Signup
Welcome to... Canonfire! World of GreyhawK
Features
Postcards from the Flanaess
Adventures
in Greyhawk
Cities of
Oerth
Deadly
Denizens
Jason Zavoda Presents
The Gord Novels
Greyhawk Wiki
#greytalk
JOIN THE CHAT
ON DISCORD
    Postfest III: Nossin the Meek
    Posted on Sat, December 11, 2004 by Farcluun
    Argon writes "Ever wonder what it takes to make a man do things ordinary men wouldn't do. It simply is a few key moments of of his life that decide the fate of a man's future. Nossin is one such man, and he is waiting to show you how he decided just how things are suppose to be.

    Many people say you are born on the day your mother has you. I say they couldn’t be more wrong. - Quote from an unknown author

    Nossin the Meek
    By: Argon
    Used with Permission. Do not repost without obtaining prior permission from the author.

    Many people say you are born on the day your mother has you. I say they couldn’t be more wrong.” - Quote from an unknown author.

    A child is born. It is the 17th of Wealsun of 562 CY. This is the day many young Reyhu children find their true name and who they will be. The Reyhu believe a child born on this day is a double blessing for this child is given his true name before birth and will be successful someday.

    A baby cries and a proud father waits outside. “You have bore me a son and he will be the finest of all the Reyhu, as he was born on the day of our second birth. His cries must be of joy,” says a proud father.

    “Yes, Beylard he is strong. His cries are like a horn of triumph,” says the child’s mother.

    “You did good, Pessyi,” replies Beylard. “You will be called Nossin, and may are fellow Reyhu one day cheer your name.” Yet this child’s tears seem unending as minutes pass by and even a worried mother cannot calm her child’s tears.

    “What is wrong with this child?” asks Beylard. “Are children supposed to cry for so long?”

    “No, it is unusual. But then so is a child born on such a day as this,” replied Westii, the village wise woman. However, the child would cry often not just that day but every day. The child cried so often that his father Beylard was around less and less each day.

    Reyhu men are known for their infidelity, but in this case, conquering the other sex was not the main reason this father was not home. “Beylard, you have been drinking again,” a worried Pessyi said.

    “Yeah, woman. So what? Have you silenced the boy yet?”

    “Your son is sleeping Beylard. Now, please go to bed so we can get the farm back into shape early tomorrow morning. You know things have piled up around here lately and we could use your help around here.

    “Shut your mouth, woman. I do plenty. Besides, this tending the fields stuff don’t pay well. You and that worthless son of yours can tend the farm without me. I got some work to do for the guild. Now get to bed, woman. There’s some work for you to do.” The tears of a young child go unheard as an unwilling woman is forced to perform acts of pleasure for a man who no longer loves her or their child.

    Nossin had grown into a very quiet young boy of seven; most of the children his age would run, laugh and play. But Nossin was always quiet, never speaking much. Most parents would prefer a quiet child, but not those of Reyhu blood – to be quiet is to be weak, and weak was something no Reyhu could afford to be. This made him the target of cruel jokes from other children and Nossin was bullied often. Beylard had not been home in four years, his only reason for showing up today would be to see if his son could find his true name; a name he was given before his birth; a name that would foretell of what he was to become.

    Blindfolded like the other children his age, Nossin was sent into the Fellreev were he was to find his true name. Many of the young Reyhu children were excited and nervous. Only Nossin showed no emotion during the ceremony. A child who cried almost everyday from his birth today seemed emotionless. Beylard thought to himself, perhaps today he will not embarrass me. Into the Fellreev, where once inside, the children would have to find their way back to camp and be given their true name, which they would share with no one.

    One by one, the children found their way back. But something drew young Nossin deeper into the Fellreev than he should have gone. As he plunged deeper into the looming wood, he felt a pain, greater than any other pain he ever felt. Pulling at the cloth around his eyes as the first pinpricks of light entered through the folds of the cloth, Nossin could see a group of people gathered in a clearing. The anger and fear of the crowd was evident. Nossin pushed his way through the crowd. What was going on? What where these people doing here? Upon a makeshift wooden podium, was a young women dressed in patched clothing. Surrounding her were three men. Her hands were bound and she pleaded for her life as the first man drew a blade from within his vest as the other two men held up buckets on either side of her neck. The blade pierced her forehead and the man holding the blade let the blade slip down her nose and over her lips. As a thin stream of blood appeared, Nossin noticed the cloth, which once covered his eyes, was stained red. The other two men who held their buckets at the woman’s neck drew forth their hooks, which each used to pry the flesh from the woman’s face. The flesh would snag along the way, the screams of the woman where muffled by the cries of young Nossin. Nossin could see the flesh hanging from his own face; his heart trembled as he franticly tried to push the flesh back into place. As he looked down Nossin could see the wooden planks of the podium and the feet of three men.

