I've decided to do some short stories about RoM. It would be pretty boss if we had some short stories in one big (or small) collection to release with the game. Perhaps "Tales from a Forgotten Realm" could become the story collection. Anyway, on with the story. This one is about Osric and takes place in Sudbaya sometime before the events of RoM.
“And so the people of Maris were spared from the horrors of the goblin horde, and men, women and children could sleep again at night knowing that they were safe.”
The crowd of children began applauding and shouting with approval. Osric stood up and gave his best bow.
“Thank you, thank you. I'm here all week!”
He turned swiftly to walk away, but stopped suddenly when he felt a tug on his trousers. He looked down at the small boy. “Is it true that you stopped a whale from eating the queen of Grathor?” Osric smiled, trying for the life of him to remember the incident.
“Oh...um...yes, so I did,” he said, “and, moreover, I saved her from the great blight of '86, which killed almost a thousand people, but that is another tale.” Osric smiled, took another bow and began to walk away once more. But once again his stride was interrupted by a tug on his trousers. Looking down, he saw that it was the very same boy from before.
“What now?”, he said, in a half annoyed, half inquisitive tone. “Is it true that you saved a village from trolls by riding in on the back of a dragon to rescue them?” Osric sighed. “Yes, mostly true. Now if you don't mind, I have a cart to catch.” Osric spun swiftly around and began to walk briskly towards the village, but once again he was stopped by that all-too-familiar tug on his trousers.
“Now listen here boy, I-” Osric was surprised that the little boy had been replaced by a gnome. “Sorry,” Osric quickly blurted out, “thought you were someone else.” The gnome cleared his throat. “I am sorry to bother you Mr Silas, but the Jarless of Thorim wishes to see you, it is a matter of some importance.”
Osric was quite shocked. He was a good bard, he knew that, but to be summoned by the Jarless of Thorim, royalty, was something else entirely. Osric smiled at the gnome, “I'll be there right away!” The gnome bowed and walked away, muttering to himself. Osric attempted to brush off his clothes with his hand, unsuccessfully He soon gave up and turned around to walk towards the village once more. This time, he actually did have a cart to catch.
Osric looked out of the small cart window. The ice plains stretched far off into eternity where they met the setting sun, bathing the plains in a blood red, silky pattern. Through the other window, Osric could see the rocky beach where it met the ocean and its slow, rythmic waves. Night had all but taken over by the time Osric's cart had arrived through the whitewashed stone walls of Thorim. Inside those walls, the city was alive with the sound of the exotic merchants and rich nobility, coupled with the sound of the cursing cart drivers and significantly less affluent merchants.
Osric's cart pulled to a sudden stop in front of a very poorly lit building. He paid the grumbling cart driver and grabbed his lute before heading towards the building, the palace of Thorim. He stopped in front of the large wooden doors, composed himself, and knocked. The sound of footsteps grew louder and louder until the door opened and Osric was greeted by the sight of an old Nyrdic butler. "Good evening serah, the Jarless has been expecting you." Osric was lost for words, he had never really mastered the complicated rituals and customs surrounding nobles and royalty. "You will meet the Jarless tommorow morning. Shall I show you to your room serah?" Osric nodded, "Um...yes, please...um, thank you?"
As Osric followed the old butler through the palace. He was awestruck. Every time he saw something, be it a painting, statue or piece of architecture, it set the new record for most impressive object ever. By the time he had reached his room, Osric had seen enough art to fill the Kingstown museum, the largest museum in Grathor, twice.
Osric's room alone could trump most of the world's private collections. Every inch of floor, wall and ceiling was covered in thick, fuzzy tapestries. The curtains were made of a pure, golden silk and the furniture was made of a dark, smooth mahogany with assorted gold, ivory and velvet bits sticking out in a somewhat artistic way. A huge chandelier hung down and bathed the room in a warm, golden light. But what impressed Osric the most was the bed. It was huge, large enough to house a years supply of grain for the town of Norda. It had an enormous matress which looked more comfortable than a bed of silk and velvet to a man who has spent his whole life sleeping on a bed of red hot nails. It was surrounded by presumably golden railings, encrusted with gems, only one of which could set a man for life. The en-suite bathroom could only be described as a sea of marble and pearls.
Clearly, this room was expensive. In fact, just thinking about all the money that went into it made Osric sweat. Osric's thoughts on finance were blown away by the old butlers gentle, yet imposing voice. "Breakfast will be at eight on the clock and you will meet the Jarless at half an hour past nine." Osric nodded, unsure of what to say. The butler left the room, ending the akward silence. Osric, still in a sort of shock, blew out the candles in the chandelier and crept into the dark depths of the bedding.