them.
"You are on the verge of becoming a young man. This year marked your eleventh birthday, and as such, we have a gift to give you."
The eldest of the poisoners stepped forward and brought forth a small wooden amulet from inside his robes.
"This was your father's, and we give it to you on this day, in the place of your father. It is a poison well, and unable to be opened by anyone unless they know the trick. Wrought from an ancient wood long ago, this will only open to a specific line of blood. Your blood."
The poisoner stepped back silently, and the second eldest stepped in his place. Drawing forth a pair of heavy kukri, the blades a dark green color, from a heavy cloth, he hands them to the boy.
"This is your family's heirloom. Your ansestors who were commissioned by the West drew the blood of countless Angaraks in their quest to slow the progress of that monstrous iron tower. I now give this to you, as your grandfather is no longer with us to do so."
"Thank you for these gifts, my masters. I will wear them with the pride an honor of our village!"
The poisoners chuckled quietly to themselves, as though slightly embarrassed. "It seems in all this training, we seem to have forgotten to teach you a sense of humor. You have completed the rigors of initial training. Things will be easier now, if you remember your lessons well. All you have to do now, is practice and perfect your skills, and we all here will help you to do so. Now smile and nod your head, and give us that 'yes ser! ' you've been doing for so long."
"Yes ser!" came the boy's reply.
"You forgot to smile" grinned the eldest poisoner.
"Ahh... Yes ser" the boy said, a huge grin on his face, ecstatic with happiness.
"That's a good lad. Now go get some sleep! Just because we're done teaching, doesn't mean your done learning! Scoot!"
As the boy runs in, the poisoners laughed amongst themselves at the newly made young man.
"My friends... It seems we have raised a poisoner of note among those we have raised in the past. A true legacy to his ancestors, may Issa watch over their souls as they roam the jungles."

Unseen in the jungles, just past the candlelight, a trio of pale figures grinned between themselves, then faded away...

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