Beryl

Revision as of 06:53, 12 March 2011

Realm: Salamandastron

Position: Ex-Jester

Favorite Fighting Style: Sniping

Favorite Weapon: Molar the Glave

Other Names: B(lue) H(air), Voda, Babe (the blue ox), & Hey You

Origins: Kantya Hazgard was born a lowly peasant and through her short brush with royalty, during which she was raped by the King of Salamandastron, conceived a child that prophecy spoke of only as "The Blue One." Once finished with her, the King ordered Kantya executed, so as to prevent the birth of a bastard child. She escaped unexpectedly when a pack of wolves attacked the King's camp and distracted the guards. Kantya hid many miles away in an abandoned mine, and it was there that she gave birth to Beryl Hazgard. Beryl grew up surrounded by the forest and the animals that resided therein. He lived a simple life with his mother for many years, mining out the precious stone from which he got his namesake, and trading it in the nearest village for supplies, food, and the rare luxury. Word of the stones' reappearance in the small hamlet reached the Kings ears. He briskly sent a band of slaves and soldiers to reopen the once barren mine. On Beryl's 17th birthday, the King's men arrived to reopen the mine and, finding Kantya alone, executed her. Beryl returned from his morning hunt to find his mother slaughtered and his home overrun with the Kings men. Having been raised to keep his head, even in the most dire situations, Beryl fled from his home promising himself that he would some day kill his father, or die trying.

The night of his mother's murder, Beryl ran across a wandering band of minstrels lost in the forest. The performers explained how they had tried to reach their destination by a shortcut, as there juggler was ill and in need of a healer. Beryl took pity on the minstrels and agreed to help them out of the forest. Under the guidance of 17-year-old, now-orphaned bastard, the minstrels reached the village before sun-up. The juggler was rushed to a healer, but what had appeared a mere illness was discovered to be the plague. The juggler died as a blood-red sun rose mournfully over the village. The minstrels invited Beryl to share a drink with them at the local pub, in mourning for their lost brethren. As the day wore on, their leader approached Beryl explaining that the band was now one man short and in need of a new juggler. They offered Beryl the dead mans place in their group, in what they assured him was a 'truly great honor.' Beryl, needing to flee the area yet having nowhere to go, agreed and spent the rest of the year traveling with the wandering performers, learning what little juggling the others knew and practicing on his own. Amongst the jolly men and women, Beryl picked up many talents for entertainment, among which were acting, singing, storytelling, tumbling, dancing, and the playing of various instruments. As his skill increased, Beryl began to surpass several of the other performers in skill. They loved his enthusiasm for the world of entertainment and looked to him for inspiration. A fortnight after his 18th birthday, Beryl and the minstrels wandered into a small harbor town looking for work and a cheap inn.

They spent an itchy night is a free stall of the inn's stables, after performing for their meal and room. In the early morn, before the ocean fog retreated from the streets, the town was beset upon by a vicious sea-troll who sent the villagers screaming from his ruthless violence. As the three-fingered creature passed the stables, it turned, sniffing the wet air. A wicked smile crossed it's lips, quickly followed by its tongue. The sea-troll brandished its giant ax and drove it into one of the stable's support beams. Inside, the minstrels jolted awake. They looked around, groggy and confused by the bleating, panicking horses. With a loud roar, the sea-troll pulled out his ax and drove it into another support beam. The stable's wooden foundation cracked, and the roof tilted dangerously. The splintering grew louder as the entire stable began to collapse around the minstrels. Horses broke free as walls came crashing down and the performers scrambled to get out form the falling debris. the horse in the adjourning stable thrashed wildly against the post that held it's stall together. The post snapped, letting the stall side come crashing down on the still trapped performers. Beryl, having slept closest to the stall exit, called battered out from under the board as his fellows called for help from beneath. Turning to help his comrades, Beryl screamed in horror as one of the ceiling's crossbeams came loose and fell into the trapped performed. The crunch of bone shortly joined the cacophony of splintering wood. With a final shudder, the ceiling fell. Beryl stared at it as the wooden planks closed in around him. But prophecy would not permit Beryl's death just yet and mercifully allowed his section of the room to collapse in such a way as to form a small cocoon around him. Beryl fainted.

