Orlando the Fool

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To see what started all this, go to this thread.

Well here he is, folks. Orlando (name borrowed from "As You Like It"), the jester with a story to tell. He is a human, neutral good jester with the following stats (no rerolling, just moving some around):

Strength: 12
Dexterity: 14
Constitution: 12
Intelligence: 13
Wisdom: 17
Charisma: 15

I picked a lowish charisma (for a tale-telling bard) because of his slightly enigmatic nature (a la Ishmael) but he has much wisdom if you listen closely enough. I'll follow with his biography and subsequent additions as I reach various, yet-undetermined points in the game. If you feel the desire to post a response (and by all means, please do), I'd prefer you do so in the thread linked above as to keep this one clean. Thanks for coming to see what all the fuss is about.

O, where to begin? We could talk about the beginning, I suppose, but you don't want to hear about that -- not much to it. Monks, and reading, and chores – that was a long time ago, that was. I could tell you about Gorion, how my blood and feet raced at the thought of leaving those indomitable walls, how it pained my heart and struck my ear to hear him scream his last, how I stumbled into Sarevok and happened upon “revenge” or whatever you want to call it. But my story doesn’t really start back then. That was a digression, a footnote on my story.

I call it my story but not so! for it is not about me. My story by virtue of the fact that I tell it, but it is not mine. Who’s is it? Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have much point in telling it, now would I? But yours or mine or Bhaal’s – it makes no difference – I’ll tell it all the same. But enough about telling and not telling; this isn’t the story about my story, after all. Now that Sarevok is no more, perhaps I can talk about what matters. At least, that is the freedom I hope for. A Taint? Fine and well, but can it pick up a pen? Aye, that’s what counts. And that’s what I’ll do.

 

Once again, my path is chosen for me. I awoke in a cell to a voice – O, what a voice it was! My bones ached and my mind was furiously pounding the inside of my skull, like a child too long stuffed in the womb, but nothing compared to the sound. His words were unintelligible in the rush of potency – for lack of adequate language – that came with the monstrous sound. He said something about my potential but he meant no good to me by it. The hate in his words is clear – much more clear than the emotion itself could ever be. I truly don’t understand it. It was as if he had taken a glass of blood – murky and stale, spilled ages ago – and held it up to his eyes; by the heavens, he saw all the better for it! Such domination mixed with such ire I have never seen met.

And then, from this sound-induced stupor, Imoen came. The prospect is interesting: had she not come, what formless horrors would my mind have reached on meditation of this monster I had just witnessed? I almost wish to have seen them…. but I will never say so. Such whims should never be acknowledged, lest they be realized. But Imoen did come and that’s that. She had surely felt a similar sensation and had similar thoughts on it – silent thoughts, like mine, so I did not press her then. At the time, she needed out. I was indifferent. Out, in, it wasn’t really our choice to begin with. But, as is my joyful doom, I had to help her. With this in mind and an assurance from my lips, we began on our way.

On the suggestion of Imoen, having gathered some paltry tools from the desolate prison, we stumbled upon good Jaheira. But first – Jaheira forgive me for my digression – I must speak on a monstrosity encountered in our search. Upon entering the room designated by dear Imoen, my eyes fell upon a behemoth so enormous as to count it sooner an appendage of the earth itself than a living beast. And a living beast it was not, as I soon recognized the golem. Perhaps you’ve read about them, good reader, but all the words in the world cannot put a flame to the sight of one! Of course, my first impulse was to leap from my sanity in a vain attempt to hide but the golem seemed indifferent to our arrival – indeed, the magical, mechanical nightmare merely stood in his place, as if attempting to win a battle against time itself by being stubborn. A vain pursuit, but I had not the heart to tell the poor fellow. I would have lingered to study this colossus but Imoen insisted we leave. To be sure, I began to agree with her; despite this golem’s inactivity, his perseverance in that inaction was frightening in its own right. I knew certainly, if his will and mine were to throw down the gauntlet, mine would be found wanting. Pushing aside this conceit for now, we fled to room. And hence we found our Jaheira.

 

First and foremost, let it be noted that I feared for her husband. He was never the most valiant of sorts, quite prone to that state which, while not altogether cowardice, does tend to leave one with less scars on your chest than blisters on the feet. But despite his oh so “cautious” nature, I would not see him dead – if only for Jaheira’s sake. I was afraid to think what evils she would face in her mind were it so.

She wished to see the sun. Upon further meditation, I found I disagreed. I have heard it said that night makes one feel small, insignificant, and frankly lost. I will never understand the speakers of these sentiments. Though I kept my thoughts private, I would much sooner see the night. Under Jaheira’s sun, one can only see the unconquerable lake of sky, all enclosing, not much unlike the prison in which I stood then. The night sky, however, does away with the boundaries of sight. You think on it, reader. I will join you at a later date, I am sure.

Oh, let this be the highlight of my story, the highest point, and it would not be a wasted scroll: we have found Minsc! A more good-natured fellow, dear reader, you will not find. Laughter shall surely be cheap, returning twice as often as a bad copper ere we leave this dungeon.

Though Minsc brought much cheer throughout our journey, I must relate to you an experience which, to this day, I am wholly unable to comprehend. As you well know, Minsc’s cell could not be opened by any power under my command. I feared wholeheartedly for his release, impossible as it seemed. But I should not have feared; I found myself saying to him what I never would under my right mind, mocking his soundness, provoking him to a rage. These choices were not mine and I surely could not see them coming. What force! oh reader, was I confronted with in that immutable discourse. A strange event indeed but as I have no solution to offer you, I have no choice but to rudely leave you in wonder.

