Beryl

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Realm: Salamandastron

Position: Ex-Jester, Ex-Treasurer

Favorite Fighting Style: Sniping

Favorite Weapon: Molar the Glave

Other Names: B(lue) H(air), Voda, Babe (the blue ox), That Blue Guy ('with the blue hair' optional), Jester, & Hey You

Origins: Kantya Hazgard was born a lowly peasant and through her short brush with royalty, during which she was raped by the King of Salamandastron, conceived a child that prophecy spoke of only as "The Blue One." Once finished with her, the King ordered Kantya executed, so as to prevent the birth of a bastard child. She escaped unexpectedly when a pack of wolves attacked the King's camp and distracted the guards. Kantya hid many miles away in an abandoned mine, and it was there that she gave birth to Beryl Hazgard. Beryl grew up surrounded by the forest and the animals that resided therein. He lived a simple life with his mother for many years, mining out the precious stone from which he got his namesake, and trading it in the nearest village for supplies, food, and the rare luxury. Word of the stones' reappearance in the small hamlet reached the Kings ears. He briskly sent a band of slaves and soldiers to reopen the once barren mine. On Beryl's 17th birthday, the King's men arrived to reopen the mine and, finding Kantya alone, executed her. Beryl returned from his morning hunt to find his mother slaughtered and his home overrun with the Kings men. Having been raised to keep his head, even in the most dire situations, Beryl fled from his home promising himself that he would some day kill his father, or die trying.

The night of his mother's murder, Beryl ran across a wandering band of minstrels lost in the forest. The performers explained how they had tried to reach their destination by a shortcut, as there juggler was ill and in need of a healer. Beryl took pity on the minstrels and agreed to help them out of the forest. Under the guidance of 17-year-old, now-orphaned bastard, the minstrels reached the village before sun-up. The juggler was rushed to a healer, but what had appeared a mere illness was discovered to be the plague. The juggler died as a blood-red sun rose mournfully over the village. The minstrels invited Beryl to share a drink with them at the local pub, in mourning for their lost brethren. As the day wore on, their leader approached Beryl explaining that the band was now one man short and in need of a new juggler. They offered Beryl the dead mans place in their group, in what they assured him was a 'truly great honor.' Beryl, needing to flee the area yet having nowhere to go, agreed and spent the rest of the year traveling with the wandering performers, learning what little juggling the others knew and practicing on his own. Amongst the jolly men and women, Beryl picked up many talents for entertainment, among which were acting, singing, storytelling, tumbling, dancing, and the playing of various instruments. As his skill increased, Beryl began to surpass several of the other performers in skill. They loved his enthusiasm for the world of entertainment and looked to him for inspiration. A fortnight after his 18th birthday, Beryl and the minstrels wandered into a small harbor town looking for work and a cheap inn.

They spent an itchy night is a free stall of the inn's stables, after performing for their meal and room. In the early morn, before the ocean fog retreated from the streets, the town was beset upon by a vicious sea-troll who sent the villagers screaming from his ruthless violence. As the three-fingered creature passed the stables, it turned and sniffed, inhaling the rich stench of horse. A wicked smile crossed its lips, quickly followed by its red tongue. The sea-troll brandished its giant ax and drove it into one of the stable's support beams. Inside, the minstrels jolted awake. They looked around, groggy, confused by the bleating and panicking horses. With a loud roar, the sea-troll pulled out his ax and drove it into another support beam. The stable's wooden foundation cracked, and the roof tilted dangerously. The splintering grew louder as the entire stable began to collapse around the minstrels. Horses broke free as walls came crashing down and the performers scrambled to get out from the falling debris. The horse in the adjourning stable thrashed wildly against the post that held its stall together. The post snapped, letting the stall side come crashing down on the still trapped performers. Beryl, having slept closest to the stall exit, crawled out from under the board as his fellows called for help from beneath. Turning to help his comrades, Beryl screamed in horror as one of the ceiling's crossbeams came loose and fell into the trapped performers. The crunch and snap of bone shortly joined the cacophony of splintering wood. With a final shudder, the ceiling fell. Beryl stared, wide-eyed at it as the wooden planks closed in around him. But prophecy would not permit Beryl's death just yet and mercifully allowed his section of the room to collapse in such a way as to form a small cocoon around him. light vanished and Beryl fainted.

Many hours later, after the last of the sun's light had fled the horizon and the moon had claimed dominion of the sky, Beryl awoke dazed and bleeding. He crawled his way out into the ruins of what was once a thriving thoroughfare. Beryl called out, but dark houses around him gave no reply. High above the small harbor town, the moon in all its full glory shone down a serene light that seemed so fitting for the graveyard of a town that Beryl found himself in. Down the street, a loud, deep growl made the hairs on Beryls dusty skin prickle. From the shade of a fish shop came loping a figure of disproportional size. It was too large to be a wolf, yet retained a regal coat of sleek gray fur and a pair of bright, yellow eyes. The creature opened its mouth and the moonlight glinted off a maw larger than the head of a child, full of teeth sharper than any sword crafted by man. The creature approached Beryl, its claws rattling out a soft, rhythmic song on the cobblestones. Beryl backed away, never taking his eyes from the creature. In and out of the shadows, the creature glided closer. Beryl looked around in panic looking in vain for something to defend himself with. His foot hit something and without lifting his eyes from the sleek predictor before him, reached down and picked it up. Banishing it before him, he saw that what he held was part of a broken shovel. The creature laughed a deep, husky laugh and stood up on its hind-quarters.

