The Battered Bible of a War Priest. Chap 1 <pt 1>

[DonnieDreams]

Uktar 06, 1356 DR

The grizzled old dwarf stepped off the caravan to look at farmlands around him. North of him a cabin and cornfields stretched into the distance. In the west, loomed the giant gate that led into the city. He had come down to the gate to find fame and glory. Dishonored in a battle with the orcs of the many arrow clan, and after his father had told him of his adventures on the sword coast; he figured Baldur's Gate was as good a place as any to regain his honor. He wasn't much to look at, in fact someone would say that this dwarf was uglier than sin made over. He had seen more than his fair share of battle. Scars covered his face and the middle portion of his graying ginger beard had been ripped out. Bits of food and ale stains could even be seen in the braided portion of what was left. A nasty pink scar could be seen on his chin, which he tended to scratch a lot. His cold stone eyes stared into the distance over the cornfields with wisdom and experience, as he pondered his next course of action. His hair was bald, except for the graying ginger mohawk he sported, and black bandanna around his head.

Each scar on this dwarfs face seemed to be carried with a badge of honor. A small price to pay for victory in the war he was trying to wage considering the small armory he was carrying with him. A massive shield hangs on his back, nearly as large as the dwarf himself. It is fashioned from gray and blackened steel, inlaid with an image of two crossed battle axes, a symbol of Clanggedin Silverbeard, the dwarven god of war. At his left side a dwarven war axe can be seen clasped in its scabbard. Across his belt various throwing axes can be seen ready to throw at a moment's notice.

"Hi mister! You look new around here, how about a tour of the city for a gold piece?" Called out a little kid standing next to the cabin by the road heading up to the gate.

Another man, human by the looks of him, he was dressed in farm clothes and a feathered hat. The grizzled old dwarf cocked his left eyebrow and walked up to the man. "Hello traveler. Welcome to Baldur's Gate, the finest city in this region of the Sword Coast. Is this your first time to visit our fair city?" he asked with a helpful smile.

"Yes. I jus’ got here." the old dwarf replied, spitting on the ground.

"Excellent." he replied, taking off his hat and scratching his head." If there is anything you need to know about the town, I'm the man to let you know."

"Well," The old dwarf sighed and scratched the bald spot on his chin. "I know about the rules pertainin’ to keeping yer face visible and yer weapons sheathed in town. Wha' else should I know?"

The farm hand chuckled at that comment a bit and chewed on the piece of hay hanging from his lip. "I don't know sir dwarf, you are gonna have to tell me."

Manus scratched his chin in thought. "I guess how do all you tall folks of Baldur's Gate feel about the different races?"

"That's a difficult question to answer, master dwarf. I'll give it a go though. First and foremost, behave yourself. If you're trouble that'll get you tossed out of town or into the jail." The farm hand explained as he chewed on his wheat grass. "Drow aren't tolerated. Kill'em all I say. Most will agree. Same for most orc-blood, what with the war and all. Except your half-orc, they're not all bad, kinda like humans. Some are honest and others will just assume slit your throat than walk past you. Elves and dwarves are welcome. Aasimars too. Tieflings are more tolerated than accepted."

"Anythin' else?" the dwarf asked as he scratched his chin.

"Most of all follow the rules and don't cause trouble." the farm hand said, gnawing on the wheat grass hanging from his mouth. "If you are in need of supplies There are several merchants in the city. Look for the shop signs. There is also the Mudd brothers trader in the Palace District. He barters used gear for others. Someone else's junk might be your treasure. His brother is down the road at the Friendly Arm Inn." He said gesturing south.

The farm hand continued gnawing and yawing as the dwarf looked around. "Ask around town if you are in need of coin. The docks are a good place to start with small jobs that won't get you killed. A few uppity nobles may need something. Or the farms here," he said motioning to the crops in the north. "Again, ask around. You never know what you might find." The farm hand tipped his hat slightly in both a welcome and a farewell.

