Anklebiter, Scourge of Shins

Anklebiter, Scourge of Shins

Kristol couldn't help but smile warmly as the brutish highwaymen, if such rank amateurs could even be called that, surrounded her.  Grindnaclim held steadily in her right hand, with Nalbactha Glantha pointing at the two men behind her.  She would always tell others of how the names belonged to ancient Gnome heroes from her family's history.  In reality they were a poorly assembled melange of ancient Gnomanic and *ahem* creative grammar.

To the bandits, which still may be giving them too much credit, this was there lucky day.  Here they found a wagon, all but over flowing with food, goods, and several large chests.  Not only that, but the only person there was a female gnome.  Not only that, but she was short...even for a gnome!  Kristol stood only two feet, ten inches, and one half, a half she clung to fervently.  She cut quite the amusing sight to the men.  Not only was she a snippet of a thing, but she had a wild tussle of copper colored hair.  Her equipment was a sight to behold.  The leather straps on the armor were the same as on the handles of the weapons, the copper accents on her armor perfectly matched her copper hair, and there wasn't a blemish anywhere.  Not a scratch, a dent, or even a smattering of dust.  To them that could only mean that they had never been used.  

"Quit playing around with those toys and toss them over here, kid" the fat one shouted, unaware that by speaking first, he'd moved to the top of the list.  

"Yeah, we won't hu..." the ripped one started to say.  His words interrupted by a piercing scream.   

In the blink of an eye Kristol had sprung into action, her body flowing into the familiar rhythm of  combat.  Dashing through the fat ones legs.  One suddenly missing a shin and the other with a jetting femoral artery.  

Quickly recovering from his surprise the ripped man attacked her.  His dagger swiping only air as she hopped up and over his attack.  The last thing he saw was the well honed edge of a sword that had been used and loved for years.  "Oops" he thought as he passed on.

Only six seconds had passed and now the other two could finally overcome their shock and act.  Wisely, the turned tail and immediately began to run away.  

Seeing them flee Kristol thought back to what her initially reluctant, but swiftly overprotective mentor had taught her.  

His gruff voice rumbling in the back of her mind "Look here little lady, letting an enemy flee because you think they can't harm you is the height of vanity and stupidity.  You're neither of those"

In a flash Kristol was upon the fleeing men.   

Kristol was many things, but she wasn't vain.  No, she was a fucking lady.  

The Tale of kaer Mora

The highly skilled Luiz Prado of Luiz Prado Arts was kind enough to let me play with a character from a personal project of his.  All rights to the character and the pictures belong to him and I had nothing to do with the drawing, I'm not that talented.

The Tale of kaer Mora

kaer Mora is a small kingdom that once controlled the Orci mountain pass and the mountains on either side, but that was many generations ago when they still possessed what they call kaerganger, literally mountain warrior, but meaning something more like "warrior with the mountain spirit inside of their heart".   For generations these fierce warriors held their pass and mines making their kingdom wealthy, until one day they vanished.  They awoke, their minds devoid of all passion and their limbs weak as a new born babe's.  Fear and panic swept the nation as its populace began to turn on each other and the surrounding countries nipped off larger and larger portions.  Soon the pass was the only contested spot.  It has passed from the hands of the elvish kingdom of Na'lut'ha in the northern forest lands to the ownership of the Kingdom of Norbith in the Southern Steppes.  Back and forth it was won and lost a dozen times.  Until eventually an uneasy truce settled over the pass.   

It's people have been lost.  Many have renounced the old ways and adapt the ways of the modern world.  Taking and borrowing from the mixed races empire to the South and the Elvish  lands to the North.   

Yet some still cleave to the old ways.  They seek to atone for whatever misdeeds caused the mountain to revoke it's blessing.  

This is their tale.

This is the tale of Minara Titansbane, The Mountain's Storm.

Minara was a princess, heir to an ancient line of heroes and rulers of the kaer Mora, yet in name only.  She knew nothing about it growing up beyond the abstract.  To her it was just a job she was born into.  She was a leader, but for the small band of semi-nomadic people in the mountains it meant nothing in the way of pleasure or creature comforts.  She worked as hard as anyone else, trained to fight with the others, and worked the small mountain crops with the others.  

Until the day she slew her first enemy.  

Now it wasn't unusual to encounter other tribes and groups when ranging the mountains.  Normally they parted ways peacefully, but elves, orcs, and goblins were dispatched on sight.  One day she and a few other children, none older than 8 or 9, were out with one of the elders learning how to hunt prey when they encountered a patrol from the Kingdom of Norbith.  All seemed to be going well as the elder and the guardsmen talked, but once the elder turned his back the guardsman lashed out and neatly separated the elder's head from his shoulders.  The guardsmen advanced on the children, manacles in hand, eyes already glinting with the thought of the profits to be made.  With a shout Minara charges the guardsman who slew the elder.  Her eyes are filled with rage and tears as she leaps at him.

With a sickening crunch his axe impacts the left side of her chest.  Her eyes begin to glaze over and her body slumps around the axe when her eyes snap back open. An emerald flame seems to radiate from her eyes as she grips the axe haft and twists it from the guardsman's hands.  All is silent except for the sickening sound and sight of Minara pulling the axe out of her chest.  Her ribs and muscles clearly showing in the wound. 

The other children describe what happened next as kaer minok torang padan or "when the mountain sky violently begins to storm on a clear sky".  Minara was enveloped in a rage and fury that made the hardened soldiers quake as she tore through them.  When all was said and done she stood among the bodies of half a dozen guardsmen.   With shoulders heaving she collapsed, her fury expended.  

Eventually she was brought back to her tribe and cared for, the elders marveling at how quickly she healed until only a savage scar remained on her chest.  

From that day on her tribe had new energy.  They had been blessed by the mountain.  The kaerganger had returned.  Soon other tribes began to hear of her and moved to ally themselves with her.  

And so began the return of the kaer Mora and their queen Minara Titansbane, The Mountain's Storm.