In a very unwolf-like manner, it crossed its front paws and laughed again. "You think you can take me human? You small, scrawny boy. You are no one. A mortal, and no mortal can take me, for I can kill all. I am Dyre Wolf, the werewolf."

Beryl gritted his teeth. Despite the bond he had formed with his friends and traveling companions, he had never doubted who he was, and maybe it was his addled brain, or maybe he needed someone to blame for the death of his fellow minstrels, but instead of fleeing Beryl stood up straighter and glared at the werewolf. "I am no scrawny boy" He shouted. "I am Beryl Hazgard, bastard son of Salemanastron's King, and I have sworn my soul to the noble pursuit of slaying him. Who are you to say 'I am no one?' I will put to the grave anyone who stands between him and my wrath, and that includes you, Dyre Wolf."

With a blinding speed gained from a year of juggling the clubs, Beryl threw his weapon at the werewolf. Dyre, not expecting the blow, was knocked backwards when the shovel's edge dug sharply into her forehead. As she hit the ground, Beryl leaped over her and ran down the street. A piercing howl shot through the night, burning Beryl ears and making his fingers tingle unpleasantly. He looked over his shoulder to find Dyre Wolf charging down the street after him, blood running down her snout. Dyre lunged for Beryl who instinctively ducked. The werewolf soared over him, her jaws snapping closed a hair above his down-turned head. She landed and spun to face Beryl, snarling. The performer backpedaled, attempting to turn and flee from the werewolf. Before he could take a step, Dyre lunged again and, being much closer than before, knocked Beryl flat to the ground. Beryl rolled over, holding his arms up defensively. The werewolf placed a paw on his chest and pushed, hard. Beryl wheezed as all the air escaped his lugs.

Dyre growled down to the gasping minstrel. "I should eat you, human, for throwing that speck of wood at me." A drop of the werewolf's blood splashed down onto Beryl's cheek. "However... You did not simply run in fear like the others of your kind screaming and crying for their lives. You stood up to me and where that usually merits a gruesome death...-" Dyre paused to snap at Beryl's face. The young man flinched, prompting a soft chuckle from his captor. "But from what you forcefully stated earlier, I believe we are fighting on the same side." Dyre backed away from Beryl slowly, watchfully. "You, as well as I, hold distaste for this king of ours. Most in the realm of Salamandastron revere him, for he has hunted down 'monsters' like us without mercy. But despite what we are, we do not deserve eradication, and we suffer far more from his 'justice' than anyone does from ours. YOu would not understand human, but maybe in time you could see. Vek!"

From the shadow of another close building ambled a shadowed, hulking figure. Dyre retreated further from Beryl and stood up, her fur rippling as she did. Within seconds, she had shrunk in stature to that of a young woman, clothed in a cloak of wolfs fur. The wound on her forehead stitched itself together. Dyre wiped away the blood from her pale face to leave it smooth and undisturbed by any ugly earthly matter. Beneath her large, fur cloak, Beryl could see her exposed flesh. He polity turned his gaze away, blushing, and instead focused on the giant, yellow beast that sidled up nonchalantly next to the werewolf. It gritted its teeth in some semblance of a grin and chuckled.

Dyre turned to address the Sea-Troll. "This human is like few we have met. Normally, he should die like all of his hateful kind, but Vek my dear, something tells me that he is worth much more to us alive than dead." The Sea-Troll grunted and shifted his great-ax to his other shoulder. Dyre continued, "He proclaims to hate the King, as we do, and-"

Beryl interrupted her, "I proclaim only what is true, and that is such that my hate for the king knows no equal."

Dyre turned to glare at Beryl. "Stranger still, he seems to be spawn of the clean-clothed butcher. I'd like to keep him. He might be of some use to us in avenging your mother's death."

The sea-troll grunted again, dropping his grin and glaring up the street. A single tear rolled its way down his scaly cheek. Dyre softly placed a hand on Veks arm and turned to Beryl. "Your spawn-father has much to answer for, and we shall see to it that he does."

Beryl climbed slowly to his feet. "There is much in this world that the guilty should answer for, and only those of righteous hearts can make them pay."

Dyre nodded in agreement. "Correct, of a sorts. But now human, you have a choice. You can live as my slave, doing what I say when I say, and help us kill the man you hate, or you can die right here at the hands of my Vek." With this last, the troll turned to Beryl and brandished his Ax.

The young performer gritted his teeth. "My friends were killed in whatever disaster struck this forsaken town. I have no family left, save the king. I have nothing left but my revenge now. If your slave I must be, then so be it. I will go with you, and hope that it will increase my chances of killing the bastard who sired me."

Under the watchful eye of Vek, Beryl walked back to the rubble pile of the stables. He shifted through the boards until he found his pack buried next to his fallen friends. He said a silent prayer to the goddess of the stage, and climbed out of the rubble. Together, the two beasts and a bastard walked solemnly out of the empty town.

Beryl has since been traveling with Dyre and Vek, staying out of a developed loyalty to the werewolf and the promise that one day, the three of them would kill the King of Salamandastron.


Currently: Beryl Hazgard has left Salamandastron to raise and army in far away lands. He will some day return to fulfill his destiny and kill the unjust King. Out of boredom, this mundane scribe might catalog some of his exploits here. Then again, this mundane scribe might not...

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