"Thanks, much appreciated for the help lad." The grizzled old dwarf turned and walked north across the path toward the cornfields. There another farmer had set up a small stall and was selling vegetables. The dwarf walked up and began examining the farmer's wares.

"Hello there, traveler." the farmer said with a tip of his hat.

"Been busy with the farm I see, got a lot of good lookin produce here" Manus replied as he looked through the green beans, grapes, apples and other produce that was up for sale.

"You got it! Farmin's what I do, master dwarf. Why do ye think they call me Farmer Todd, hm?" The farmer looked over the grizzled dwarf and chuckled. "And I take it you aren't a farmer from the looks of ye."

"Nah, wha gave it away?" The dwarf smirked under his graying Moustache. "I be looking for coin though, is there anything that I can do to he'p yeh?"

*The farmer set down his milk pails with a thud, He began looking at the fields around him. "Most of the work 'round here's just simple chores. I'd hate t'bore ye with 'em."

"Nothin' wrong with a little farm work I spose. What needs to be done?" the dwarf spit on his hands and rubbed them together.

"Well, me and me family can take care of the normal chores just fine. But there are a couple odds and ends that ye could help with, if ye like." The farmer moves his hand and begins motioning to the hay bails surrounding him. "Aye. On the other side of the farms are a few scarecrows we use t'keep animals away from our crops. After a while though, the wind blows the stuffin' out of 'em. Would ye mind filling our scarecrows with a some fresh hay?"

Aye ladd, think I can take care of that for you." the grizzled old dwarf looked into the fields and over the scarecrows. They had begun looking saggy. The burlap skins and old clothes of the scarecrow swayed lazily in the breeze as a warm gust came in from the north. The farmer, his weathered skin tanned from the hours he had spent outside; hefted a bail of hay and thrust it at Manus. "Careful with that. It's quite heavy. Come find me when you're finished."

The dwarf drug the hay bail into the fields. The farmer wasn't lying, it was heavy, though not heavy enough to weigh down the grizzled veteran. He scanned the corn fields for scarecrows and walked up to each one and filled it. The bounds bail of hay began slowly dwindling away. As he stuffed each scarecrow the sagging burlap skin and clothes of each scarecrow they began to take on a new life. He continued dragging the bail through the fields, stuffing one scarecrow after another. He hummed a song to himself as he did. An old dwarven war hymn he had remembered hearing in the hall of Moridain. Finally after 6 or seven of the scarecrows He felt like he was done. He scanned the cornfields to double check and see he hadn't missed one. Satisfied with his job and seeing no more sagging scarecrows he walked back to the farmer.

The farmer, holding a bag of horse feed and dividing it between a few buckets lifted his head as the dwarf rattled up. He looked at the diminished hay bail and smiled. "Get em finished I take it." he said as he chewed on the piece of straw hanging from his mouth. He turned and scanned the cornfield and the scarecrows within. "looks like ya did. Looks good master dwarf I appreciate the help." The farmer pulls out a burlap pouch and tosses a few gold to Manus. "Here, it ain't much, but I'd at least like to pay ye for your work. I might have another job for ya if yer interested."

"If it pays well enough, why not? Always looking fer the odd job." the dwarf said with an ugly smirk. He scratched the bald spot on his chin "What kinda job you got in mind?"

"Well, here's is the source ta me worries. I got this rat. Well, not exactly mine, He just wandered by the fields one day. Me and the youngins call him Old Dodger. It’d break the youngins heart if them wolves got a bite of the old rat. I'll pay ya well, 50 coins, if ye can bring him back ta me, so I can stuff him in a cage 'til things settle down."

"Aye, can't have the poor youngins without their pet now can we? I'll see what I can find for ya ladd." The dwarf nodded in silent agreement, to the farmer.

"Much obliged. Jest look fer a hole over yonder." The farmer explained as he pointed into the fields to the north, "and try ta be fast, he can be a sneaky bugger."

