Raster the Shepherd
The diary of Raster the Shepherd
Race: Human
Background: Artificer
Background Story
Raster Theron was a shepherd in a small village out in the idyllic wooded hills, a place so quaint and humble as to not even warrant its own name. Those who lived there simply called it "home" on the rare occasion a subject ventured beyond its immediate surroundings. His life was appropriately simple, and Raster was happy, or pleasantly content at the very least.
Until, of course, an event occurred that springboarded him into his transition to a dungeon-crawling adventurer. One fateful night, the shepherd was awakened by the terrified bleating of his flock. Taking up his staff, he leapt from his tent and prepared to face a hungry wolf, or perhaps a desperate brigand. As he ran to the crudely-fenced pen, the pale moonlight illuminated a strange scene - a single figure stood rather still amongst the flock, but the sheep themselves appeared to be milling and thrashing about in frenzied chaos. As he got closer, he realized to his horror that many of the sheep were covered in bloody wounds - some were stripped of the majority of their hide and even muscle, yet remained moving - indeed, they were furiously biting, kicking and trampling the remaining healthy sheep. The mysterious figure, slightly off to one side of the commotion, appeared to to merely watching with curious interest.
The noise and commotion of the perverse battle amongst the living and unliving sheep provided distraction enough for Raster to get close to the dark figure unnoticed, and the shepherd struck at the interloper with his staff. The figure reeled back, and after shaking off the unexpected blow, hissed, "You'll pay for that, boy!" With a gesture from the figure, Raster's entire body was wracked with pain. He fell to the ground, twitching slightly. The necromancer stood over him, a sneer illuminated by the full moon overhead. Raster struggled to rise, leaning against his staff for support, but before he could rise, his foe grasped the top of the staff and brought a foot down in the middle of the wooden shaft, snapping it in two.
Again Raster fell to the ground. Stunned by fear, he lay staring up at his attacker, still gripping a broken half of his staff. The necromancer gestured again, and Raster had to struggle to remain conscious as pain seared every nerve in his body. His attacker leaned low and whispered, "I carry the black torch, boy. Your flock has found a new shepherd -" he indicated the milling mass of zombified and skeletal sheep nearby - "and you will join us as well!" He pointed at the shepherd, beginning to gesture again.
Raster had never been a particularly religious person - there was no organized religion so far out here in the hills - and yet he found himself offering up a silent prayer. "Any gods or powers that be that might hear me: help me stop this. Help me put my flock to rest!" The shepherd thrust out with the broken half of his staff, and a wave of force pulsed outward from the splintered rod of wood, knocking the necromancer back several feet. To Raster's surprise and great relief, the necromancer fled.
It had been several years since that fateful night. After having released his flock from their unliving misery (with great difficulty, for the undead sheep were ferociously violent, though the splintered rod of his staff retained its power to emit blasts of force, which made the task significantly easier) Raster had travelled long and wearily, ever seeking the necromancer that had corrupted his flock. Over the years he gathered enough information to lead him to a cave reputed to be a den of evil and place of legendary danger. What interested him most were the tales of basalt altars, strewn with skeletons and infused with the unholy energies of Yredelemnul. Being the only thing he could consider a connection to the necromancer that attacked so many years ago, Raster eventually steeled his courage and vowed to enter the place and never leave until he had found the necromancer, or, failing that, had achieved the power to purge the unholy Yredelemnul from the world. If he did not find the necromancer within, surely this fabled "Orb of Zot" said to lie within the lowest depths of the cave could assist him in his quest.
- Author's Note: Now watch, after all that backstory, Raster dies on DL:2 to a giant newt. I guess we'll just have to see. Whelk 04:25, 29 July 2011 (UTC)
- I've finally summoned up the courage to enter this so-called dungeon. I've been told it's dangerous to be sure, but my broken staff maintains its power to strike at enemies from afar, and I've had at least a little combat experience, protecting my flock from wolves and robbers. There is nothing left for me now save my quest for vengeance.
- A few disgusting little creatures inside were quick to attack me only moments after descending into the dungeon. After dispatching them with the power of my broken staff, I found a gleaming set of armor, made from enormous pearly scales. The suit was surprisingly light despite its appearance, and wearing it instills my soul with a feeling of protection from the darkness. Surely I must have passed some test and have been rewarded.
- As I dispatch ever-higher numbers of these small but extremely vicious humanoids, I can't help but wonder if this is really what I set out to do. They are aggressive and violent, yes, but I still have feelings of guilt, even though my actions are all in self-defense.
- Another apparent gift from my anonymous benefactor - a small sword that is deceptively light and seems to lend itself its own force when I swing it. I could surely swing such a weapon much faster than another. This will come in handy, as the waves of force from my broken staff seem to be becoming less effective against the hardier denizens of this horrible place.
- Suffering from thirst, I quaffed one of the various potions I've found in this place. I felt momentarily frail, but then immediately felt my constitution return ((I felt both frail and robust - I'm assuming the two effects cancelled each other out)) - again, someone must be watching over me. However, I also felt a strange sense of distortion and displacement. The experience left me feeling somewhat uneasy. Of the various gods reputed to exist, which one has deigned to give me its attention?
- While delving deeper into the dungeon, I discovered a silvery-white altar. As I came closer, I felt a sense of kindness and a desire to aid the weak. Surely this must be who has been aiding me. As I knelt and offered my services to the deity represented by the alter, I felt a sense of welcoming, and a desire to go pacify the denizens of the dungeon that I had before been forced to slay.
- I happened upon a strange temple today, amidst a strangely out-of-place forest within the dungeon. It was filled with different altars - Yredelemnul's among them. Try as I might, I could not so much as scratch the loathsome thing. I felt oddly betrayed as it sat there serenely within the same walls as altars to those dedicated to destroying evil and undead, which Yredelemnul's own presence represented. What sort of perverse cooperation and unity was this?
