Anger Management

Ever been in a situation where you wish you could have thought of something clever to say only to come up with the right answer hours later? Zeb was there. After the big scary looking undead guy, who just popped up out of a stone sarcophagus at the end of a really wigged out alter room, points his really big sword at him and asks “Are you prepared to lay down your life to protect the rift?” which he was going to do any way, he should have cleverly said “yes”. But all Zeb could think to say was “Look, you big rotting bone pile, you're just slowing us down, why don't you pipe down and get out of our way?!?” Zeb found out what it's like to have two and a half feet of steel sticking out of his chest. All because he couldn't think of something clever to say.

Zeb - Origins, Part 2

My experience left me with not one wound, but two. Evidently, my killer fired a second arrow that caught me in my left wrist. At first there appeared to be odd scarring around each wound. Now I know it to be the sigil of something unholy. Something that makes me feel perpetually unclean. Something that itches.

Fortunately, I was found floating in the river, by a huntsman employed by an enclave of Erathis that was somewhat near. He took me to the priests that were in charge of taming the wilderness that was my homeland.

I don’t remember much from those first few days. Fevered dreams? Maybe other visions? What I do remember was the presence of two figures hovering over me during my recovery. I remember these figures arguing. I don’t remember what they were arguing about, but one phrase uttered sent me reeling into consciousness.

“He has been marked for Her, but I fear bound to Him”

That was that. For the next few years I became an initiate of Erathis, earning my education at the hands of demanding masters. Living in the wild is tenuous at best. Sometime, after several years, financial support stopped flowing to our little enclave. With the lack of funds, the desertion rate became high, even among priests. Not long after that, there were only a few of us left at the enclave. The abbot decided to pull us back to an established city so that he could divine Erathis's will further.

Hiding my powers during this time has not always been easy, but I’ve managed. I never actually felt the presence of Erathis, though I was able to bluff my way past senile old priests. Mostly. While I have the best intent, my actions don’t always come to pass as I plan. That particular talent is what resulted in me traveling to Winterhaven to investigate possible cult activity. Orcus to be exact. Cults, demons, and devils, are something of my specialty, you see.

Since Erathis isn’t flush with coin for someone like me, assisting the guarding of a wagon train of goods to the town was how I earned my passage. That’s where I met Gethrok.

The road to Winterhaven was the first time I flaunted my powers. Not just flaunted, but reveled! Of course, that didn’t quite endear me to the drovers. They steered clear, even while welcoming the protection I gave. Not Gethrok. He didn’t judge the way the others had.

Zeb - Origins, Part 1

Today is my nameday. Today I become a man. Today is the day I die.

Call it a gift. Call it a curse. Call it what you will. That day I awoke from a vision. In the blissful ignorance of youth, I dismissed the vision as a bad dream and ignored the unfamiliar smell cloying my nostrils. The sun was shining and there was a spring scent to the morning breeze, quickly dissipating any of the night's horrors. The smell? I later came to know it as brimstone, the taint of unforgiveness, and the musk of the damned.

I knelt in the shallow frigid waters, the elder finally nearing the completion of the naming rite he dunked my head into the clear waters. This was that magical moment between a boy and a man. My moment. I savored it as long as I could, the gentle river sounds filling my ears and soothing my spirit. I finally raised my head from the waters, my ears straining to hear the name that all men would know me by. Straining, you see, to hear through the chorus of cheers and congratulations. I must know my name!

Water streaming from my hair, into my eyes, my sight finally cleared enough to see it was tainted red. Red? I turned to look at the elder, still clutching my shoulder. Red blood flowed from the spear that had pierced his chest. Each beating of his heart pushing blood into the river. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, the elders eyes lost focus. That's when it became clear that I had mistaken the cries of mercy of those gathered for jubilee.

I turned, and stood in the knee deep water, just as my killer loosed an arrow. I felt no pain as I stared dumbly at the bolt which sprang from my chest. I lost all feeling, but a sense of tumbling uncontrollably. The beautiful sun shining down onto my face. The water rising over my ears. I was dying and my soul screamed in a fury that I did not possess!

All became blackness for a time, no water, no sun, no movement of air or noise of nature. My soul begged for mercy! My soul cursed with anger! In the end, my soul begged the goddess Avandra for forgiveness. In the end, I died.

When I opened my eyes once again to the world of the living the now familiar smell of brimstone was again the first thing I noticed. Avandra was not the one who had answered.