The grizzled dwarf began his awkward, and noisy walk around the field, plowing though the cornstalks as he did. His eyes scanned the area for holes that the rat could have darted into, or better yet that it may be crawling out of. It took some time for the rat to appear, the dwarf was not trying to make himself unknown in any way. The dwarf sighed a sigh of exhaustion and wiped his brow. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted the rat crawling slowly out of a hole. He approached it slowly hoping that the rat wouldn't run away. As he approached he made a lunge and the rat darted off back into the hole.

"Bah, I ain't gonna be able to catch that thing like that. Let someone else give it a try, they can keep da' gold." he spat on the ground and plodded his way back through the cornfeilds. The rusty half plate that he wore creaking and clanking as he did. Slowly he worked his way to the massive gate into the city. Baldur's Gate, the largest metropolis and city state on the sword coast. His da had told him stories of so many things that had happened to him in this city. After all those stories of his father's mighty battles He knew he would be able to come down here and regain his honor.

His father, Malichi Firestone was a berserker. A proud warrior that charged into battle head first and asked questions later. He was a stubborn old fool. But he got the job done, sometimes. There were many times that he was dragged from the battle by his friends to the nearest temple to be raised cause he decided to bite off more than he could chew. Manus took after his father in a lot of ways. He was stubborn and bull headed, and always ready for a fight. For fun, or against injustice and what's right. His grand father had been a man of the cloth, he was called a Sonnlinor. He had fought off the Many Arrow orc clan enough to set up a small hold just north east of Mirabar in 1306. Manus was born the next year in 1307. Eight and a half moons from durins day Manus and his twin sister Molly was born, fraternal twins. It had become common after what was called the thunder blessing. His grandpa called him and his sister thunder children.

Molly liked getting into mischief growing up. She was kind to her friends, but she tended to pick on her brother. He tried to watch out for her though. As much as he could at least. Growing up, Manus helped his grandfather around the temple. He always said that since the Dwarf Father blessed the clan with these lands, that we should show him respect in turn. Manus had a bad habit of getting into fights though. It didn't matter if it was fisticuffs, a bar room brawl, or fighting back the goblins and orcs that plagued the Spine. It got him into trouble more times then he could count. When he would get into trouble his ma would make him study the lore of the Morndinsamman. Through this study he came upon the faith of Claggedin; the Father of Battle. Clanggedin delighted in battle, but he didn't tolerate trickery or deceit.

He began to watch and learn from his grandfather, but he told him that he wished to take up the mantle of Clangeddin instead of Moradin. He learned many things from his grandfather over the years as he studied. Priests of Claggedin were known as alaghor, that means those that demonstrate valor in battle. He began learning the art of forging and smithing weapons, and was taught prayers and blessings to make himself and his allies stronger on the battlefield. Finally the day came where he was to take part in his first fight. The orcs of the Many Arrow tribe had started encroaching on the keep again. The Battlehammer clan had just reclaimed mithral hall and the orcs didn't like it. Refugees from the Triboar raid had been piling into Mirabar, Silverymoon, and all other places along the spine, even the Firestone hold had taken in a few. It was in that battle that he had lost his beard. He shook his head pulling himself from his thoughts, He knocked on the gate making sure his gear was packed up and walked into the city.

Ahead a fountain sits he listens to the sound of the bard playing his music, he pulls out a beat up leather tome and begins to take notes. "Over yonder looks like a weapons shop. May be a good place to grab a few nice pieces o’ gear." He speaks out to no one in particular. From across the courtyard a courier A dwarven lass standing 4'6 in height dirty brown hair tied in a bun. She wore brown and tan tones and tan boots. She didn't seem to be very happy with her posting because a dissatisfied scowl was on her face.

"Well, what about that one?" Manus overheard that courier mutter to herself. "They look dumb enough."

Manus sighed and walked up to the courier. "Coin is a coin I suppose. What kinda job and how much yeh payin’ lass."

"Ahem. Pardon me. We have received news that one of our secure shipments has been waylaid by bugbears on the Trade Way, north, out of Soubar. We have no martial forces to attempt a recovery of our secure goods... are you interested? We will offer suitable remuneration for so doing, of course." She stammered realising she had been caught."

