Paths of the Damned Austinites

Zaragund's Confession

Charles Story

Zaragund was disturbed by what had happened in the Skaven's lair.  Fro that matter he was disturbed by all of the combat he had participated in since this war had started.  After taking Kazbora to the Temple of Sigmar for healing, and then reporting to the Commander of the Watch, he just wandered the streets for a while, thinking to himself.  he wasn't worrind about being attacked.  NO ONE in their right mid would attack a blood-covered dwarf who smelled like an open sewer who was carrying a halber and loaded crossbow. 
 He decided to sleep on it for tonight and decide what to do about his problem tomorrow.  He went back to the barrack for sleep, but the rest of the barracks wouldn't let him enter until he bathed and washed his clothes.  "They are all weaklings" he thought to himself, but obliged them to be able to sleep in a proper bunk. 
The next morning he decided he would talk it over with Kazbora, so he headed over to the Temple.  "just as well I bathed last night" he muttered to himself.  "The priests would not have appreciated me tromping around their Temple in that condition.  And I want to keep on their good side."
Zaragund found Kazbora convalescing in a private room at the Temple.  "Did you bring me a beer?" the bed-ridden dwarf asked. 
"No, it slipped my mind" Zaragund responded. 
"What kind of friend forgets to bring his wounded compatriot a beer?" snarled Kazbora. 
 "I'll remember next time" Zaragund responded.
"So why did you come by?  I lived through the fight and made it to the Temple alive.  You know I'll be fine" said Kazbora. 
Zaragund looked at the bandages covering Kzabora's right eye and remembered his eye hanging down his cheek.  He knew the dwarf had lost that eye permanently.  Apaprently Kazbora's definition of 'fine' differed quite a bit from his own.  "I came to make a confession" Zaragund responded in Kazalid; no need for the humans to hear Dwarven business. 
"Confession?  What did you do, screw the elf?" asked Kazbora. 
"No, nothing like that" responded Zaragund.  "I wanted to talk about the fight." 
"What about it?"  grumped Kazbora.
"I was terrified" said Zaragund.
"That's okay.  You didn't run, and you were of more use than that hafling".
"I've been terrifed every time I have been in combat" stated Zaragund.
"You're young, and spent your time in a safe profession.  You'll get used to it, or get dead.  Either way, the problem will be solved."
"Being frightened isn't the problem" confessed Zaragund.
"Then what is?"
"I liked it" whispered Zaragund.
"What do you mean?"
"I am terrified during the fight.  When it is over, I realize that I am still alive.  It is better than the best drunk I have ever had.  And I can't wait until the next time I can feel that."
Kazbora looked askance at him with his one functioning eye.  "You have been hanging around too much with that halfling!"
"What should I do about it?" asked Zaragund?
"If you are so fired up to be staring death in the eye, you take point next time!" snarled Kazbora.
Zaragund thought about that a moment, and then said "Give me your armor and shield, and I will."


Kazbora gave Zaragund a hard look. Zaragund imagined the ghost of the other eye mimicking the glare.

“Zaragund, mate, I’d have to be right mad to let the armor and shield go, what with the trouble you and that damnable elf have been getting me into. But I’m sure it you sweet talked the watch they’d give you what they’ve got. Besides, you don’t want to be point. Hell, I don’t want to be point. Figure it’s the only way to keep this lot alive. If you really want to be helpful, you’d sharpen a stick and teach that halfling how to use the business end!” Kazbora coughed, a sound akin to shoving moldy gravel through a clay pipe. “Bah! You’re wearing me out with all you’re confession nonsense. Grow a sack, will ya? If you’re really itching for a fight, there’s a fence down the street what owes me some coin… rattle his cage for me. Hell, you can have the coin if he has it.”

And with that he rolled over on his side, drawing the blankets up, trying not to let his wounds touch the scratchy linens. Not that it was sore, or that he’d admit if it was. Just, waking up in a puddle of puss was unpleasant.

Zaragund's Confession

I’m not sure what moldy gravel would sound like being shoved through a clay pipe, but I’m sure it would be horrible! That was a nice turn of phrase. Now, I gave you an out Jeff; no more bitching about taking point! (-Charles)

Zaragund's Confession

And oh, Charles and Jeff, both take 25 bonus xp for between-game story interaction.

Zaragund's Confession

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