    “Nossin... Nossin... Where are you boy?” Huddled in the fetal position upon the forest floor, lay Nossin, whimpering in fear and pain. “What is wrong now, boy?” asked Beylard

    “They have killed me, father. My face, they took my face!” replied Nossin. Beylard scooped the boy up so that he could see his sons face. To Beylard's dismay, his sons face had scratches from his forehead down the length of his face to the chin. Clutched tightly in the boys grasp was the cloth, which once covered his eyes. As Beylard began to speak, he noticed his son’s hands showed signs of blood and he checked them closely to make sure no further damage had been done to him.

    “What happened here, boy? What or who did this to you?

    “Father, the men who hurt the woman on the podium. Where is the woman, father?”

    “There is no woman here, boy. What happened?” As Nossin began to tell his father the story, his father noticed that pieces of flesh where embedded underneath the boys fingernails. “Damn you, boy. You did this to yourself. You’ve been cursed, boy, by some witch. Say nothing to nobody, not even your mother. When we get back to camp let me do all the talking. You stand their and nod your head. Say nothing! Do you hear me? Say nothing!” Nossin conceded and his father cleaned the flesh from the boy’s fingernails before walking back to camp.

    As the last few remaining children where lead back to camp, Beylard headed straight towards the other parents and woodsmen that gathered to see all the children make it back safely to camp. “You see, my boy found his true name today. He fought off a wild boar and got a few scratches on him here and there for the effort. But hey, next time we go out in the woods there will be some pig on the fire.” Well, to all the Reyhu present, the boy once known as Nossin the Meek, had a warrior’s heart and this day he earned some much needed respect. Later that night the story was pretty much the same as Beylard told it with an almost prideful spirit in his voice. Pessayi went to nurture her son as she would often do, but Beylard would not have it. “No, woman. You have ruined him enough with your constant mothering of him. It is time for the boy to become a man.

    True to his word, Beylard took the boy with him on many of his errands to the guild in Riftcrag. On one of these occasions, one of the guild members requested a favor of the boy. “Beylard, who is the boy you keep outside? Does he keep you warm at night?” asked Stanik, one of the higher-ranking guild members.

    “No, Stanik. It’s me boy, and I’m showing him the ropes around here.

    “Well, tell me how old your boy is, Beylard,” Stanik said.

    Are you interested in my boy, Stanik?”

    “Yes, I am. But first I need to know if he can handle a small job for me. Some of my men are looking for a short smith and your boy looks like the type of short for the job."

    “Well, Stanik, the boy’s just following me around a bit. He’s not cut out for any jobs, really. You know, he is just a boy!"

    “Well, bring him in and let’s look at him. The boy probably knows the city well enough by now. Let’s take a look at him."

    “Well, Stanik…” Beylard began to equivocate.

    “Enough, Beylard!” Stanik asserted. “Just bring the boy in. I’m not asking you – I’m telling you." Beylard scurried away to fetch his son for Stanik.

    The boy was now twelve summers old, was short and lithe of frame, well muscled, and kept his head in his chest most of the time. “Well, Beylard,” Stanik commented, “you got yourself a thin one here. Ain’t you feeding him much? And what’s with the scars on his face? Does he speak, or haven’t you taught him that trick yet?”

    “Well, boy,” Beylard asked. “Do you talk? What’s your name, son? Your amongst friends here.” However, all Nossin would do is look at his father. Beylard decided to speak for his silent child. “Well, Stanik, the boy once fought off a boar. He did it during the time of turning, you know. He’s a scrapper.”

    “Hey,” Stanik interjected. You say he doesn’t seem to talk much – that’s good in this business. So, boy, how’d you like to run an errand for me?” Nossin looked a little surprised, even after the story his father told of a heroic boy fighting off a wild boar, no one ever really asked Nossin what he wanted to do before, so far, he just followed mostly.

