| Helsbecter | |
|---|---|
 | |
|
Started Go |
2008 |
|
Rank |
2k |
|
Residence |
Detroit |
|
Age |
26 |
Too cool for us lowly kyus.
And lo, HELSBECTER THE MOUNTAIN DWARF FIGHTER did issue forth from the great Dwarfholds of the Mountains, charged by his Lord and Master TRAYOT AXEHANDLER with the strange and mighty task of retrieving the mythical ORB OF ZOT, so that it might be turned over to the Runesmiths and the Loremasters and they might with great precision ascertain the amount of glory brought to a Dwarfhold that possesses the ORB.
Helsbecter intrepidly entered the Dungeon, a dank, sinister realm of monsters and hidden tricks and traps. He passed down a long hallway, flanked with statues, and populated by giant rats and cockroaches and other vermin of the upper reaches. The fantastic, sculpted halls soon gave way to simple tunnels carved out of the living rock, connecting the vast array of caves and caverns that made up the body of the Dungeon. Deadly traps, shooting darts and arrows, were rigged up by insidious Kobolds and Goblins, though the stout dwarven shield he carried was proof against them. After the long, laborious clearing of the uppermost level of the Dungeon, he deftly skinned and gutted a giant bat and took a tentative bite of the raw meat. It was disgusting, but edible - although it was difficult for him to choke down, he reckoned he would need every Snozzcumber and Rambutan he could muster for the journey ahead.
After his repast, Helsbecter considered his progress forward. After carefully memorizing the names, quantities, and locations of every artifact and relic he had found thus far, he also took the time to record an itemized list of all the things he had identified. He had also found three staircases leading down: one the color of gold, and two that had been whitewashed. He jingled the 49 gold pieces he had picked up in their sixes and sevens off the gritty floors of the area as he trundled down the stairs of gold.
The hateful caverns so far had only produced for him the meaningless detritus that might nestle in a dwarf child's cradle at home - giant newts and geckos, a lone ooze, rats, and hobgoblins. Waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs though, as might a widow in mourning, longing for the return of her beloved, was that most vile and detestable of bosom brother - Yes, the original Tempter, the duplicitous Snake! The serpent very well occupied the path ahead, challenging Helsbecter to meet in single combat the first betrayer. With all the training he had received from his masters, with the technique that was the keystone in the great gilded arch of dwarven axecraft, he struck out at the Snake with his handaxe, but his dwarven scale mail and dwarven shield repeatedly got in his way and he was unable to land a blow upon the beast. Bleeding from a dozen different places and feeling the effects of a noxious poison that crawled inward, chilling his heart, he remembered the extensive tactical training and drilling instilled from his decades of training and made a fighting retreat up the golden staircase.
To his shock, though, the Snake had not only followed him up the stairs, but somehow had passed beneath him, again blocking his way! This time, it was far more serious, for the beast blocked the path to safety, to the cairn that Helsbecter had raised for the stash of treasures he had recovered, and the road to life itself! His time running short, he opened his rucksack and checked his possessions. For whole minutes, he considered the contents, flipping tentatively from one compartment to the other. After careful reflection, he withdrew an ancient scroll of vellum, reading aloud the mythical runes of power inscribed on it in a last ditch effort to slay the monster and with all his willpower resist the effects of the poison. The words of the scroll so pronounced, he knew, somehow, he was to select an item - he resolutely selected his dwarven handaxe, so that he might split that wretched snake from fang to tail. To his consternation, however, nothing happened. The Snake, seeing its opportunity, struck another blow, and Helsbecter was brought to one knee. With a final surge of energy, he struck out at the Snake, but his dwarven scale mail got in the way and he missed. As Helsbecter sank to the ground, with the icy grip of the monster's venom squeezing the life out of his chest, he bitterly regretted his failure and commended his imperfect soul to the forges of the Ancestors.
So it was recorded in the Book of Histories.