Home

After hearing about Custodis Silenti, an all Alfar clan that seemed to hold true to the racial pride and camaraderie I had been looking for, it didn't take me long before deciding they would be a good home for me. Thankfully, I was quickly accepted into their ranks as a recruit.

The members I got to know were extremely helpful, and suggested that I make the move from my current home to the clan's primary city. It was a long run, but so very worth it in the end. Not only did I boost my bank by a few hundred gold from random chests along the way, but I also came across an unlucky adventurer apparently overcome by giant man-scorpions. Seeing as he was dead, I thought nothing of taking the plate mail armor and other assorted goods left on his corpse. He wouldn't be needing them any more.

However, even more valuable than all of the belongings I had found, possibly more valuable than everything I had the good fortune to come across so far, would be the comfort of living out of a clan's city. The entire area surrounding the city was mapped out and protected by the clan. Sure, bad guys would wander in some times, but there is always a brother willing to help only a short distance away. Not only is everyone willing to help in the literal sense, they also provide solid advice on how and what should to train, methods of making profits, and generally being a swell bunch of people.

Yes, I had found a home. In both the literal and sappy sentimental senses.

Say sappy sentimental senses five times as fast as you can, I dare you.

L2Enunciate, n00bs.
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Fortunate mistake

One thing I did not mention in my trip to Shoal and the underground hovel North of it, where I was stabbed in the back by two of my Alfar brothers, was formally changing my home from the small town to the East of Shoal. The reason I did not mention it is that it didn't happen. This is significant because when the I was murdered, I was revived at my original home to the East of Shoal. Far from my attackers, too far to make swift revenge sound very appealing.

This was the second time I had been viciously attacked by one of my own, and I was having serious doubts about my racial choice of an Alfar. There appeared to be no brotherhood, no camaraderie. That fact coupled with the loss of my favorite polearm and brand new set of armor was more than a bit disheartening. Songs from The Cure plagued my mind as I walked to the bank, and I was almost to the point of cutting myself to make sure I still felt alive.

Before I had settled into a state of permanent brooding, I caught wind of a message going around town. There was word of an Alfar clan with a similar view on things as myself, allegedly. This clan controlled a city on the South Eastern reaches of the Alfar borders where all members of the clan called home, defended, and supported with each other. The emo make up was immediately removed from my face, and I was determined to become part of this clan. I would prove myself to be both a valuable combat asset and trusted brother to them, that was my new mission. The slaughter of goblins and scavenging for their trinkets could wait. Finding a real home held much more importance than any paltry reward a shopkeep could offer me.

My mission was clear. My path was set. Nothing was going to stand in my way. And had I not been ganked by those cowardly, sucker punching, deceitful little douchebags, or had I remembered to declare that underground hovel my home, I may have never heard the call.
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More of the same

With my new set of armor, I looked like quite the big dog on campus. It was time to leave the smaller Alfar hamlet I had called home, and make my presence known in our capital city of Shoal. When I arrived, news of my previous deeds had apparently preceeded me. Numerous business owners in Shoal had extremely large contracts to offer me, paying quite well. They wanted me to slaughter all sorts of creatures, gather all sorts of commodities, and promised me the world in gold and items when I was done. I gladly accepted these jobs, though I hadn't the slightest idea where the majority of the creates that needed killing called home. Except for one, good old goblins.

I had been tasked with killing an extremely large amount of goblins. Possibly more than I had killed combined up to this point. Rather than return the place I had just left to do more of the same swamp goblin murdering, I heard that another hamlet to the North of Shoal had a goblin problem as well. When I arrived, the rumors turned out to be true. This was an underground hamlet, and goblins were literally covering the ground above and surrounding the place. I didn't have to stroll around the city for long before various rewards were offered for goblin blood and trinkets. With multiple jobs requiring me to do one thing, one thing that I was exceptionally good at, my path was clear. Kill goblins until I couldn't kill goblins any more.

