Jimbru.6014 Posted May 24, 2018 Share Posted May 24, 2018 I have been playing role-playing games since my middle school years. I started with the early editions of Dungeons & Dragons and Star Frontiers, and have played through dozens of games over my life into the computer MMO era. Behind every character in every game, there is a story -- the story of a person, who represents me or some part of me. This is the beginning story of Nemo Ghostwhisper, Charr necromancer, one of my current characters in Guild Wars 2. Enjoy.The moment the cub showed up at the fahrar, they knew he was trouble.The skinny orphan had been found by a Legion patrol in the haunted ruins of Rin, the ancient ghost town which lurked in the shadow of the Charr’s Black Citadel. Certainly the cub was unique enough; he was tiny by Charr standards, short and thin, with unsettling pink eyes and albino fur that almost made him look like one of Rin’s ghosts. But perhaps the oddest thing about him was his silent calm in a place from which even armed adults often fled screaming. He had accepted the guards taking him with only a simple request for food; it was easy to see that he had been alone for some time.The guards left the cub at the Hero’s Canton fahrar, and inquiries were made. Rumors in the Gladium Canton said the cub’s sire was an outcast shaman of the Flame Legion; his mother, an unknown gladium. Since he had no real parents, the low caste folk of the Gladium Canton had raised the weird cub as a child of the village. Nemo was his name; “Nobody,” as fitted his place. It wasn’t the first time he had wandered off to the ruins, they said. And the guards wondered at how those they questioned seemed thankful that the cub was no longer theirs.It wasn’t long before the reason was understood. In the fahrar, Nemo was just as reserved, and carried himself like someone much bigger and older; someone whom his teachers often saw behind his strange pink eyes, especially when he was angry. The bigger cubs, which was virtually all of them, quickly learned to not bully him. Not only was Nemo willing to fight them dirty in return, but bad luck seemed to follow those who bothered him, and it wasn’t long before people began whispering about curses and his “evil eyes”. One day in the fahrar, a flask of the master’s blood whiskey was stolen. The master lined up the cubs to find the culprit, but nobody confessed. True to Charr discipline, the stick came out as it too often did, and soon the whole row of cubs was weeping -- except Nemo. He had barely flinched as the blows struck, and even smiled slightly afterwards. “What?” The master bent and snarled in Nemo’s face. “Think you’re too good to cry? Did you steal my whiskey?”“Yes, and no,” the cub answered defiantly. He was fed up with the abuse.“Watch your tongue while you still have it!” The master growled as he raised the stick.“Don’t hit me again.”The master stopped, his eyes wide in disbelief at Nemo’s statement. “What did you say!?”“I said,” Nemo repeated evenly, “don’t hit me again.” Something old and dark, that mature power which others had seen, seethed behind his eyes, but the master was too angry and obtuse to notice as the other cubs quickly moved away in a fearful circle, leaving Nemo and the master alone.The master threw his head back and laughed. “You’re barely even waist high, and you’re threatening me?”“It’s not a threat. It’s an order.”“Cubs don’t give me orders!” The master roared. He reared back for a mighty swing, but the stick never made contact. For as he wound up, his eyes accidentally met with Nemo’s, and the darkness surging behind those weird pink eyes finally broke loose.Other adults in the fahrar heard the screams and came running, including Tribune Torga Desertgrave of the Ash Legion; she was visiting the fahrar looking for future recruits suited for her legion’s shadowy, unconventional ways. “What’s happening?” “What’s going on?” They stopped short at what they found, looking back and forth in confusion between the master cowering in one corner and the cubs in another. Nemo stood protectively between them with his head held high, his shadow falling over the master in a way that seemed much too big for his little cub body.It took a while for the master to stammer what happened. “He...it...SOMETHING.” His stare and shaking finger indicated Nemo.The adults all looked at Nemo, and after a moment of shuffling and muttering, one of them decisively grabbed Nemo and stuffed him into a seat while others picked up the fallen master. Then they huddled and whispered among themselves with many glances in Nemo’s direction, as they debated what to do with him.For the first time, Nemo’s face showed a touch of worry. Even that little was different enough from his usual stoic demeanor that his best friend among the other cubs, the shifty Clawspur, asked quietly, “Are you OK?”Nemo looked at Clawspur. It was rare that anyone had ever shown real concern for Nemo, and he smiled without the dark in his eyes this time, in a way that made Clawspur smile too. “I’ll be fine.”Nemo and Clawspur thought they had been quiet enough, but Torga caught the exchange. She came and squatted in front of Nemo, and unflinchingly looked right in his strange eyes. The two stared each other down for an interminable moment, until finally it was Nemo who blinked under the old assassin’s soul-piercing gaze. Torga smiled at that, and after another moment of disgusted listening to the other adults bicker like geese, she stood up and raised her voice, silencing them with her authority as both Tribune and elder. For the Charr often die young, and elders among those who die young are doubly respected.“No,” Torga said definitively. “He will not be punished. He was innocent and defended his innocence, however he did it.” She turned back to Nemo, and offered him her paw to take. “When you grow up,” she said, “you will be Ash.”After that, nobody in the fahrar ever bothered Nemo again. He grew up into a leader among the cubs, and began spending more of his time outside the fahrar. He learned from both the Ash Legion and the ghosts in his beloved ruins, and when he came of age, nobody was surprised when he donned the dark robes of a necromancer. He was still small for a Charr and always would be, but nobody questioned the power contained in his undersized body.Nemo’s determined personality made him a good second for his first warband, a diverse group of young Charr led by Howl the Brazen. Sadly, most of that warband were killed in a Pyrrhic victory over the vengeful ghosts of fallen Ascalon. Only Clawspur, Nemo’s sneaky childhood friend who grew up into a thief in the Ash Legion, survived with him.From that bloody victory, Nemo earned two things: a promotion to Legionnaire, putting him in charge of building a new warband, and the respect of Rytlock Brimstone, Tribune of the Blood Legion. With Rytlock’s blessing, Nemo recruited two soldiers from the Blood Legion, the warrior Wroda and the elementalist Yahuk, to join Clawspur as the core of his warband. Now, Nemo’s sire has emerged from exile, claiming to have inside information about the Flame Legion’s evil plans for the Black Citadel. Rytlock has dispatched Nemo and his new warband to deal with his estranged sire personally, and Nemo is looking forward to the meeting with cracked knuckles. What the future holds for all involved, remains to be seen. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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