Manus chuckled a bit and tried to offer her the best smile he could. "Sorry lass, just got her and need to get a bit o experience under me belt for I go tacklin bugbears. But once I do, I'll be sure to be back."

Manus made his way into the weapon shop and got a few pieces of gear with the coin he had brought with him from Miribar. It wasn't much but it was something that would make a good start, a tower shield, armor, a good axe and shield, he also bought a mace. Just for fighting undead. He knew his turning wasn't much since his beard was tore out and he lost his honor, but he could still smash a skeleton good; bald chin or not. Spending just about all the gold he had he felt things we're gonna be ok. He walked out of the weapon store and headed back into the farmlands.

"Hi mister! You look new here, how about a tour of the city for a gold piece?" a little street kid called out from beside the caravan stop. Unfortunately Manus paid him no mind, he was more focused on trying out his new gear. He walked past and paid the kid no mind. Another farmer paced further down the road. A tall man with a bald head. Manus approached and nodded his head in the farmer's direction.

"Well met farwalker. Might it be that you have come to help an old man with his wolf problem in the farmlands to the East of here, along the river?" The farmer nodded his head in greeting as Manus approached.

"Wolves? I think I can help." Manus cocked an eyebrow. "Good meat if yeh cook it, good skins to."

"Very good indeed. I don't know what's gotten into these mutts lately. They have never given me much problem 'til this spring. It's as if something is driving them South from the plains North of here. The farmer looked at the ground and shook his head in frustration. "I will pay you twenty-five gold for each wolf hide you bring me. Sound fair?"

Manus Nodded his head in agreement. "Agreed."

The old man straightens his back as best he can and gives a large smile of relief. Manus turned away, his focus was on the fight right now. "Blessings upon you, traveler... oh and just in case, I should warn you that travelling beyond the Farmlands to the North, can be extremely dangerous on your own." The old farm hand called out after him.

Manus continued trotting down the road. Ahead of him was a graveyard, or at least he thought so. Big angel statues seem to be a big give away for graveyards. "I'll be careful." He called back to the farmer. He continued closer to the graveyard, a foul feeling crawling up his back. There was an impure energy that had seemed to seep into the ground. Two agents of the fist stood by the gate. Growls and snarls could be heard from the grounds beyond. Manus pulled out his prayer book and began to prepare his wards. After selecting a few good ones he closed the book and put it away. He started to hum to himself a dwarven war hymn. He smiled at the Flaming Fist that was watching him. and charged into the graveyard. "TO BATTLE '' He screamed as he did.

Inside the graveyard, the rain poured down incessantly. Thunder and lightning could be heard in the distance as the wind whispered through the trees. Occasionally, a zombie moan could be heard in the distance. Manus surveyed his surroundings. Ahead a group of skeletons chattered as they walked about the defiled graves. Some skeletons had armor, rusty bits of metal and pieces of whatever that they were buried in. Some didn't, probably buried in some old cloth that had long since decomposed along with the skin it once covered. He smirked a bit to himself and readied his weapon. "To battle" he yelled out and charged in. His mace flung wildly as he used the massive shield he carried to guard himself. The big shield was a bit unwieldy to use, But he was starting to get the hang of it.

Manus continued his combat training, killing one undead after another. It felt good to feel foes fall beneath his blows again. As he lost himself in battle he began to drift back into that fight. The first time he was out on the field, he could count maybe thirty, possibly 40 orcs on the horizon. The band was small, but so was his clan. Time began to slow down as the war cries echoed across the battlefield. Manus clutched the pendant he held to his chest and listened to the war drums playing behind him. He could remember charging into battle his own war cry joining the chorus of his kin. He could remember the rush of adrenaline as he charged into the fray, he could even remember the hot stench of orc breath in his face as he swung away with his axe. He could remember the pain as the orc grabbed his newly grown beard and began to pull. He could remember the warm blood running down his face after he buried his axe in the orcs head. After that, the only thing he could remember was waking up next to a campfire, only his sister remained.