As I approached a goblin encampment above ground, I spotted an Alfar brother in the distance. He was much less well equipped than myself, and fumbled about with his weapon. But, he got the job done. With a casual wave and a look of apprehension, I went about my business of slaughtering goblins in front of him. The look on his face when he noticed me whistling "Heigh Ho" whilst removing my polearm from a fallen goblin shaman told me he was impressed by my style, yet I resisted the urge to curtsey and thank him for noticing. But it wasn't easy to do so. The two of us killed goblins side by side without incident, further restoring my faith in my fellow Alfar.

Before too long, a few of the jobs from the underground hovel were completed, and I set off to receive my pay and find out what more the people would have me do. Sure enough, there was a need for yet more goblins to die. Which suited my own needs fine, as I had barely put a dent in my larger quota of goblin massacre from the big city. After all the traveling and gladhanding I had done to proffer all these different jobs, some R&R was in order before I went back out and mercilessly slaughtered hundreds of genetically inferior opponents.

When I was well rested, I returned to the same goblin camp as before and found things much as I left them. The same Alfar I had impressed with my martial prowess before was still putting down his share of the wiley green buggers, though he seemed to be doing a better job of it than before. He was also accompanied by someone who appeared to share his lineage, the resemblance was undeniable. This newer Alfar seemed to fancy the casting of spells, though. While neither of them appeared exceptionally skilled, they worked together quite well and put the goblins down with great efficiency. I gave them a casual wave, and went about my business.

The slaying of goblins that had once given me such an adrenaline rush had now become rather mundane. To be honest, it was even a bit relaxing. Quite unlike the sting of a magical ball of energy immediately followed by the business end of a polearm to your backside. No; that feeling is not the least bit relaxing. My zen state was broken and I was being accosted by the two Alfar I was merrily fighting alongside. The shock of this sent me in to a bit of a panic, and I wasted valuable time trying to escape my attackers rather than turn and ruthlessly murder them like they deserved. This would prove to be fatal, as the two would manage to gank me before I could successfully drop one of them.

Maybe there's a downside to looking so good in a suit of armor. In any case, this was a fight I would not soon forget.

Self Reliance

After tallying up all the profits from my escapade into the land of The Snobs, I felt as though some form of a reward was deserved. And, what's better than a new set of matching armor to make an Alfar feel pretty? That's right, nothing. I went shopping.

/montage

As epic as the shopping montage was, it would be more accurately described as a window shopping montage. Maybe a looking montage. Either matching armor was ridiculously expensive, and only available to the richest of the rich (like me), or I wasn't as rich as I thought. Sure, I could afford a full set of armor. But I wasn't going to pay that much for it. You could totally see the seams in some of that stuff, anyway. No, I would not buy the over priced and shoddy quality armor available in my home city. I would take up a trade that would allow me to make my own armor. Surely something made by my own hands would better protect my body and be more fashionable than some off the shelf, one size fits all, get up. My first purchase was a needle and thread, followed by some slight training from a tailor, and a large amount of cloth. If I was going to fashion a quality set of leather armor, I wanted to make sure I had the basics down with a cheaper material.

Let me tell you, I could run one hell of a sweat shop. I forced myself to stitch, and seam, and stitch, and alter, and stitch, and hem, and stich, and couture... I'm sure you get the point. I practiced making cloth goods until literally some crazy passer-by ran up and said the following:

"Yo Crom, I'ma let you finish your work and all, but I just wanna say something. Those pants you just made are the best pants of all time."

...

"OF ALL TIME!"

For some reason everyone in an earshot started booing at the man, but I appreciated his appreciation of my pants. In fact, I took his words to heart and stopped working on the piece he interrupted. Accepting the fact that I would never make another cloth good as that last pair, and moved on to the real reason I picked up this vocation: leather armor.

It took a few tries getting used to the new material. Some materials were wasted, some fingertips were stabbed, but in the end I had accomplished my goal. I had crafted a complete set of leather armor, custom fit to my own body. I felt more protected than ever before. And, I looked damn good. Strutting back to the bank with not a worry in my mind, I started to wonder what I would do with the rest of my hard earned gold. When I arrived at the bank, I had my answer. Nothing. In a tailoring frenzy that would put Armani to shame, I had burned through all of my gold reserves in training and materials. I was dead broke, but I would never have to worry about buying sets of armor again.