    “The boy ain’t ready for work, really. Just tending fields and watching for nappers (Watchmen)," Beylard intoned.

    “Well, if the boy can watch for nappers then he can till (receive stolen goods) a bit for me,” Stanik remarked.

    Nossin the Thief

    “Who would think that you would get a job with the guild, son?” Beylard asked. “Not me! Now, tell me what he’s got you doing.”

    “Well, not much different then you, really,” Nossin said. “He says all I got to do is meet with one of his men and deliver some package to one of his customer’s, is all.”

    “Okay, boy. Let me tell you a few things. Keep to the alleys I showed you and stay clear of those orc gangs, because they’ll hit anyone. Most important is you don’t know anything. Talk to no one. Just make the delivery and leave. That’s it. Don’t let’em get your ear because, they want you cackling off what you know. If you spot a napper, stash your package and come back later. Don’t mess this up, boy. They’ll be giving you a blade (to receive a knife as a gift is a sure way of someone telling you your gonna die/be killed) if you don’t deliver this one."

    Nossin did as his father instructed – met Stanik’s man on Cram’s Way and took to the back alleys. About five streets away from his drop, Nossin found himself in the wrong alley. “What we got here, some fresh meat?” a sly voice whispered in broken Common. Nossin realized he was surrounded and tried to say some quick-witted words like his father always did when stuck in a tight situation.

    “I just got some meat for me pa, nothing you want, really,” Nossin stammered.

    “Well, give it here, female. Let’s see what you got,” a large orc replied.

    “I ain’t got nothing you want. Just the skin on my bones really, just bones, really,” mumbled Nossin.

    “Skuns and bones sounds good to me,” said one of the orcs. “I need something to pick at.” Nossin could only picture what would happen next trying to muster the courage to speak smoothly and get away with his hide intact.

    “What am I going to do?” Nossin asked himself. One way or the other I have to get this package to where it belongs or else I’ll be “ringing the bells” (To hang to death) for sure. One of the orcs grabbed the bundle from the boy and ripped it open and a few trinkets spilled onto the ground.

    “Where’s the meat?” asked the orc with the torn sack in his hand.

    “It must be that I grabbed the wrong package,” replied Nossin.

    “Then let’s see how much bones and skuns you got their,” replied the orcs. Nossin knew this wasn’t gonna go well. He attempted to run but one of the orcs grabbed his tunic. Luckily, it was ripped completely from his back as Nossin stumbled to the floor. Nossin quickly leapt to his feet as the orcs lunged for him. Nossin ran like no one had ever run before, keeping to the alleys like his father taught him. But the orcs seemed to keep up with him easily.

    “It can’t be real. It just can’t be real,” Nossin kept thinking to himself. “It’s not real. It’s not real.” If it wasn’t for the blood pounding in his heart and the stench from the orcs giving chase, Nossin might have believed himself – but this situation was all very real.

    Beylard drank as he often did when he wasn’t on a job, mostly to forget about things. Drinking was his only escape. “Where is the boy,” he wondered. “Don’t tell me he botched this one. Not his first job. Gotta see. Gotta find him and make sure he’s alright. No, I can’t go after him,” Beylard reminded himself. “His mom always did that, and it made him soft. I can’t let him be weak, got to let him grow a little. The boy can wear on you, though. He’ll be fine. He knows this place, and knows how to keep safe. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Maybe I just need a visit from one of the local aunts (beside it meaning a relative born a female of one's mother or father this is also a popular term among rogues meaning a prostitute) to take the edge off a bit."

    Later the next morning, there was a knock on Beylard’s private room at the inn. Beylard jumped up from his still half-drunken stupor. “Who’s there?” he asked. Before Beylard could utter another word, his door swung open, revealing some of Stanik’s men waiting in the corridor.

    “Well now, where’s your son, Beylard?” one of them asked. The boss don’t like those who miss their drop, you know."

    “I haven’t seen him, really. I hope he didn’t get pinched (caught by the authorities),” Beylard said.

    “For your sake, he better have, or else you got some explaining to do to Stanik about where your boy and his stash are," the ruffian flatly stated.

    “Don’t worry, I’ll find him. Just let me get dressed and I’ll find him.”