Many hours later, after the last of the sun's light had fled the horizon and the moon had claimed dominion of the sky, Beryl awoke dazed and bleeding. Beryl made his way into the ruins of what was once a thriving thoroughfare. Beryl called out, but no response was given to him. High above the small harbor town, the moon in all its full glory shone down a serene light that seemed so fitting for the graveyard of a town that Beryl found himself in. Down the street, a loud, deep growl made the hairs on Beryls dusty skin prickle. From the shade of a fish shop came loping a figure of disproportional size. It was too large to be a wolf, yet retained a regal coat of sleek gray fur and a pair of bright yellow eyes. The creature opened its mouth and the moonlight alighted on a maw larger than the head of a child, full of teeth sharper than any sword crafted by man. The creature approached Beryl, its claws rattling out a soft, rhythmic song on the cobble-stones. Beryl backed up to where his equipment lay beside his bed, and tripped over his bag. The creature came closer. Beryl looked around for a weapon but found nothing other than his juggling clubs. He picked up two of them and brandished them at the wolf like thing that stood only yards from him. The creature laughed a deep, husky laugh and stood up on its hind-quarters. "you think you can take me human. You small, scrawny boy. No one can kill me, and I can kill all, for I am Dyre Wolf, the werewolf."

Beryl gritted his teeth and, with an anger long buried, shouted at the werewolf. "I am no scrawny boy, I am Beryl Hazgard, bastard son of the King, and I have sworn my soul to killing him. I will put to the grave anyone who stands between him and my dagger, and that includes you, Dyre Wolf." With a blinding speed gained from a year of wielding the clubs, Beryl threw one of his weapons at the werewolf. Dyre, not expecting the blow, was knocked backwards when the club contacted soundly with her forehead. Before she hit the ground, Beryl leaped over her and ran down the street. A piercing howl shot through the night, burning Beryl to the core. He looked back to find the large shape of Dyre Wolf charging down the street towards him. Dyre lunged for Beryl who, after years of tumbling, instinctively rolled beneath her flying from. Dyre landed and spun to face Beryl. The performer stood bravely wielding his remaining club and glaring at the werewolf. Before he could throw his club, Dyre lunged again and, being much closer than before, knocked Beryl over before he could react. Placing a palm on his chest and a claw to his neck, Dyre spoke to the helpless mistral.

"I should eat you for throwing that speck of wood at me, but you amaze me human. You do not run in fear like the others of your kind. You also hold distaste for the king that anyone else in the realm of Salamandastron would talk of with revere. Vek!" From the shadow of another close building came the Troll who had destroyed the town. Dyre retreated from Beryl and stood up, her fur rippling as she did. Within seconds, she had shrunk in stature to that of a young woman, clothed in a cloak of wolfs fur. Beryl could see bare skin beneath the fur and averted his eyes from the woman and instead focusing on the giant, yellow beast that stood nonchalantly next to the werewolf. He gritted his teeth in some semblance of a grin and chuckled. "This human is like none I have met. He should die like all of his kind, but something tells me that he is worth much more to us alive than dead. He hates the King, as we do, and stranger still, he seems to be related to the clean-clothed butcher. He might be of some use to us in avenging your mother's death." At the mention of his mother, the troll Vek dropped his grin, his eyes watering with uncharacteristic rapidness. "Mommy," he cried to himself. Dyre took the troll in her arms and hugged him while mumbling softly words of sympathy and encouragement. Beryl tried to rise, hoping to run while the monsters were distracted, but before he reached his feet, Dyre snapped her head towards him and spat a commanding "Stay." Beryl stayed. Dyre patted the troll's back and faced Beryl once more.

"You have a choice, human. You can live as my slave, doing what I say when I say, and help us kill the man you hate, or you can die right here at the hands of my Vek." With this last, the troll turned to Beryl and brandished his Hammer. The young performer, who had only gotten smarted and more rational as he grew up, decided quickly what his choice would be. "I will go with you." Under the watchful eye of Vek, Beryl gathered his pack together, collected his juggling clubs, and followed the creatures out of the rubble of a town. He has since been traveling with them, staying out of a developed loyalty to Dyre and the promise that one day, the three of them would kill the King of Salamandastron.