Also, I don't think I can stress this enough, I looked damn good.

Profit

My adventurous spirit had turned out to be quite profitable after all. Between various stashes of gold found in chests scattered around Agon and the personal effects of my new favorite prey, I had amassed what I considered to be a small fortune. All that without yet using the recently found keys to unlock even more glorious treasure chests!

Knowing that a trip to the windlords could be hazardous, I delayed the looting of said treasure chests until after safely depositing the rest of my spoils in the bank, and would return to the bank between hauls from the chest. The first trip went completely without incident. Oh sure, there was some flexing between the windlords and myself, but a mutual respect was growing between us. I would make derogatory comments about their lineage, and they would shoot balls of lightning at my back in turn, but neither of us crossed the line into the realm of murderous rage.

Unlocking the chest was a truly momentous occasion. Inside it were trinkets, weapons and armor with magical enhancements, in addition to a good chunk of gold. Doing my best to conceal my glee from the windlords and any passers by I might encounter, I set off to deposit these items in my bank with the rest of my hoard. Not knowing the location of any other chests to unlock with the second key, I chose to wait a period of time with the hope that my chest would be refilled. I don't know how it would get refilled, and I don't care. If it don't make dollars, it don't make sense. Or something.

After some time had passed, I made another voyage out to the windlords. When I got there, it quickly became evident that something was amiss. The windlords were seemingly occupied with what I could only imagine to be one of the Snobs coming to try and loot MY chest. With my polearm drawn, I crept into the building I was getting so familiar with. The sound of combat was nearby. My eyes were alert, looking for the slightest movement or variation from the norm so I could fell any opponent before they were aware of my presence. Entering the final room of the building, the one with my chest, I was a bit relieved to find it empty of everything but more treasure for the taking. This haul would prove to be better than the first, only there was still the issue of that other person nearby.

And then the sounds of combat stopped.

And then the sounds of footsteps started.

And then the treasure I had just picked up felt eleventy times heavier.

Not being one to panic, I picked a spot that would give me a good vantage point on the only entrance to the room, keep my back to the wall, and keep myself relatively hidden. The footsteps kept coming, and then fading. It was as if the person was looking for someone, or something. Most likely they were after me lucky charms, and I wasn't about to give them up. Eventually the footsteps paused and then turned into the thunderous sounds of a mount of some sort. For all of my adventuring and newfound fortune, I did not yet have a mount. That fact made me even less interested in a fight with the person at the reigns of this particular mount. Oh, and the fact that they had been slaughtering windlords.

My patience would pay off, though. As the sounds of the mount and her rider faded into the distance. Wanting to avoid a chance encounter on the way back to town, I opted to use a skill I had recently learned allowing me to teleport inside the walls of my home city. My eyes closed, heels thrice clicked, and the words "there's no place like home" repeated with each click, I began channeling the required energy. What I didn't know was just how long such a thing would take, or just how loud it was. I'm sure that had I started channeling while someone was in combat, they would hear me over any noises made by their melee.
Then I wondered how far the sound would travel, and how long it might take the rider to find me if he heard.
It was a very tense few minutes, but ultimately ended safely and capped off a profitable adventure quite well.

Greener Pastures

My personal quest of finding new species to murder was taking longer than initially anticipated. It became clear that I would have to travel outside the harsh lands inside Alfar borders, and into the more cushy terrain controlled by The Snobs. I might even be so lucky as to stumble across a young snob hunting, giving my polearm it's first taste of a real enemy's blood!

Without noticing it, I had traveled much further into the Snob lands than intended. The landscape was so foreign and different from my home I nearly lost my sense of direction. It wasn't until I looked up to try and determine which direction I was heading that I noticed I was directly underneath a Mirdain tree city. Now don't get me wrong, I would cherish a fight against the girly Mirdain. But, wandering alone into the borders of one of their cities would be a tad bold, even for me. Realizing my situation, I concealed myself in the shadows as much as possible and started moving away from the city.