    “Well now, that won’t be necessary,” said one of the brigands. “Your boy didn’t get pinched, otherwise we would know by now. But, I think your boy is working with someone else behind Stanik’s back. Can you believe that? After all Stanik has done for you and your boy.”

    “What are you talking about?” Beylard demanded. “Stanik asked my boy to do him a favor. The boy may not be right, but he does as he’s asked.”

    “You can tell that to Stanik yourself, you know. So, don’t keep him waiting.” Needless to say, Beylard wasn’t much of a match for Stanik’s thugs, who roughed him up just enough to persuade Beylard it was time to meet the boss.

    “What we got here? A little after dinner treat?” an unfamiliar voice said, rousing Nossin from slumber. “You alive, boy? Get up!”

    “What? Where am I?” the frightened boy asked.

    “Looks like you had a little run-in, lad. Get up, we can’t have you rotting in the alley and all.” Nossin looked up to see a pair of nappers standing over him. “What happened to you, son? Looks like you had a rough night,” one of the watchmen said.

    “Nothing really, sir. I was just looking for a place to stay when some brutes hit me, is all.”

    “Well now, looks like you got lucky. Go home, boy, and stay off the streets, especially these alleys, because all sorts of scum loiter here. Well now, get on,” the watchmen commanded. Nossin stood, tied his breeches tightly to prevent them from slipping down his slender frame, and made his way back to the inn.

    “Well now, if it isn’t my favorite tiller, Beylard. Where have you been? It seems like ages since we last met,” Stanik said in a mocking manner. “Sit, man, sit. It appears we have some business to attend to.”

    “What are you talking about?” Beylard asked. “You ain’t the head of the guild, Stanik. Where’s Master Erschar? He’s gonna hear about this, you know.”

    “Well, is that so?” Stanik asked in mock curiosity. “It appears Erschar took a sleep with the worms, you know. But that’s okay, because I can run things,” he continued. “So you can call me master now, Beylard!”

    “I see, sir. So what can I do you for Stanik?” Beylard squeaked as a punishing blow was applied to his ribcage, indicating he was to respond correctly.

    “Well now, for one, you can show some respect. And, where’s that lovely boy of yours, Beylard?”

    “He didn’t show up last night, at all. I don’t know where the boy is. But he’ll show up for sure, he always does, you know,” Beylard replied as another blow hammered into his lower back, another reminder to show respect.

    “Hey now, don’t ruff him up to much. He can’t talk if he can’t breath, you know,” Stanik said, chuckling.

    “Are you ready to speak all proper now, or do we have to beat it out of you?” one of Stanik’s thugs asked Beylard.

    “Sorry Sta … Master Stanik,” Beylard gasped. “I just needed some time to join the words together, is all. Besides my boy probably ran into a couple of aunts on the way home, you know. And needed to sample a few things to take the edge off a bit.” It was the type of response Beylard always gave – something smart and witty, something to win over his crowd. It was one of the reasons Erschar kept him around.

    “Your hiding something from me, Beylard,” Stanik surmised. “You got the goods, and tried making a little profit for yourself. Maybe you think you can live in the Shield Lands, stay quiet a while, start a new life as a plainsman.”

    “Ah hells, Stan, err, Master Stanik,” Beylard reasoned. “Why would I want to plow some field and live off the land when I could till for you and make an easy day’s pay? All those saps struggle by on their meager lives plowing fields and handling livestock. That’s not for me.”

    “Well now, Beylard. Maybe you can tell me where your boy is, then. ‘Cause ain’t none of my men seen him in the city. And he didn’t get pinched by any nappers, or else he’d be here now. So if you don’t really know, then maybe you and Erschar can sleep together tonight.”

    A half naked boy runs across the inn’s floor and up the stairs to his father’s room. “Father… father… where are you father?” Nossin can see the signs as the door to his father’s room hangs open. The door seems intact and nothing is really missing, but he can feel something is wrong. “Let me grab a few things now, I need to keep strong just like father says.” However Nossin feels an all to familiar pain again as he sees three men at the door. A man lies on the bed of his father’s room as the door is swung open. The men in the doorway seem to be asking questions of the man on the bed. As the man rises to get a few of his things the three men start hitting and beating on him. As they pick the man up, Nossin sees the face of his father.

