Pim
[WIP]
Small even for his kind, this young softpaw grew up in a family by the name of Findlespurr, surrounded by more brothers and sisters than he could count. They lived as part of an established community deep within the Darkwood, working in harmony with their neighbors to maintain the safety and prosperity of their warren. No one mousefolk stood above the rest; rather, they hunted and plied their crafts for the good of the collective, treating all as kin. When he came of age, he was brought under the tutelage of an elder and taught much of the lore and histories of his people. At the conclusion of his studies, he was allowed to choose a name for himself. He recalled the legends of Corin Thistlebrim, a great mousefolk hero with uncommon strength who wielded a shining morningstar, valiantly risking his life to defend his people from many the dangers of the forest as the first of their kind ventured into the Darkwood long ago. Inspired by these tales, the young mouse elected for himself the name Cor.
The mousefolk of his warren were welcome within the Druid's Circle, and often visited to trade with the elves there for food, herbal medicines, and other such goods as they did not produce themselves. Eager to serve the needs of his collective, Cor offered himself as guard and protector of the caravans that traveled to and from the Circle. He attended countless such ventures and became quite accomplished at handling the difficulties that often arose as well as fending off all manner of hostile creatures. Returning from one such venture, the caravan reached the eastern edge of the river that lay between them and their home, only to find that one of the ancient trees of the forest had fallen into the river, taking with it the bridge that served as their crossing. After a brief deliberation, they decided to travel north along the river, knowing that it narrowed as it approached the Dragonsbane mountains. They moved slowly, searching for a place they could ford the foamy rapids. At long last, they found a section of the river where the water quieted enough that they could swim across the stream. They emerged wet and shivering on the other side and made camp in the shadow of the mountains as the dusk settled around them. Exhausted, they slept huddled together by the fire. When they awoke, they were not met with the familiar warmth of the sunlight streaming through the trees, but instead found themselves trapped in the dark, within the cold stone walls of a dungeon.
Unable to count the passing days without sight of the sun, the mousefolk knew not how long they spent in that wretched place. They soon discovered their purpose there: they were to be subjects in torturous magical experiments, inflicted on them by a wizard with terrible power. The pain and terror of that place slowly drove Cor to madness, and for the first time in his life, he no longer thought of his fellow mousefolk, but only of his own survival. Knowing he stood no chance of escaping a place brimming with the arcane, he sought only for a means to grant himself the peace of death he so desperately desired. Within the chamber that served as his place of torment, he took the first opportunity that presented itself. As the wizard was momentarily distracted, he reached for one of the vials that lined the shelves along the walls. He drank the potion in a single swig, ready for whatever pain awaited him so long as it brought him his end. Instead, he found his already small form diminishing even further, bones snapping and flesh peeling away as he shrunk into the form of a common rat. With this transformation his mind was also altered. His thoughts quieted. He became keenly aware of the sights and smells of the room. An urge to hide himself from danger overwhelmed him. Squeezing through a crack in the stone wall, he eventually found his way outside the tower that had held him for so long. Following his nose, he set out in search of sustenance. Eventually, he found himself climbing onto a cart full of the most delicious scents. Slinking between bottles of dwarven whiskey, he burrowed blissfully into a crate filled with wheels of brie. Enjoying the feast of a lifetime, he hardly noticed as the crate jostled, and the cart on which it sat traversed the long road to the Last Rest Tavern.
Backstory
Small even for his kind, this young softpaw grew up in a family by the name of Findlespurr, surrounded by more brothers and sisters than he could count. They lived as part of an established community deep within the Darkwood, working in harmony with their neighbors to maintain the safety and prosperity of their warren. No one mousefolk stood above the rest; rather, they hunted and plied their crafts for the good of the collective, treating all as kin. When he came of age, he was brought under the tutelage of an elder and taught much of the lore and histories of his people. At the conclusion of his studies, he was allowed to choose a name for himself. He recalled the legends of Corin Thistlebrim, a great mousefolk hero with uncommon strength who wielded a shining morningstar, valiantly risking his life to defend his people from many the dangers of the forest as the first of their kind ventured into the Darkwood long ago. Inspired by these tales, the young mouse elected for himself the name Cor.
The mousefolk of his warren were welcome within the Druid's Circle, and often visited to trade with the elves there for food, herbal medicines, and other such goods as they did not produce themselves. Eager to serve the needs of his collective, Cor offered himself as guard and protector of the caravans that traveled to and from the Circle. He attended countless such ventures and became quite accomplished at handling the difficulties that often arose as well as fending off all manner of hostile creatures. Returning from one such venture, the caravan reached the eastern edge of the river that lay between them and their home, only to find that one of the ancient trees of the forest had fallen into the river, taking with it the bridge that served as their crossing. After a brief deliberation, they decided to travel north along the river, knowing that it narrowed as it approached the Dragonsbane mountains. They moved slowly, searching for a place they could ford the foamy rapids. At long last, they found a section of the river where the water quieted enough that they could swim across the stream. They emerged wet and shivering on the other side and made camp in the shadow of the mountains as the dusk settled around them. Exhausted, they slept huddled together by the fire. When they awoke, they were not met with the familiar warmth of the sunlight streaming through the trees, but instead found themselves trapped in the dark, within the cold stone walls of a dungeon.
Unable to count the passing days without sight of the sun, the mousefolk knew not how long they spent in that wretched place. They soon discovered their purpose there: they were to be subjects in torturous magical experiments, inflicted on them by a wizard with terrible power. The pain and terror of that place slowly drove Cor to madness, and for the first time in his life, he no longer thought of his fellow mousefolk, but only of his own survival. Knowing he stood no chance of escaping a place brimming with the arcane, he sought only for a means to grant himself the peace of death he so desperately desired. Within the chamber that served as his place of torment, he took the first opportunity that presented itself. As the wizard was momentarily distracted, he reached for one of the vials that lined the shelves along the walls. He drank the potion in a single swig, ready for whatever pain awaited him so long as it brought him his end. Instead, he found his already small form diminishing even further, bones snapping and flesh peeling away as he shrunk into the form of a common rat. With this transformation his mind was also altered. His thoughts quieted. He became keenly aware of the sights and smells of the room. An urge to hide himself from danger overwhelmed him. Squeezing through a crack in the stone wall, he eventually found his way outside the tower that had held him for so long. Following his nose, he set out in search of sustenance. Eventually, he found himself climbing onto a cart full of the most delicious scents. Slinking between bottles of dwarven whiskey, he burrowed blissfully into a crate filled with wheels of brie. Enjoying the feast of a lifetime, he hardly noticed as the crate jostled, and the cart on which it sat traversed the long road to the Last Rest Tavern.
Children
