Tales from Leafside
Gauntlets of Ogre Power
Silas sat in a dank, dark tavern room listening to the rain and slow rumbling thunder outside. Occasionally, the lightning would be bright enough to light up the room showing a solitary figure sitting in a chair. He had a dagger in one hand; a smooth black stone in the other. Although his cloak and leather armor were still damp and he should have been cold, the blood in his veins felt as if it was full of power, providing warmth; it seemed to boil inside him. His emotions were overflowing with anger, hate and fury. Moments like this made him wish he had someone he could confide in. He was alone.
Of course, he was never really alone. There was routinely the low, grating voice from within; not too unlike the sound of the thunder outside. The voice with no name commanded that he serve. The voice brought on the rage and struggle for internal control. He had heard it a few times as a child but often couldn’t fully understand. Yet the voice was here once again. A sharp contrast to the laughter and comradery echoed through the common room just outside the door. He tried to remember the last time he laughed or even cried for that matter. It had been too long.
It would have been the night his life changed forever; the night his family disappeared. He returned home from a late night, turned early morning, with his friends to find his wife and twin sons gone, without a trace. Sure there had been some disagreements, seemingly more every day, but he never thought she would leave. She had left without saying a word.
Now it was several months later. He had been searching from town to town in hopes someone would recognize the description of his family he had locked into his mind. His hope was gone. He was just following the voice now. And the voice had led him here.
Silas rubbed the stone his father had given him before he died. Over the years, rubbing it gave him comfort but it seemed to have lost its magic. He placed the stone on the wooden floor in front of him. He opened his now free hand and sliced his palm with his dagger. The blood pooled in his hand before he made a fist and placed it above the stone. As each drop of blood fell on the stone, it sizzled and a fiery rune appeared. The red hue from the stone fully lit the room. His eyes rolled back in his head as the smell of burnt wood and blood filled the room. The voice became louder, stronger, clearer… a knock at the door broke his concentration.
Silas is a 25 year old human. He has short brown hair and is medium build. His only distinguishing feature is his silver eyes.