 

And one more character did we find in these depths: a lovely chap named Jasper. How he came to be there or why, I did not know then and do not know now. He mentioned something about goddesses but it was lost on me. But he had an offer to make: he would take us out! Now let it be known now, reader, that there was conflict in my mind over this decision. I wished desperately to explore this exotic dungeon, see how many wonders I could find. But the thought of dragging along my friends and companions was not one I was willing to entertain. Oh but don’t think me too noble, reader, for I surely felt some contempt. This contempt, however, was quickly forgotten by a story this bard had to tell about a certain harem of dryads and their acorns. Oh how I wished to hear more of them! The acorns themselves look natural enough but, were they tossed into a pile of acorns from any tree you or I might meet, I assure you, the difference would be known. Not clear, but known at the least. He gave me a name – Windspear Hills – and so I shall surely venture there as quickly as I may. I must know more about these dryads!

Now I take you in to my confidences, reader, for I speak to you now about a discourse with dear Imoen when we neared the surface. She spoke to me of her pain – and indeed, it was much like mine – and I comforted her how and where I felt it appropriate. At this point, I confess to you, she was very much endeared to me. She spoke of how, at my side, her pain was lessened. Oh I tell you now, I knew not what pain was! But my elation would be short-lived and my rage would be sparked much sooner than I ever could have anticipated.

Note: I realized, upon starting the game, that I forgot to uninstall Dungeon-Be-Gone. Rather than restarting, however, I figured I might as well role-play it. I mean after all, he's quite an interesting character. As I said, let the chips fall where they may.

 

By my own mortal or immortal soul, he took her from me! You hear this part of my tale at all because I am not the same man I was then. When she was taken, I was overcome. Rage and grief mixed in my blood like two poisons, each individually capable of terminating my short life right then but, when enjoined, only succeed in ripping asunder my sanity, my reason, and my very soul. Jaheira be damned, to me then, Minsc was right: we must go and go now! Looking back, Imoen and I both would be dead if not for Minsc and Jaheira then. Jaheira did her best to save my sanity. She is kind in her way and my gratitude is limitless. And Minsc! An amazing fellow. He would follow me to the ends of the earth and ask no more than a warm reception in my arms. And so he shall get when at last I meet him once more. But back to the dilemma at hand; Imoen was gone and curse my blood if I’d not tear the world asunder and ravish humanity itself to have her back.

Under Jaheira’s suggestion, we visited the Mart and gathered what little tools we could afford. We then set out in search of whatever clues we might divine. Our search led us to a man named Galean Bayle. A strange man, but he knew of Imoen’s disappearance and insisted he could help. Now I confess, reader, I was not in my right mind at the time. If I was, perhaps I would have questioned him more, found out who he was and why he was willing to help me. But then those thoughts tend towards safety and safety was not on my mind – at least, not my own safety. My fury was matched only by… well, by something else. Something not unlike fury but it is not important now. Not to you, at least. I would fain pass this subject by, pretend it was someone else’s memory, for as my own, it still rends my mind to think on. But despair not, good reader; my melancholy will not remain indefinite. A good night’s rest and perhaps some strong mead will put me in my right mind again, a mind more fit to rescue unmeasured treasures.

 

Having dismissed the child sent to accompany me, we set off to find our own way. Shortly after we began our walk, we were assaulted by two men on the street. Now I don’t consider myself a violent person, but they were so chock-full of insults, and I so distraught at the time, bloodshed could not be helped. Upon entering the tavern itself, which I soon learned was called the Copper Coronet, I was once again beset with insults and jibes. While I was not completely level-headed, on the whole, I would have avoided the conflict. Minsc, however, had a pride that was much more prone to wounding, it seems. I thought all was well but I turn my head and what do I see but Minsc with his fists flailing and eyes bulging. Having told him to wield his sword as it is surely more efficient than his bare hands, I too ran to his aid. Now perhaps the etiquette in taverns across Athkatla is different than that of taverns at home, but by my eyes, every sword arm in that tavern felt the need to assist our struggle. How they were so clearly able to discern the right when it was undoubtedly Minsc who began the attack, I will likely never know. But regardless, it wasn’t long before every blade in the place was wet.

After the commotion, I was approached by two people: a one Yoshimo and a girl, Nalia. While Nalia’s air seemed a bit sophisticated for myself, her job was interesting. And while I am loathe to admit it, dear reader, I was desperate: the prospect of working for nobility and perhaps garnishing some of their wealth in the mean-time was a tempting one. In the end, I told her I would meet her at her castle and assist her however I may. Luckily for my own prospects, she didn’t ask me about my capabilities, for I doubted then, reader, if I would be able to find my way out of the blasted city, much less to a castle miles from it.

Yoshimo, on the other hand, fit right in with our current troupe. He is a good-natured fellow and, more importantly, full of tidbits to tell. He seems to know the city and will likely make an excellent guide. He mentioned the docks and thus I planned to visit them soon enough. We sat ourselves down for a drink. Now let it be known that I am not a hardy man when it comes to holding down fire. I was told the next morning that I flared up at the slightest provocation, imagined or otherwise. Though I mention this now, reader, to speak of something useful that did come of it. Jaheira, amidst my ramblings, was forced to bring to light our current predicament. Apparently I carried on and on and on again about finding Imoen as fast as possible; we’d get that gold by whatever means necessary and be off to retrieve her and make things right again. Jaheira, however, being the practical woman she always is, pointed out the dangerous nature of our situation. She felt we needed preparation – friends, tools, money, and whatever else was deemed useful. All this takes time, dear reader, and time was one resource I was not willing to freely give out. But, despairingly enough, she was right. Imoen would have to wait a little longer. The darkness of this meditation, dear reader, will have to wait till another time.