    “Hey, boy! Boss has been looking for you. Where you been now?” A lone figure stands in the doorway.
    “I ran into…” Nossin begins to blurt out, but stops. “Who are you?” he asks.

    “I’m your escort,” the strange man says. “I have to make sure your story’s straight for the boss, you know.”

    “What story? What boss?” Nossin asked. “I don’t know what your talking about, sir.”

    “You know, Nossin,” the stranger began. “I was told you were a smart boy. One that likes to keep quiet and all. So, listen up. I know what happened to you last night. In fact, I had to make sure the orcs didn’t get in your mutton (this has a lot of meaning’s but is often referred to as getting stabbed or raped) last night.”

    “What you know about the orcs?” asked Nossin.

    “What, you think you got the job last night because you were ready?” the stranger replied. “No, you didn’t. The truth is that Stanik needs your father out of the way, and you were perfect. Erschar won’t protect your father now, Nossin. And I’m making sure you ain’t around, either. So, we got you a ride home. Go see your mum again and keep your mouth quiet and you can live your plainsman life and all.”

    “What about my father? Where is he?” Nossin swallowed as the words left his mouth.

    “Let’s just say you and your mum get some alone time, and don’t worry about good old Beylard for now. Get your stuff boy it’s time to go.

    Nossin returns home

    True to his word the man that stood in the doorway of his father’s room at the inn saw to it that Nossin made his way home. But they left him a message: say nothing to nobody and we forgot about you – and don’t come back to Riftcrag or your mum will pay the price! Nossin could tell that this man was serious and he would keep quiet, like to himself and all, but he could not help feeling that his father wasn’t ever coming home again.

    “Hey! Who’s the pretty lady?” Nossin exclaimed upon seeing his mother.

    “Nossin! Your home!” Pessyi exclaimed.

    “Hi, mom. I missed you so much. How have you been making out around here?” Nossin had to behave like his father. He knew his mother always would smirk whenever she heard his father’s cocksure voice.

    “Well, someone has picked up a bit of his father's ways, now,” his mother said with a bit of a smirk. “I just hope you know how to stay around and do some work. It isn’t easy trying to take care of everything and most of the men around here don’t like sending me their sons to do work around here.

    “Don’t worry, mom. I’ll take care of it.

    Nossin took care of many things on the farm. He also had to keep his mom from selling her wares (giving pleasure), so he made sure all the work was tended to everyday. Nossin was never popular around here, and the fact that his mother sold her wares in order to keep the farm running didn’t make him any friends. One of those men who tended the fields and took care of the farm had to go elsewhere for a good night’s release. Nossin was a little less quiet, but everywhere he went he would have to hear about how his mother was a tart that everyone had tasted. Nossin didn’t like hearing this but he never let it get to him. Things could be worse, and he knew it.

    The daydreams came again. In the house he could feel every man that had ever touched his mother’s flesh. He could feel his mother’s pain and wondered how she could live with herself. He felt dirty feeling the filth of each of his mother’s lovers. No matter how much he bathed the filth never left him. The worse was seeing the pain his mother felt each time she laid with his father. “Why is it I see these things in the forest, at the inn in Riftcrag and now here?” he asked himself. Nossin could not explain why, but it’s as if he could see, feel and touch the emotions left behind by all those in this room. “No one’s in here, yet I can always feel a trace of what they left behind. Why is it I always feel every one’s misery? Is this my gift? Is my birth right misery? I have been destined to feel everyone’s pain and no one knows of my pain, of my feelings. Their pain is meager to my own, they know nothing of pain. Soon they will. I can’t explain it, but soon they will.

    Iuz comes for all

    Many of the Reyhu served to cripple the Shield Lands and add them to the Bandit Kingdom’s spoils. However, many fled when the armies of Iuz came to claim the Bandit Kingdoms and the Shield Lands as their own. The greatest of leaders either fell or submitted to Iuz’s will. They have finally tasted a day in my existence, but misery is as time – it lasts forever. You can try to hide it behind some idle laughter, but misery knows no boundaries: it comes for all.

