A little while ago I posted a number of character descriptions and in continuation of the theme I'd like to present you with a few more. As before the images are all taken from Dragon Magazine online and hopefully they inspire someone out there.
The old man cut a battered figure as he moved slowly through the taverns crowd towards his accustomed spot The regulars got out of the way quickly enough, they'd seen the results of getting caught in his bad eye many times before and likely would do so many times since.
It throbbed painfully but everyone knew that a scar remembered the weapon that made it, even so his seemed to be putting extra feeling into the job.
“Evening Boss” for once he made no attempt to hide his educated tones that betrayed a noble ancestry unmatched by anyone else in this rat infested fleapit
“Yer late” the overseer grumbled as he always did.
“I had some business to take care of”
His employer spun on his heal, a graceful movement for one so fat “You work for me you don't got no business less I say you do!”
“You forget who I am” he kept his tone respectful
“I forget nothing! It's you who forget your place” his heavy hand swung through the air but the old man caught it with a skill that hadn't been his since his youth and with a single movement he cast the overseer down amongst the rabble
“The rules have changed I think” the old man settled into the comfortable chair that had served as the overseers throne and looked out upon his new kingdom.
She had been offered power before and always turned it down. It had been one of her first lessons that power, true power, could only ever be taken whether at the point of a sword or the prick of the quill.
But finally the days and nights of study were starting to pay off and the sun was high in the sky when she felt the first stirrings of the arcane flame that licked harmlessly around her hand.
But even as she moved on to the next lesson she wondered about the location of her ex husband and that penny strumpet he'd run away with.
Lycanthropy. They called it a curse, hell. He'd called it the same once upon a time. But that was before. It was humanity that was cursed. Cursed and doomed to lead short lives never truly knowing the joy of bringing down a deer on your own without relying on knives or arrows.
Behind him the sun sank over the horizon and with difficulty her raised himself out of the lumbering iron wheelchair that had served as his mobile prison throughout the course of his life and as the moon rose he gloried in the change that would grant temporary freedom.
As his voice lifted with the others who were spread around the city the change came over him, gracefully as it always did to one who has accepted what they are.
The night was his and although he might wake up in a chicken coop and in dire need of clothing, again. That was something that could be dealt with tomorrow in the harsh light of the sun.
“How dare they! How dare they?” Sir Escoril paced to and fro in lodgings that, were he to ask my opinion, he could not afford to keep more than a few days longer but since his pride dictated the best then who was I to argue?
“Damn those Dwarfs! Giving themselves airs as if we didn't all know that they came from maggots that fed on the flesh of frost giants. Damn them a third time for good measure!”
It was time for me to step in. I hadn't realized that it had been bad enough to warrant a recitation of the “Dwarfs are maggots” speech.
“What did they say Master” I didn't really care one way or the other but we've all got our parts to play as the nun said to the bishop
“They didn't bother with my petition! Just kept me waiting and sneering at my Tshallox”
“It does cover your face well master. Were they envious do you think?”
“Hah! I'd like to see one of them try to pull this look off with their beards and bristles”
The ranting began again but I had heard it before and easily drowned it out with
fantasies of the actual Tshallox. Two months on and that orcish dancer still dominated my, and certainly my masters, dreams. But even so I still couldn't understand why he had taken that particular piece of her clothing, why he insisted on wearng it everywhere and most of all why some of the other elves were beginning to follow his example.
She fought hard to control the pen but the delicate instrument jerked and wobbled under a grip that was certainly much stronger than yesterdays. Her script, usually so very elegant, was reduced to a childlike scrawl.
“I should have written this before” she complained to the cat who only regarded her with a pair of milky eyes before returning to its cleaning.
Today I truly became free of your hated influence. By embracing the dark undeath I have gained the spirit and the strength to at last overcome your hateful guards. In truth they did not put up much of a fight and this is something that I will need to address when they rise and find themselves loyal to me in every way.
I assure you that the irony of this situation is not lost upon me. On the word of a dried out soothsayer you had me locked in this prison and where my life before was a boring succession of soirees and nighttime liaisons with, I'll admit it freely, a little working every now and then I suddenly found that without these distractions my abilities grew ever stronger.
It was a glorious night when I walked through the black gates of the grand undeath and was welcomed with open arms by things best left unmentioned even in this missive.
A scratching sound at the heavy door made her look up and her mouth moved in some awful parody of a mothers smile before returning briefly to the letter in front of her
But look at me rambling on! I'm afraid that I must cut this letter short as my own children are beginning to stir.
PS: We'll be coming to visit soon, leave a candle in the window!
The dawn broke over the small pond and the water nixie broke through the thin ice, it would be a little while before the day was warm enough to thaw everything out and, strictly speaking, she shouldn't have been out so very early.
Nor should she be gathering her chains and walking away so very boldly into the dark forest but the world ran on beings doing what they shouldn't.
“Whither your destination?” the ancient dryad mother was suddenly in front of her
“You know where”
“They won't welcome you, You go to your doom”
“I'll only watch from the branches of your children. That much is allowed is it not?”
The old mother stepped aside but pointed to a young sapling “My son, Birch would be pleased to host you”
The Nixies watery chains scrapped against the Birch as she climbed out onto an outlying branch in a small clearing the fire efreets danced naked and mad. If they noticed that they were observed they paid it no mind.
“No!” the fool waved his hands at the crowd “you don't understand. When I said that all dwarves should be thrown into the cooking pots for the dogs I was speaking ironically”
He swallowed nervously, only slightly comforted by the charm around his neck
“What about that troll crack?” someone shouted out from the back
“That they should be ground down to make roads? The final line in a rather tasteless joke” he avoided saying punchline in case that gave some wit an idea.
Mind you you'd need a hammer to get an idea into the heads of these rustics and if he hadn't been run out of the cities, again, for “stiring up trouble”, again then he wouldn't have bothered with the place.
It wouldn't be long now, the crowd was half as smart as its dumbest member, something that he'd heard once and taken great pleasure in repeating.
Ah, there it was. His practised eyes caught the drawing of breath and the mustering of courage that was the final moment before crowd became mob.
He lifted the charm for all to see and made certain that all did see. The last time he'd done it this way a blind beggar had shattered the magic, but this time it all went perfectly and the jewel filled with a dark smoke as it sapped at the will of the people.
As they marched away in perfect hypnotic formation he helped himself to a forgotten beer. Soon he would have recruiters doing this for him. But every overlord has to start somewhere