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Sargon

Level 6 Lizardfolk Neutral Good Ranger (Monster Slayer)
(Tribe Member )
/ 52 HP

Sargon is a large, intimidating-looking Lizardfolk. His rough and taciturn exterior bely a noble and gentle heart. He has dedicated his life to protecting others from Monsters of all kinds.


Played by
Graarlerth
Fri 22nd May 2020 10:43

Leaving The Drown

by Sargon

The witch doctor stirred her cauldron in the flickering candlelight of her reed hut, pausing occasionally to let the vapours drift lazily up to her snout. She once stood over six and a half foot as a young, bold warrior of her clan, but age and the labours of her life had made her a hunched, wizened thing. Her scales were dark, almost black, and were as tough as oak.
She lifted her head towards the door to the hut, dozens of talismans and fetishes rattled on their leather thongs in the small movement. There was no sound but the buzzing and chirping of insects from the inky night outside, but it was not a sound that caught her attention. A primal pulsing in the back of her mind warned her of another mind's silent approach.
Standing statue-still and watching the door, she almost seemed another piece of furniture in the cluttered hut. After a few more moments, she relaxed and went back to stirring. A large shadow moved outside, barely visible in the oppressive night.
“You may enter, Sargon” she called out. There was a moments pause as the figure outside hesitated, then pushed the reed door open and shuffled in.
Sargon was a larger specimen than the witch doctor. Also a member of the Lizardfolk race, he loomed at nearly seven feet, his scales a deep forest green, and his snout and limbs mottled with fresh scars. He carried a large crab, its limbs limp in death.
“You bring me food? Is this a transaction, shamed one?” observed the witch doctor, a wide grin creeping along her long snout.
“Mother Mamba, I have a request for information.” rumbled Sargon. He placed the crab gently on the small table, and taking out a hunting knife began to remove white flesh from the creature's armored shell. He passed each piece to Mamba, who carefully dipped each portion in a bowl of spices before adding it to the bubbling cauldron. They worked in silence as the hunter claimed all the meat from his prize, and soon the cauldron was fuller and the strong scent of a rich gumbo filled the hut.
“I know what it is you wish to ask, shamed one.” Mamba whispered eventually, while she spooned the thick and spicy contents of the cauldron into two wooden bowls. Sargon didn't appear to react to the apparent insult, as he had not before.
“If I had your powers, I imagine I would also be able to pull meaning from the minds of my visitors.” observed Sargon.
“I need no Bocor art to know your mind, shamed one. I do not need to ask any loa to give me the secrets inside your skull. I hope you do not forget that I was present for your hatching?” Mamba sank slowly into her seat, a mass of cushions and pelts that seemed like a large nest of a thieving bird. She spooned gumbo into her maw, smirking at her visitor. “You have emptied your hunting grounds of your usual quarry, and you seek me out to point you in the direction of further prey.”
There were a few moments of silence as the two Lizardfolk chewed their food, before eventually Sargon slowly nodded, his eyes meeting Mamba's in the gloom.
“It is not my opinion you want, but you're having it anyway” continued Mamba, scraping away at the bottom of her bowl. “You can kill a great and terrible being every night, and it will not help you. Your fate was decided from your birth, and you will never achieve it for as long as you are Sargon.” The witch doctor slowly placed the wooden bowl to one side, her dark eyes never leaving her visitor's face. “I oversaw Kifaru's judgement of you, but I did not agree that it was the best decision. I lifted you from your birth shell and handed you to your father, and was pleased when he named you Muttallu. You were re-named, in accordance with our traditions, for your shame, but this does not excuse you from your duty.”
“I have no position to question Kifaru. I lost that right along with my father” interrupted Sargon. “And I can no longer perform my old duties. My honoured father was teaching me to rule and to protect. My inability to do the latter has left me with nothing to concern myself with ruling.”
“So you wish to destroy every monster you lay eyes upon for what? There is no foe you can defeat that can undo the past. You cannot protect the dead from what has already happened!” Mamba's voice rose into a shrill shout, and the constant buzzing and chirping outside the hut came to a sudden silence. “You want me to name a new hunting ground for you? Very well. I command you to leave our lands. Wander. Look for those who need your help, for there is no more place for you here! You have made this perfectly clear.”
Sargon bristled with uncharacteristic embarrassment. He started to get up from his place on the floor, pushing his own empty bowl away from himself.
“Are your scales getting soft, child? Why come here for my opinion if you do not wish to hear it?” Mamba cackled. She was busying herself packing a long pipe, her dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “I am not a spiteful old crone. I do not speak harshly to shame you further. You need no help from me in this area.” she lit her pipe with an arcane spark from a finger-claw, as a sudden scent of hot metal briefly pierced through the lingering aroma of the gumbo, before being replaced by the heady tones of her pipe. “Kifaru took you in after your clan was slaughtered, a pragmatic and admirable act, for though you failed to stop the drake that rampaged through your village, you are still every bit the warrior your father was. Kifaru regrets this though, for even he can see what I see, though he does not know it. You will find a new clan one day, and he fears that you will claim his.” Sargon opened his mouth to protest, but Mamba spoke over him. “Your intentions do not matter, former prince. You skulk on the outskirts of our lands and hunt day and night, and this is how Kifaru wants things. If you leave he will consider this his good fortune, but this is because he is not wise. This will not always be your life, and this clan will lose a protector with you gone. This is how things must be.”
Sargon stared at the floor as Mamba spoke. He was never comfortable with discussing his past, but he had known that Mamba would never not have lectured him on their history. The discussion of his adoptive chieftain's motives was not something he had heard before, however. The more the witch doctor spoke, the more he understood that she was right, and that he could not continue with things as they are.
Mamba roused herself from her nest, and padded slowly over to a clutter of wicker baskets in a corner of her hut. “I have something for you take with you, when you leave” she stated matter-of-factly. “It is not food.”
She held out something wrapped in cloth in a curled hand. Sargon rose to his feet and approached, to see a large red egg in a bed of straw, wrapped in the unfurling cloth. It was much smaller than the eggs of his kin, but far too large to belong to any of the birds or reptiles that nested in the area.
Mamba caught his curious look. “This may be important to you, or it may turn out not to be. Either way, I wish for it to leave this lands with you when you go” she intoned as she handed the parcel over. Sargon held the the egg carefully in his hands as he pondered it's strange weight, before carefully packing it in a hide bag at his waist. “I'll have my crawlies see you out of our lands, so I'll know when you've left. Just say your farewell to the swamp, I will hear it.”
“What of the others?” queried Sargon.
“They will not ask after you for some days. When they do I will tell them you have gone. Some may even wish you well. If you do not return before I make my final journey into the waters, then know I will tell your father of you when I meet him again. I know he will be proud.”
Sargon left the hut in silence, closing the reed door behind himself. Mother Mamba returned to her nest and her pipe, and relaxed as she sensed Sargon's mind slip away through the morass, his direction indicating that he had no wish to linger and that he was making straight for the border. She smiled a toothy grin as she exhaled the foul pipe smoke from her nostrils. The spirits of the swamp chatted and gossiped in the shadows of the hut, and Mamba knew that the news of the shamed prince's departure would be whispered to even the most reclusive local loa before dawn.
 

  • - -
  • The major events and journals in Sargon's history, from the beginning to today.

    Leaving The Drown

    The witch doctor stirred her cauldron in the flickering candlelight of her reed hut, pausing occasionally to let the vapours drift lazily up to her snout. She once stood over six and a half foot as a young, bold warrior of her clan, but age and the labour...

    10:43 pm - 22.05.2020

    The list of amazing people following the adventures of Sargon.

    Played by
    Graarlerth