Smacking another skeleton into the ground, its skull smashing between the weight and the blunt force of his mace; Manus sighed and scratched the bald spot on his chin. He had gotten a few scrapes and bruises in that last scrap but was no worse for wear. He began walking back to the farm lands. "Maybe I could go give that street kid a gold or two." As he crossed through the gate he was greeted by a young woman First thing that stuck out was the fiery haired lass in front of him.

She nodded, shily shifting her glasses. Manus regarded her with curiosity ore than anything else. "Yeh fxin teh go in there?" He nodded back towards the graveyard.
She blinked as if suddenly realizing that someone was talking to her. "i-i am unsure if i can fix a w-whole graveyard...." she stuttered shyly.

((Manus has made a footnote here))
You know Journal, I think Miss Colds was the first friend I made when I came to the gate. Or at least the first friend I made in the gate in this life. Anyway, that's enough for now. Don't know how Miss Colds would feel about me putting down our conversation. I helped her in exploring the graveyard, though we never did find out about what foul magic was causing the dead to raise. Then we happened upon a traveling merchant that had sold us a few fresh baked buns. All in all it was a good day. Well Journal I'm gonna call it a night. Who knows how tomorrow will turn out. Only way I spose I'll see is to be there when the sun comes up. Gonna go get me a pint or two, puff on me pipe, and get some shut eye. If anything interesting happens I'll write it down. Maybe one day, if anythin' I can give this to me own clan.

((more content coming soon))

Taraskh 25th, 1357 DR

Been a long time since I wrote anything, or at least anything substantial. Not since I came down from my home town near Mirabar. I've met many interesting characters in my travels in the Gate so far. To many to list by name. Over my travels I have earned the nickname Manus the Mighty. Metaphorically speaking I suppose considering that i'm a dwarf, against any foe that comes before me. I finally got my bearskin cloak, though it's still unfinished. The hide is raw and still needs to be properly treated. I got an interesting fortune from a traveling teller. She said to be kind and generous in my charity, to help others. Been trying to do just that. Though my pouch is getting very light. I donated all the gold I had to the gate as relief for the famine. I also helped out a dwarven lass that I met. She's an odd one. Was running round messing up the stalls and causing a general ruckus. She is new in these parts after all, and I suppose it might be a good idea to teach her the ropes and make sure she stays around. I've also started the practice of humming to myself as i'm in the thick of battle. It lets everything wash away as I focus on whatever foe is before me.

Where to start, there's been so much going on lately I don't have any clue where to begin. I suppose at the begging would be a nice place, tell you a little about myself. I'm the oldest of 4 siblings, none of them full blooded. I never did get along with many of my clan. Me da was self righteous, and a bit of a workaholic. Born after a drunken tryst I was raised by me single mother. It was hard being a dwarven woman without a husband, but she at least got by and managed to raise me right. Me Grandpa, on me mothers side is who brought me into the faith of Clangeddin and taught me all that I know. I'm not as versed in his faith as i'd like to be, but been thinking about heading back to the temple of the Morndinsamman. That's dwarven for "Shield Brothers on High." He unfortunately passed away shortly after my 19th naming day. I've fought with my faith for a long time now. Yet, the idea of being a priest of war always intrigued me. If the gods do smile on me then I suppose i've managed to do something right.

I think I may stay here in the gate for a while. Keep doing what that teller told me to do. She said Clangeddin would bless me if I did. Suppose it's time to write another chapter to my crazy life. I'll continue to wander the roads and help those in need. One day, when the bards are singing songs of Claggedin and his priest, I'll be ready to go out in a blaze of glory. Twin axes just like Claggidin, swinging at my side. Until then, I think I'll travel the countryside and explore; it's been a long time since i've been to the gate and a lot of changes have taken place. Though there is an ominous wind in the air. Like something bad is going to happen soon.