    So impressed was Nossin by Iuz’s power that he learned something about him. On one faithful day on 583 CY, Iuz’s armies had established what they set out to do: conquer all who stood in their way. Many of the lands the Reyhu once held proudly were given away with the ease of breathing to the armies of Iuz. “Where were these brave warriors, when the armies of Iuz came and razed our village, took the lives of our people, took the life of the one who would call herself my mother?” Nossin wondered. “May the Reyhu once cheer your name, yes I remember even from my birth, misery knew me and it took a hold and grabbed on tightly. I will not leave misery alone. I shall share her with everyone; everyone must know what misery is like. For I am the only one who lives now. None from my village survived – just me. Do you know why none of them live? None of them, not one of the others knew how to cope with Misery. She is my mistress, the only one I ever knew. She will keep me safe. She will keep me strong. She must be shared with all so that they may survive as I have.

    Nossin and Misery

    “Ahh. Young priest. You have needs and desires. You tell yourself it’s not true, but it really is. Yes, she is pretty and your vows forbid you to enjoy her sweet treasures. She waits for you to say something but you hide behind your robes and your vows. Explain to her your feelings and true happiness will be yours. Yes, my dear, sweet Misery. She needs to help him just a little bit, but how can we. Ahh. Let’s see just what she wants. This one is good, her thoughts and emotions are very clear the young watchman will suffice. But first the priest, she must confess her love to him as well, then the watchman can suffice.

    A young priest of Pholtus from Dimre confesses his love for a young maiden, she makes him feel alive and now he lives with the guilt of betraying his faith. “Decide which one you will take. Come on, your struggle is minimum at best. Why is it men can never say no to a pretty woman? Yes, taste her sweet fruit, but say nothing to no one. You cannot wed her. You cannot wed anyone except your faith. Your god? Cry to him tonight, but let yourself have her so you can hide behind the mask of love for a time.” Nossin is pleased with the priest’s performance so far, but what shall we do next? Nothing. He needs to know joy for a bit, this way misery can slowly seep in. For three months the two lovers have met each day. He hides his secret from his superiors but rumors surface. It takes some time, but the young priest must renounce his status in order to know true love. He lives with the pain of betraying his faith, but love well love conquers all.

    He weds the young maiden in a small ceremony. Many party and dance. He tends a small farm now. She is his world. He gave up all he knew for her. A friend of his from childhood stands by him and knows the trouble he’s had with leaving the church, but his guidance is a token of his strength. Yes, that is envy, but how could he know happiness? “Why is it I cannot know what he has,” the young guardsman asks himself. He left the church behind for a woman, and now I have to listen to his confessions. Wait, a voice says in his head. Maybe I can have what he does. She always smiles at me and she is easy on the eyes. Why should he have another chance at happiness? I thought his first love was the church. What is it she has that makes him forget what he was? I must know, I must taste the fruit he has so richly tasted.

    So he must he must taste her, and he does several times. Now they both must live with the guilt of betraying one’s friend, one’s lover and one’s church. Now it is time to let them play the rest of this tale themselves. Let’s see how long it will be before they know misery. Next is the boy, the quiet one. He reminds me of someone – his mother, how nurturing she is. I wonder how he would feel if he could see the utter disgust she truly feels for her pathetic offspring. She does so out of pity, she makes him weak, but we will teach him how strong he truly is. What of Durand Grossman? He is where we need him right now. The Plar will have his day. Should it fall to Cranzer? I don’t know. That one seems to elude us for now, but these pawns all play there parts nicely. I need rest now, dear Misery. Your weight is too much for me to carry. Another must hold you for a while.

    It is 594 CY. A rumor exists of a creature that stalks the lands causing misery and pain wherever it goes. Currently a contingent of Reyhu men and Elves from the Fellreev plan to ruin the trade agreement the Rifter’s have with Cranzer, the ruler of Riftcrag and a member of the lesser Boneheart. Durand Grossman has no Idea that the Reyhu plot against him, and that Cranzer will have claim to the Rift Canyon in part thanks to the Reyhu.

    “Nossin, how goes the movements in the Fellreev?”

    “They go well, Lord Cranzer. All is as we planned it.”

    “Very well, I will vie for your entrance into the BoneHeart if you help me attain the Rift Canyon. Durand’s demands grow each year and our Lord must have the silver he demands.

    “Not to worry, my lord. As we speak some of Durand’s men plot to take control of the lower mining camps. This will make them more vulnerable to an attack on the western front. It will cost us some men, but what are a few men to a united Rift."

