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ID: 1683


April 8, 2011, 7:29 pm

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Cheka Man

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Band of Rage


A family heirloom, worn by the son of a fisherman, that raised them out of squalor and into nobility. What is in a man’s heart that can not be corrupted? What can turn the untainted into rage? Pray to the God’s and you never know the outcome.

A crude thin band of tarnished and bent silver. A single wisp of a thread of gold inlaid is still present through the center of the band. Etchings, now faded through time and use, proclaim the love of a husband and friend.

Haraith was a young man of many talents. Not being of noble blood and lineage had made his rise to knighthood more difficult and wrought with many obstacles normally not needed. The fact his knighthood was given after his death makes his story all the more dramatic.

Haraith was a born to serf fisherman, while was fruitful in his work was unable to supply his family with more than was required for a family of their status. Haraith grew up and saw it as his station and his right to work as hard as they did to survive. The God’s willed it that hard work established eternal rest beyond the grave. And work he did. He worked harder than most males twice his age, and did it without complaint. It was his station after all.

One evening a soldier arrived at the small fishing village and proclaimed the King’s Writ; all men of fighting age were required to lend their service to the Kingdom. It was their duty and station to obey the King’s Writ. And obey he did. His father gave him his wedding ring as a sign of luck. At twelve years he marched to the calling of a King he never knew the name of, and did it willingly. He trained hard, harder than any other soldier and his superiors took notice.

He excelled in his basic training and learned from watching more experienced soldiers train and practice. All with the betterment of his station and duty as the God’s willed it. Battle came and Haraith willing went to the line, eager to appease his God and his unknown King. He waded into battle with the knowledge that it could be his last breath, but he did so willingly and strived to surpass his station and duty, as the Gods willed it.

He not only survived the countless battles he was in, but as the years passed he was noticed. Commission after commission came to him for duties of bravery and skill on the field. Men and knights in the campaign longer than he were overlooked at this rising upstart. His knowledge of battle and tactics increase with each battle, gaining him more duties and more notice. Not long after his eighteenth birthday, having rose to as high as a low born could in the army, that of a Command Sergeant, he was called to aid an assault on the enemies position. He was to aid only and only act as reinforcements.

He went to his men and told them of their duties. Battle came and the unit he was acting as reinforcements for was a bear of a man. Lord Keriak, a knight and of noble birth, he did not like the rise and praise that young Haraith was receiving. Talks of bringing him to the King to ask for a knighthood was circulating among the commanders of the army. Lord Keriak despised the boy for trying to better his station. Lord Keriak refused to call for aid, even when the tide was washing over his advance forces. His pride would not allow it.

Haraith saw it though and took it as a sign to act. He ordered his small unit of men to aid Lord Keriak, and off they rode. Cutting through the enemy as a water reed through a stream, his force swept toward battle. Haraith made his way to Lord Keriak, pleased with himself that he was helping route the enemy. When he got to his side however, he was not given the thanks he expected. Lord Keriak turned to him, pure rage on his face. Angered at having to be saved by the spit of a boy who should be wallowing in mud instead of entering battle at a noble’s side, he attacked Haraith.

They fought on horseback for a few minutes, those nearby stepping back quickly, not understanding what was happening. Lord Keriak cried to his men, “Deceiver, traitor, the conspirator attacks me.” Those who could, stood by and watched Haraith attack their Lord knight. Keriak unhorsed the younger man and cut a deep wound in his leg that poured blood like a fountain. Lord Keriak knelt by the groaning side of the youth and whispered in his ear, “This is how it should be peasant, you kneeling before your betters.”

Never before had Haraith felt as he did now. Hurt, angered, betrayed. Everything he had worked for had slapped him in the face with the cold hard reality for what it was. He was beneath those who were better. His way of life was not of hard work, but of servitude to those who were noble and lazy. He clutched his fathers ring praying to the Gods above and they answered. With all his anger, all his hatred willed his sword up and through the breast of the knight who had taught him the harsh realities of the world. He stood on weakening legs and hacked through the force before him as a child would grass. Friend and foe alike stood no chance against his anger. He was finally brought down by his own men, crying as they forced their blades into him ending his murderous rampage. Both sides of the field withdrew that day perplexed at what had transpired.

The King would be told of the youths’ actions and what transpired to cause him to be enraged so. Haraith would go on to be given knighthood status after his death, his family elevated to minor nobles for his bravery and his acts of selflessness. His ring would be given back to father who would pass it to his new son, never knowing the energy that was held within it now. Passing form hand to hand over the years, it is said that the knights born of the family of Haraith were superior in battle but had an uncommon rage that went with their heritage.

Magic Properties
When Haraith prayed to the Gods, they answered by giving him a rage and fury beyond what a mortal should have. They put all his rage and focused it in the ring he clutched. Now, anyone wearing the ring in battle will fight with Haraiths’ skill and intensity, but also his rage at being deceived.

Once a day the ring bestows a huge bonus to the wearer’s strength and prowess in battle. This will last for the length of the battle.

Due to the rage and anger that went into the ring, however, the wearer will continue to fight until there are no enemies remaining. Once all enemies have been vanquished, they will continue to attack anyone bearing arms within a swords reach.

(For game purposes the wearer must make some type of save check depending on your system to see if they can break this rage. They will continue to fight until there is no one remaining or until they can break the Rage that fills them.)

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Comments ( 8 )
Commenters gain extra XP from Author votes.

Voted Maggot
November 20, 2005, 4:46
Only voted
November 21, 2005, 12:46
No comment?
Voted manfred
November 22, 2005, 6:59
It is simple and logical, what else can be said? :)

A solid item.
Voted Dragon Lord
November 22, 2005, 9:27
Yep - simply, well defined effect - logical backstory - nothing else to add really - good one - 4/5
Voted Scrasamax
November 26, 2005, 17:06
excellent execution
Voted Pariah
January 19, 2006, 22:46
I really like it.
Voted Cheka Man
January 20, 2006, 10:32
Very good.
Voted valadaar
September 7, 2006, 12:39
I love the idea of magic items occuring spontanously, rather then engineered like most game systems.


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Random Idea Seed View All Idea Seeds

       By: ephemeralstability


Having left the hush of the upper halls, and crossed the depths of the Braeth (an underground river, which is not all that deep because bear in mind we're talking about gnomes here), you would find yourself in Wattling Street, the main road through Udnalor. It's actually a long, well-worn passageway which opens out eventually into the City Centre. The gnome-buildings branch off Wattling Street as small burrows or caverns with boulder-blocked doorways for privacy. You can find armourers and smiths (though their armour tends to be on the small side for humans to buy) and many other types of trader.

There are many streets, ginnels and cooies which run off Wattling Street, the most famous probably being Smell Street, the domain of the infamous gnomish alchemists, the eponymous smell being very distinctive: the stench of cooking fungus, the aroma of subterranean spices, the pungent reek of rotting carcasses (used in some of the more notorious experiments). An encounter with an alchemist can really be spiced up (excuse the pun) if you have a well-stocked herb cupboard, and actually make up the potions, elixirs and draughts as they are ordered by characters.

Ideas  ( Locations ) | May 4, 2002 | View | UpVote 0xp

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