Never-vember: Day 1

@drakcomancer @neverwinternighting

Day 1: Describe/draw who taught your character, or was a major influence on them growing up

“Huguagh!”

The dwarven fighter grunted as he hit the ground. Standing above him was the imposing figure of Lorne Starling, wielding an enormous blade ready to descend upon the prone figure.

Lorne chopped the blade downward, but Khelgar quickly rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. Panting heavily, he briefly retreated a safe distance while the Harborman readied himself for his next attack.

Quickly drawing a vial from his pouch, he pops the cork and gulps down a vial of darkly-colored liquid as he remembers a lesson from his early martial training.

“Remember, the surface dwellers are bigger than us. They’ve got size, reach, and leverage. So you take any advantage you can get. There is no dishonor in using tools, armor, or portions against a clearly superior opponent. Just be sure to focus on your own strength, and don’t become reliant on shortcuts.”

Khlumar’s words still rang in his ears. Or maybe that ringing was just the latest blow from Lorne. Either way, Khelgar took heed. He hated relying on magic, but right now his friend needed him to win the Trial by Combat. So as the magical power from the Potion of Bull's Strength enhanced his body, he focused on one thing: Defeating the Luskan assassin.

Charging at his opponent, he shouted “Come get some ye balmy barbarian!“

Never-vember: Day 1

@neverwinternighting, @drakcomancer

Day 1: A typical day in your hero or knight captain’s life

“Gaaaaaaah.” Khelgar moaned as he woke from his drunken stupor. The sunlight shone harshly into his chambers as he reluctantly rose from his bed in Crossroad Keep.

Glancing about his room, he sees a tunic with the symbol of the Neverwinter Nine laying crumpled in a corner. It was likely discarded there while he was inebriated. He tosses it in the laundry before getting a clean tunic from the dresser and going to the larder for some breakfast.

While chowing on some mutton and bread, his aide-de-camp sighs when she finds him in the larder. She starts to review the daily tasks - surveying maintenance for the Keep, meetings with the local merchant guilds, negotiations with the visiting emissary from Waterdeep, and several others. Hearing her drone on about “administrative responsibilities” and “proper decorum” made Khelgar long for the days of hunting undead in the cemeteries.

Still, he reminded himself that these tasks - as mind-numbingly boring as they are - ultimately saved more lives than he ever did as a wandering sellsword. And he made a promise when he claimed his ancestral weapon and became head of the Ironfist clan. A promise to stand with Neverwinter for the good of all. Not just indulge his own selfish desire to find the nearest tavern and drown in their stock of ale before launching his fists at any who would challenge him. As temping as that may be.

He took a long look outside the window towards the mountains, where the Ironfist stronghold sits. With a deep breath, he refocuses on the task at hand and turns to his aide.

“Thanks fer organizin’ it all lass. Which will we be startin’ wit’ today?”