Approved WK Bio - Ransom Terrin (CC'ed by shai'tan)

[Lwena]

Ransom Terrin

 

Age: 18 nearly 19

From: Illian by birth, everywhere by practice

Hair: Long, wild and brown

Eyes: Dark Brown at first, Golden brown now.

Height: 6'

Weight: 185

 

 

Sighing, Cal Terrin surveyed the dank room before him, blanching at the sight that presented itself. The mold in the walls of the decaying tenement produced an odor that threatened to make him wretch. However that smell was nothing compared to the stench of death wafting across the room on the cool breeze blowing in through the window. Examining the room more closely he realized that what he had thought was a pile of blankets in the corner were actually bodies. Removing a handkerchief from his pocket he wondered again at what had compelled him to come into this burnt out husk of a farm in the middle of the Illian country side. Perhaps it was his own morbid curiosity, or a fleeting hope of discovering something of value. Whatever it had been, Cal couldn't shake the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach that said he would regret his decision.

 

Pushing the ball of cold from his mind, Cal crossed the odiferous room, drawing the kerchief to cover his mouth and nose, and did his best to make certain the patched cloak he wore touched nothing. Kneeling over the bodies, it was clear that they had been trying to escape through the window, but the flames must have overtaken the building too quickly. Moving from the room, he looked through what remained of the house, but there was nothing there. Heading for the door, he decided to be on his way. Stepping back out of the house he stopped dead and suddenly wished he had gone out the back.

 

Standing not 10 feet away from him, poking through the dirt with a stick was the most sullen looking wretch he'd ever seen. The lad, It was a lad, wasn't it?, couldn't have seen much past his fourth year. Struggling against his conscious, Cal began to slowly sidle away from the house, hoping the whelp wouldn't see him. But, as he turned and began his silent progress to the road he felt the pitiful gaze settle on his back and knew he had been caught. Facing the… brat he barked gruffly, "What do you want?" Then the crying began…

 

And it didn't stop. For two years the crying continued well into each night. To Cal it seemed as if it went on forever. His eyes constantly hurt. His body screamed for sleep, and his wallet for coin, but he got neither. But what suffered most was his stomach. The brat was constantly ravenous, eating what seemed a King's ransom in food. It was all Cal could do to keep the child fed. His skills were pushed to their very limits, and the Gleeman's cloak began to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

 

But the third year rolled around, and things began to get easier. The whelp was strong enough to carry things now, though he was eating less. The crying stopped, but was replaced with the staring. The Light blasted brat never took his eyes off of him. Every moment the thing was awake Cal could feel his eyes on him, and it began to drive him insane.

 

Then things took a turn for the worse. One night, after stepping out for a moment to relieve himself, Cal returned to the common room of the inn where he had been performing and saw a crowd taking up a small corner of the room. Stepping over, he shouldered his way through the crowd to see what all the fuss was about. The bloody child was juggling… JUGGLING! And with his balls of all things! That was it.

 

Seizing the child up by the collar, Cal dragged him up the stairs to their room and laid into the boy. A sore hand, two fits of crying, and several hours later, Cal looked across the room at the silently heaving figure of the pant-less brat and an idea slowly presented itself. It began with a twinkle in his eye and spread out into his face, traveling down his lips to his spine and out into his extremities. The tingling brilliance of the idea was orgasmic in its overwhelming beauty.

 

Rising from his chair he approached the brat, I'll need to give him a name… , and growled, "Put your breeches back on… Ransom. That's what you'll be called from now on." After the brat did as he was told, Cal began to pace. "Here's the plan. I'm going to teach you to be a gleeman. The stories, the tumbling, the music, everything. But in return, you are going to go to a different tavern every night and perform until I come a get you. Any money you make goes to me. Are we clear?" Seeing the whelp's teary eyed nod he continued. "The faster you pick things up, the faster I'll teach you. The more you earn, the more I'll feed you. It's well past time you earned your keep. Now, sleep brat. I have dinner to earn."

 

*****

 

The sunlight streaming through the window battered against the lad's eyes and drove him further under the covers in search blissful sleep. That elusive beast was not to be found, however, as the blankets were torn from his body. Rolling into a ball, he prayed that Cal would let him sleep for a bit longer before thrusting him out into the city to do his chores. However the voice which greeted his ears was not the rough grating that belonged to his 'father'. Rolling over he blinked through the dazzling sunlight and found himself staring up into the piercing blue eyes of a serving wench.

 

He barely heard the words, and had to ask her to repeat them several times, and even then he couldn't believe them. Cal… dead… that bastard couldn't die. He was always going to be there. Ransom would always have to work for him… would always have to pay him for the price of being saved. "No he's not."

It was out before he realized it, and the wench's eyes went sharp with anger. Dragging him down the stairs in a manner he was, by now, quite accustomed to, she pointed to the table where the bloated bastard sat.

 

Ransom stood staring, his jaw making a dull thud as it bounced off the floor. Dragging himself closer to the chair he examined the corpulent corpse of his one time father, and felt for the life beat. After a second or two he felt nothing and jerked his hand back rapidly from the still warm body. Poking the lard a few times to be certain, he turned to the serving wench, grabbed her by the arms and planted a great wet kiss of relief on her. Laughing at her the dumbfounded stare he received, he turned about, checking the daggers he had hidden in his cloak, and walked from the Rusty Nail, ignoring the shouts about payment that followed him into the street.

 

*****

 

Ransom's dreams had been hounded. Literally. They were filled with large shaggy puppies trying to talk to him. He was convinced they wished to make him their leader, and he relished the dreams. They brought joy into a mind that had only known pain for the longest time. Ransom was happy in the dreams. And it showed in the bounce to his step, the tilt of his head, and the swing of his cape.

 

*****

 

Stepping into the Jilted Lover, Ransom's eyes swept the dingy floor for the innkeeper. His eyes settling on the plump woman behind the bar, he swaggered up to the bar and pitched his most devilish grin. The woman returned his smile rapidly, but her shimmering teeth were bared, not in a smile, but in a frightful snarl. Her eyes gone wide, she screamed and ran into the back shouting for her husband. Ransom was bombarded with a profound confusement and turned to the patrons of the bar for sympathy.

 

However, what he found was several large men wielding cudgels, their arms the size of his legs. He felt himself being lifted, though his vision was a sea of arms. The world shifted rapidly around him as he felt himself fly head over heels through the air and tumbled out into the street. Coming to a stop against the stone of the building across the way, Ransom couldn't help but puzzle over why the world was upside down. Struggling to right himself, he attempted to figure out what that ringing was.

 

After a strenuous battle, Ransom stood triumphantly in the street and brushed himself off, checking to see that his hidden daggers were still in place. He couldn't understand why an inn would turn down a gleeman, let alone toss him out into the street, but the feeling of welcome he felt drifting out from the woods erased thoughts of rejection and confusion from his mind and replaced them with thoughts of joy and wonderment. Ambling out of the village he followed the thoughts into the woods, not concerned with what might be awaiting him.

[Liitha]

i like it

[Ghaul]

Cross-checked

[Guest Arie Ronshor]

*A very simple WIDE grin*

[Taei]

*bumping back into order*