Not far from the snob city, I heard the sounds of combat nearby. This was it! I was going to test my mettle against a real enemy of the Alfar! A quick weapons and food check, a few inspirational words from Ice Cube, and it was on and poppin'. Coming up on the sound's source in a crouched position, as to not give up my element of surprise, I was surprised to find no Mirdain at all. Instead, a pack of the savage Orks had appeared to make camp. These Orks were obviously not part of The Savages, they were outcasts for some reason or another. But today, they were prey.

My typical challenge of strength was initiated and a group of the Orks took up arms to answer. Even with their superior numbers, Crom Inator was victorious. In addition to their superior numbers, these Orks were also quite well armed. This is most likely why they were outcast from The Savages, weakest links and all. With the camp void of all life but my own I took a minute to look over my newly acquired inventory. There really isn't time for such things in the heat of combat. While poring over different pieces of blood soaked armor, I spotted not one, but two shiny keys. Two shiny keys that would most likely fit the locked treasure chest I had just left behind.

Damn. Back to the windlords.

I will survive

After a minor setback in my usual goblin murder, I dusted myself off and got back down to business. Even without the full set of equipment I had been building up, murdering goblins these days was quite a bit easier than it had been the first time. It could be the fact that I was better with weapons than I had been initially, or that I could take a harder punch than back then. But, I like to attribute it to the survivor mentality imparted to me by the great Gloria Gaynor.

Oh yes, I will survive.

Surviving is great and all, but I want to do more than survive. I want to prosper. It became very clear to me that if I was going to prosper, I needed to branch out beyond just murdering goblins. I needed to find new things to murder. After filling all of the town's requests for various goblin equipment and appendages I was filled with the spirit of adventure. I put on the best equipment I could find, and set out to find exciting new places with the intention of slaughtering their natural inhabitants.

Agon is a very large world, with very harsh conditions at times. The Alfar, tough as we are, are raised in some of the harshest conditions. We can attribute our toughness to this fact. Makes sense, right? Along that same line, it would stand to reason that those same tough conditions would make the other local inhabitants tough. Well, have you ever tried explaining sound logic and reason to an adventurer full of piss, vinegar and blood soaked bread? Me either. Why try to spoil their fun? Crom Inator bravely approached everything that looked interesting, challenging the strength of anything that moved, and more often than not made a hasty advance in the opposite direction when they fought back. Some people might in fact call such advances "retreats," but you have to keep in mind that some people are dicks.

At one point I came across a pack of earth elementals. Not long after challenging them, I found myself advancing towards what looked to be a waterfall in the opposite direction. As it turned out, it was no waterfall at all. It was an acidfall. Yes, that's right. An acidfall. There was freaking acid falling from above and forming a river below. This acid river curved around like a moat, but didn't form a complete circle and there was a bit of a path formed in the gap. In the center of the acidfall-formed-not-moat, there was a grouping of buildings that looked interesting enough to investigate. Maybe the building's tenants would be home, and I could murder them. This building ended up not having tenants, but it did have guardians outside in the form of windlords. The windlords did not appreciate me entering their territory, but I did not appreciate them throwing balls of lightning at me when I wasn't looking. I entered the one of the buildings, made my way to the second floor, and challenged one of them to a fair fight from the window. The windlord must have been found my bravery terrifying, as he made no attempt to even come near the building I had entered. Either that or he had some sort of reverse agorophobic disorder.

Turning to leave after asserting my dominance over the scaredy cat windlord, a small chest in the corner of the room caught my eye. I ran over and excitedly opened the chest to find a stash of gold and arrows inside. This find gave me cause to properly search the rest of the building, along with the buildings I had not yet entered. As luck would have it, there was another chest in the building next door. As luck would also have it, that chest was locked. Sometimes you have to remember that luck is only one letter off from suck.

I gave the rest of the buildings a good search, taunted some windlords from afar, and decided it was time to leave this acid river surrounded place. On my way out, the windlords found their moxy and decided to send a few more balls of lightning at my back, but I was too tired to bother with them. If they wanted a fight, they should have followed me into one of the buildings like I told them to... bitches.