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A Neverwinter Nights Persistent World
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ArezimaRedwind
05:11:28 AM 01/18/20
Oh, and Payne, I was 15 the first time I logged in here. I'm now 32.

So old.

ArezimaRedwind
05:00:42 AM 01/18/20
Hiiii! <3

You're beautiful. You're all beautiful.

Squidget
03:38:54 AM 01/18/20
Arezima!

ArezimaRedwind
03:02:23 AM 01/18/20
o and squidget who even are you anymore

ArezimaRedwind
02:53:04 AM 01/18/20
what even is going on

Shade
01:56:46 AM 01/18/20
Not to mention the time it takes to walk trough a city. Pretty sure you couldn't walk from one end from The watch to the other in 30 seconds.

Just Miggen
10:00:42 PM 01/17/20
Characters age at the speed of their story too. It isn't always perfect, I remember when Miggen had only aged like a couple years and met with a friend who went from ~30s to full blown "it's been 84 years..." old woman, so it was awkward navigating that RP but nothing that ruined my fun or character.

scratch_flannigan
07:08:09 PM 01/17/20
@Beldar,
"Dauken flew away quickly to avoid any work."

LMAO! Perfect !

Payne
04:53:37 PM 01/17/20
I started here in my 30's, I am approaching my 50's, I am reminded of time slipping away enough as it is.

I dont really want to have it in my make believe world.

Dogbert
04:50:32 PM 01/17/20
Another reason I REALLY don't like anything beyond real-time.

If we followed in-game time, every NPC you like died long ago from old age, and any non-elves that are more than a year or two old are on their way to retirement.



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Author Post
Wolfman
06:28:21 AM 11/28/09
Registered Member #842
Joined: 06:59:42 AM 08/25/06
Posts: 184
His shame

“I’ma ready ta figh’,” the young Falkral said defiantly to his father.

No, he was not. Barely into his adolescence, dwarfs did not normally begin their combat training for another two years. But these were desperate times. The long years of war against the goblins had taken their toils; many warriors had fallen as the dwarfs were slowly pushed back in the tunnels. With little more than a month of training and wearing a mail shirt that was too big for him, Falkral would stand no chance against battle-hardened goblin warriors. Now the goblins were flooding out of the tunnels as they launched their final assault against the citadel.

“I kno lad, bu’ I need ye ta be wit yer motha,” replied his stoic father. The sounds of metal clashing in battle got louder as another column of clan warriors marched past. “Go now son. Look afta yer motha fer me,” the veteran warrior strapped on his helmet and turned towards the battle.

Deflated, the young dwarf lowered his head as he turned to leave. His three older brothers nodded silently at him as he walked past.

The Deldukr Clan had a proud tradition in the Iron Guards, the elite defenders of the citadel. His father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, his great-great-grandfather, his brothers, and countless uncles and cousins all served in the Iron Guards. The Iron Guards were renowned for their shield-wall formation, capable of holding the line despite overwhelming odds. They would be responsible for holding the gates of the citadel, allowing the retreating warriors to regroup behind them and prepared for the last stand.

There was no hope of victory, only hope that they would buy enough time for their people to escape. The defence would be led by the king himself. His only son, the prince, was killed in an ambush a few months ago. Too old to father another heir, too overcome by his grief, he would fall defending the citadel that his family had built over so many generations.

***


Falkral looked around him as he followed the refugees, women, children, the elderly and the sick. Yes, he would protect his people; he would form part of the rearguard. “Le’ ‘em gobbos com’,” he thought to himself as he gripped his axe tightly and clenched his teeth.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The beats of the goblin war-drums reverberated around the caverns. Falkral’s heart pounded with each beat as he quickened his pace. All the sudden, explosions could be heard that shook the tunnels. He did not know when he started running, but that was all he could do. All thoughts of protecting his people went out of his head. He only wanted to run away, as far as he could.

He just ran. He ran like a coward.

***


Falkral Deldukr - Steward of Hammersong - Redemption
Firithi Vilanea - The Broken Arrow
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Wolfman
06:48:15 AM 12/04/09
Registered Member #842
Joined: 06:59:42 AM 08/25/06
Posts: 184
The intervening years

Left leaderless and without a home, the survivors scattered to the four winds, going their own separate ways. Falkral’s mother took him down south to a human settlement where she found work in a brewery.

Falkral worked in the mines and quarry from dawn till dusk. It kept him occupied and helped him to block out his unpleasant memories. In the evenings, he would drown his sorrow at the local tavern. He had not picked up a shield or bore arms since that fateful day. “Falkral Rockhammer,” he called himself these days. The name of the Deldukr Clan both haunted him and intimidated him. It was all part of a past that he desperately wanted to forget. Initially, his mother tried to console him. Eventually, she decided just to let him be.

As the years passed, Falkral grown into what most people would consider as quite an imposing physique. If he wasn’t so busy being drunk and wallowing in his own self-pity, he might have realised this himself. In his own mind, he was still this weedy teenager who abandoned his people when they needed him the most.

When his mother passed away a few years later, he drank even more heavily.

He had never stopped running after all these years.

***



Falkral Deldukr - Steward of Hammersong - Redemption
Firithi Vilanea - The Broken Arrow
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