Date: Thursday, 17 Jun 1993 14:43:42 EDT
From: Michael Sander <344LWKC@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>
Message-ID: <93168.144342344LWKC@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Re: [BBD] A Year of Barside Evenings
References:  <93166.121224344LWKC@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>

[ADMIN: Yeah, yeah, I'm late again -- blame my site, not me... Anyway, this is
 subtitled: "Life is for my own to live my own way." Enjoy!]

>Instead, he settled down, and tried to get some rest. But his mind would not
>allow him the respite, and he found himself reflecting on his life to date:

Images passed through Lancos' mind, too many to take at once; to think about
in only one night.

He was born... well, he didn't know exactly where or when. His parents were
part of a traveling performing group, and couldn't effectively keep track of
such things. His father, Chendle, was a driver of one of the wagone, and took
care of the animals where he could, feeding them and doing minor blacksmith and
veterenary work. Lancos grinned to himself as he recalled the "rumors" that his
father -- the tall, strong, bald-headed man he was -- was part animal himself,
and the way Chendle had laughed when Lancos told him about it. His mother,
Ursula, was part of the juggling troupe. Lancos had never thought about her
beauty, rough as it may well have been, recallin only the exquisite way she
handled objects, her hands moving as if each anticipated what the other would
do, as if both were controlled by the same thought.

And at birth, he had been gifted with the potential for his father's build and
his mother's dexterity. These gifts helped structure him, and his parents no
doubt could have done more. But they didn't tutor him, for there was a place
set up for that, a group headed largely by people too old or injured to
perform and longer. He was taught right and wrong as they saw it, and the
basics of the theatrical arts, from the background to the spotlight.
Personally, he was happy in this life, and if things had turned out
differently, he might have never left it, but... but...

But still, he had learned much from this part of his life. He had learned to
be neutral towards people, for they might become customers or friends as
easily as not. He was taught to enhance his skills in even his seemingly
weakest points, and discovered within him the patience and fortitude to do so.
He gained the rules of common games, including the hobby and strategy-basing
of chess. And perhaps most importantly, he learned that the show must always
go on; life must continue, despite diversity.

But soon things changed, as they are bound to do. Their group was attacked by a
horde of orcs, for reasons Lancos did not totally understand even now. A dozen
were killed, and several more were injured -- including his father, whose arm
was so damaged that he became essentially useless for a month -- before help
showed up in the form of a party of adventurers.

The warrior could still remember the awe he felt on seeing the heroes. In his
eyes, their armor had outshone even the brightest light the stage had; their
weapons moved as if they were but extensions of their bearers; they were
brave, where he could only cover in protection. Then and there he made up his
mind that he wanted to be brave, too; to protect his friends and family.

And so, he began his training. He worked with those who lugged around
equipment, to build his strength. He talked and practiced with warriors that
passed by or could be found in towns. And he swung at imaginary foes by
himself. Chendle smiled at this sort of activity at first, figuring Lancos was
indirectly follwing a path similar to his own, and that he would outgrow this
phase. But eventually, around the time of his manhood, it became obvious that
Lancos was bound for larger things, and one of the hardest times in his life
came about, when he said goodbye to his family, quite possibly for forever.

He stepped out into the world, young and naive, but well-intentioned and able
to survive, at worst. His _real_ training began a few months later, under a
man named Borric Hammerfist.

Borric was a quiet man, preferring to let his actions speak for him. And his
methods were unsual, stretching into questionable sometimes. Lancos had
forgotten the exact details of most of the exercises, but he remembered their
effectiveness: the emotional and physical pain in them help build him as much
as the weapon practice, and nearly all of it had proven invaluable. The warrior
sighed as he recollected Borric's final lesson, namely kicking him out into the
world again in his 20th year.