    “I have some things my mistress needs, Lord Cranzer. Is that all you need of me?”

    “Go, Nossin. You have done well. Report to me any updates on the Reyhu Camp positions you find. This way, our forces can retake the lands the Reyhu plan to make their own.”

    “Yes, Lord Cranzer. Will he becoming to meet with us soon.?”

    “In good time, Nossin, in good time.”

    “I take my leave of you know, Lord Cranzer. May all who oppose you know the misery of doing so." Yes, he will bend soon. He already is displaying fear, but his will is strong and his views of Iuz are perfect now. I know who truly controls you my dear sweet Misery.

    Some people say your born when your mother has you. I say they couldn’t be more wrong.

    Using Nossin in a game

    While Nossin is currently under the employ of Cranzer of the lesser Boneheart, Iuz is aware of his existence and enjoys the suffering of dear Nossin. What Cranzer doesn’t know is that Nossin is secretly grooming himself to take over rulership of the old Reyhu lands as well as the Rift region. Occasionally, Nossin assumes the identity of a man known as Beylard. Under this guise, Nossin plays the role of his long lost father well and has made some useful contacts in the Bandit lands. Nossin suffers from periods of delusion, and sometimes this delusion takes the form of Beylard. Other times it is his Misery persona. There is also the frightened Nossin, the one he hides from everyone. Nossin believes if he meets The Old One that this will help him clarify things and all his personas will be one.

    Nossin is a psychic (Psionicist) that started as a wild talent and developed into a Psionicist over time. He sees things that have past and he felt pain that was as old as Iuz himself. Nossin believes the true path to awareness is through misery. It was the pain and misery in Nossin’s life that revealed the powers he would develop. Only in his most frightened moments would Nossin be able to protect himself or escape from pain, and his fear has helped protect him. Nossin in truth wishes to share his gift, but only with those who can survive through hardships such as his – only those that know his pain – can truly grasp what true power is. To have power one must know misery on every level. Nossin does his best to cause misery where he can and he feels that proper tribute would be placing him as ruler of the Bandit Lands under Iuz’s banner.

    Nossin does have soft spots in him however, from time to time, the young Nossin peeks his head out and prevents Nossin from making things worse. Nothing is worse than having your own psyche as an enemy. This is something Nossin works on containing by trying to hurt things closest to the young Nossin’s heart. The boy mentioned earlier is an on going project for Nossin as the young Nossin persona has triumphed him so far.



    "
     
    Related Links
    · More about Rogue's Gallery
    · News by Farcluun


    Most read story about Rogue's Gallery:

    Xaene the Accursed

    Article Rating
    Average Score: 4
    Votes: 4


    Please take a second and vote for this article:

    Excellent
    Very Good
    Good
    Regular
    Bad

    Options

     Printer Friendly Printer Friendly

    Associated Topics

    Rogue's Gallery

    The comments are owned by the poster. We aren't responsible for their content.

    No Comments Allowed for Anonymous, please register

    Re: Nossin the Meek (Score: 1)
    by abysslin (abyss@canonfire.com) on Thu, December 16, 2004
    (User Info | Send a Message | Journal) http://www.canonfire.com
    Wow, Argon. Very extensive! I particularly enjoyed the Fellreev naming ceremony. Nice touch!



    Postfest submission (Score: 1)
    by Osmund-Davizid on Fri, December 17, 2004
    (User Info | Send a Message | Journal)
    This was certainly different.

    The almost lyrical narrative of this article is a nice touch, almost like listening to a bard's tale. But I found it hard to read. I kept getting mixed up as to who was speaking to who, maybe breaking up the paragraphs more or having more traditional punctuation marks to denote speakers would help.

    Otherwise this is definitely unique among the Postfest submissions.




    Canonfire! is a production of the Thursday Group in assocation with GREYtalk and Canonfire! Enterprises

    Contact the Webmaster.  Long Live Spidasa!


    Greyhawk Gothic Font by Darlene Pekul is used under the Creative Commons License.

    PHP-Nuke Copyright © 2005 by Francisco Burzi. This is free software, and you may redistribute it under the GPL. PHP-Nuke comes with absolutely no warranty, for details, see the license.
    Page Generation: 0.35 Seconds