Evets' Story
Hello, my name is Evets. It might not be much of a name, but it is the only one I have, so we will have to take it. I was born in the slums of Devardec about 114, only Vasari knows the time for sure. My mother was a prostitute and who knows who my father was. I don't care and all he cared about was a night with my mother. I guess that makes me a bastard, but if you have a problem with that, too bad! I surely didn't have any say in it, and Mum probably didn't either.
Growing up in a brothel is not the best way to start a life. Because I was a boy, Peter -- Mum's master, owner, keeper, whatever you call it -- would not feed me or care for me. Mum had to try to feed us both on the little food she was given. Peter hated me and always beat me when he could catch me. I soon learned to run fast, hide in places that were too filthy for him to look for me, and use my small size to my advantage. Mum "worked" at night and slept in the day so I soon took to the streets. The only school I ever attended was the great school of life. It's a hard school, and the grades are live or die. I lived.
One night when I was about ten, as I slept under Mum's bed, I heard her start to scream and cry. I snuck a peek because I was worried about her. She had often cried, but not until her customers were gone, and she had never screamed. It was a sight I have tried to forget, but deep down know I never will. This beast of a man seemingly could not take pleasure without someone else taking pain. He had cut her body all over, not deep, but enough to bleed very much. I knew if I tried to interfere he would kill me, so I waited in silent agony. After a while he got tired of cutting her and went to take his pleasure of her. Somehow I knew this was my best chance. His knife had been set on the bed and it fell off as he took her. He seemed to be enjoying her blood as much as the sex, but he didn't like seeing his own when I slashed open his throat. I tried as best I could to save Mum, but I don't think she had any desire to live, and she died in my arms. I left her there and went to see Peter. I told him what happened, expecting him to be happy. He was not! He raged at me for being so stupid as to cause the loss of a customer. He could have prevented this, but all he cared about was his gold. He came after me to beat me, expecting me to run like always. It wasn't a good night for expectations. I still had the knife and I caught him off-balance by charging him. I managed to get inside his arms and drove the knife into his chest. It got stuck and Peter grabbed me before I could get it out.
He was so enraged that he didn't seem to notice the knife wound and started crushing me in a bear hug. It was this which saved my life and ended his. His actions forced the knife deeper, and it must have hit a vital organ, because he died before he could kill me. He broke a couple of my ribs and my left arm somehow, so I was not in too good of shape. Still, I knew my life was worth nothing if I didn't escape, so I ran to the streets.
My "college" years on the streets were unpleasant. I had not been able to save my knife after the fight, but same days later I found a knife with a broken blade that a thief had lost in an ally. It was still long enough to be useful, so I kept it. Over the next four years I stole, begged, and fought for my life. I ate things a dog would have rejected. I slept with rats and lice. I made a club and robbed drunks for coppers to buy a little bread. With this kind of life you either die or get tough. I got tough, and proud. I know it sounds strange to speak of pride when I did the things I did, but I was proud. After all, I had killed 2 men by the time I was ten. I got to the point where I thought I could handle anything.
This all changed when I was about 14. I was following an old man down a dark street to relieve him of his worldly possessions. I finally got close enough to rush him, but when I did my plans fell apart. I swung my club at his head with all my strength, but without even turning around he dodged and it was stopped by his forearm. I pulled my knife from my belt as he turned around. When I stabbed at him he caught the blade in his bare hand without a cut. As he twisted my knife out of my hand, I started to worry. Seconds later I was too busy hurting to worry. The next few minutes were a blur of hands, fists, and feet landing on my body with great force. My last conscious thought was "This is not going to be a good night!"
When I awoke, I knew only pain and that I was no longer in the city. When I started groaning the old man came to me and said, "You may call me Master." I made some smart remark and picked myself up off the floor wondering what hit me. As I realized Master had been the one, I attacked him. Not a bright move. The next time I woke, I called him Master, and did whatever he said.
The next few years he made me do all kinds of debasing jobs. If I did not do as he said or did not a good enough job to suit him, he would beat me. However, he always allowed me to try to block or dodge his blows. It was like trying to block the wind! Many of the blows that put me on the ground I never saw, but I was too proud to give up.
After about two years of this he came to me and told me that I had paid for the crime of trying to rob him, and I could go if I wished. Go? Go where? Then he told me that I had a spirit he admired, and I could stay as a servant and a student if I wished. It took quite a while, but I came to love him as the father I had never had. He taught me how to fight, and when not to. I learned to use my fists and feet as weapons, and to use a katana. He had a beautiful Ivory hilted katana he said his father had given him. We used practice swords, but sometimes he would let me use it to practice solo. What a weapon!
Those were good times. Master taught me how to behave in polite company, and how to react in impolite company. I learned more from him than he thought he had taught. I learned to forgive, and decided to devote my life to help any who asked, if I had it in my power to do so.
Unfortunately, all good times seem to end. One day when I was about eighteen as I was working on the roof of a shed near the North fields I saw four men entering the house. Something about them didn't seem right, so I ran home. When I opened the door three of the men attacked Master while the fourth blocked me from coming in. They were good, but Master was much better. One of them went down before I even went into action. The one I faced had a staff and it took me several moments to dispatch him. I leaped to the weapon rack and grabbed Master's katana. As I turned I saw the last villain fall, his skull shattered by Master's open hand. I relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief that it was over. Just then the window shattered and a crossbow bolt thudded into Master's shoulder. I jumped through the casement and charged the crossbowman.
As I neared, he drew a long sword and attacked. I would like to say it was a classic sword battle, but that would be far from the truth. In my rage I let loose a flurry of blows, and it was all he could do to deflect them. In the end it was my youth that killed him, and my rage. He tired, and finally could no longer block my blows. I struck his sword arm a glancing blow and he dropped his weapon. I had given him several mortal wounds before he fell down. Panting, I returned to tell Master of my work. When I reentered the house I saw him collapsed, and barely breathing. I rushed to his side to aid him. When I reached him he said to me, "Beware pride, it is destruction." He then pointed to the katana and gasped with his last breath, "Never dishonor it, my son."
I buried him, and left to find my own fortune, vowing to do for others as he had for me. I returned to Devardec to begin my new life.
"Master I now make this vow to your spirit to guard against my pride -- I will no longer speak of myself as 'I.' May you have the peace in death you strove for in life, but never obtained."
Soon after this one came upon a temple in Devardec, where all there seemed to have goals much like his own, and the fighting styles of Master were taught. One joined them and learned much from them, but something was missing. My brothers and sisters in the guild encouraged one to join a temple, but one could not decide which temple. Any whom he had ever loved were dead, and fate had not seemed to be kind to him.
One thought long and hard about this decision, fearing anything done in haste would not be right. One had always enjoyed learning new things, and a good debate was among my favorite pastimes, so you cannot imagine how one felt when he first heard of a Temple of Thought and Inspiration. One immediately began to learn all he could of this wonderful temple, and the more he learned, the more he knew it was right for him.
One was told to go to the jewelry shop in Devardec and someone would meet him there. When one got there he saw the dirtiest dwarf he had ever seen in his life. She introduced herself as Snazzle and after an interview one joined the temple of Thought and Inspiration!