Character - Marcel

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  Marcel with his brother Till

  Marcel Swiftbarrel-Lindemann
• Halfling Barbarian 3
• Neutral Good

The halfling walked through Runedar, scuffing his feet along the ground as he went. The shield on his back and the weapons hanging from his belt signaled those he encountered to step aside and let him pass, despite the fact that he was smaller than most of them.

It was a bad-mood day, a day when it felt like the gods frowned on him. It should have been a great-mood day. He had just gotten home from an adventure with his foster brother and his friends. They had found and saved the three dwarves they were looking for, ran off the bad guy, gotten information about some danger to the people at risk, and earned a pretty good reward for doing so. 

So why did Marcel feel disappointed? He had tried so hard to be responsible and focus on protecting his party and solving the puzzles. But it just made his head hurt. You know what the best part of it was? Fighting the goblins. He wished they had fought the zombies, but instead they had left to get the dwarf they'd rescued out of danger. He bet they could have fought the zombies and also rescued the dwarf. What if there had been treasure just on the other side of that door where the zombies were? Were those zombies now a danger to the people that lived near there? Should they go back to take the zombies out?

Marcel's feet led him along until he was brought up short by two sounds that didn't seem to go together - the clash of weapons, and feminine laughter. Stopping to look around, he realized that both were coming from behind a nearby temple. Looking around, he realized he wasn't sure exactly where he was, and there wasn't anyone else on the street.

The temple was a small one, and the sign out front bore the flaming greatsword symbol of Haela Brightaxe. A happy omen, he thought, as the Luckmaiden's dwarven followers had a history of helping out halflings. Curious, Marcel made his way up to the building - little more than a wooden shed, and the door was open, luring him inside. He found a small room with a few tables and chairs, weapons and armor piled haphazardly on the tables, a few bedrolls and backpacks tossed in the corner. The door in the back was open, though, and it's from there he heard loud voices and louder clashes of weaponry. The temple's yard was less haphazard than its interior, set up for weapons training and sparring. A dozen dwarven women filled the yard, most of them cheering on the three fighting in the middle. Marcel watched them, marveling at the technique and power they showed. 

"It is a delight, is it not, to see them so enjoying themselves?" The voice came from one side, and Marcel turned to see an older man, also a dwarf, with a huge smile on his face. His arms were bare, showing off elaborate scars covering his forearms. "I'm Bastien, and I have the honor of training these kaxanar. Are you interested in training with us? Do you follow the Lady of the Fray?"

"I don't really follow... I mean, I honor all the gods, of course, but I don't really follow any one in particular." Marcel knew his answer was weak, but the priest had caught him off-guard. "Can anyone train here? Why are they so happy?" 

Bastien looked carefully at Marcel's face, then took him by one arm and turned him around. "I don't think you're ready for training right now. How about a drink, and you can tell me what led you here?"

Marcel let himself be guided inside. Moving some gear off a rickety-looking chair, Bastien soon had him comfortable, with a large mug of weak ale filling his hands. Something about the older dwarf relaxed the halfling, and it wasn't long before he had spilled out the story of his last adventure, and the misgivings he'd been left with. 

When he finished, Bastien was quiet for several minutes. But when he did speak, he leaned forward until his nose nearly touched Marcel's. "Have you considered, my son, that being responsible and solving puzzles isn't your job? You're taking away opportunities for your brother and your friends to make those decisions, and you're making yourself unhappy trying to do a job that isn't yours and that you perhaps aren't suited for. Tell me, what moment during your adventure made you feel the most alive?"

Marcel didn't even have to think about that. "Fighting the goblins," he answered.

"Then perhaps you should be fighting more goblins. Or zombies," came Bastien's answer.

Marcel started to think on that answer, but before he could settle into his thinking, Bastien yanked him out of the chair and back into the fighting yard. "Stop thinking so hard, and fight!" Addressing the women out back sparring, he called out, "Ladies, this young man needs to burn some energy and consider the gods' plan for him. Please keep him occupied for a little while." Then he shoved Marcel out into the center of the ring, where several of the women formed a circle around him.

The next hour was a whirlwind of movement. First one, then two, then three of the bloodmaidens at a time challenged him, forcing him to concentrate on his technique. Without trying, he slipped into a state where he knew he was fighting at his prime. Marcel had experienced this state before, but he had been fully angry at the time. Now, this state was backed by the laughter of his opponents, and he laughed along with them. He realized that his skills had grown quite a bit since the last time he had fought against other skilled people, and not just local small monsters.

His warhammer began to glow, and one of those watching cried out, "the blessings of the Luckmaiden are on your weapon!" The next hit he landed blew his partner across the ring, doing easily twice the damage he normally expected. He dropped his weapon, concerned about the dwarven woman, who was not moving. But one of her fellow kaxanar was already laying hands on her, casting a healing spell, and she soon sat up, little the worse for wear.

Bastien appeared at Marcel's shoulder. "It seems Haela Brightaxe smiles upon your efforts, my friend. She blesses you with her luck in battle, and increases the effectiveness of your weapon. How do you feel?"

Marcel thought. "I feel peaceful, in a way I know I was missing when I walked in here. And I remember now how much fun it is to fight. My body is tired, but I feel satisfied about it. Thank you, Bastien. And thank you, ladies, too," he said to the bloodmaidens, who had gathered around. Taking a handaxe off his belt, he offered it to Bastien as tribute to the temple. "I won't forget to take joy in my fighting," he promised. "And I'll let my companions do what they do best, too."

Feeling lighter than he had in many days, Marcel left the temple, stepping lightly down the street, searching for signs to let him know where he was. He had to get to the Tavern on the Green so that he could tell his brother about his day. And who knows? Maybe a barfight would break out tonight; that would be fun.