March 24th, 2002
Locker of Memories - By Raye
Baron Urian, the Heroic Slayer of a Thousand Janitors, wandered into
the dusty old storage building in the northern part of Medievia Square.
He wandered over to the clerk, an old balding man dressed in a gray
smock. The clerk quickly glanced down at Urian's claim check.
"I'm sorry sir, but you'll have to pay some back rent on your locker.
Your tab'll come to..." he glanced at a sign on the counter. "500,000
Feeling his bank account growing ever smaller, Urian forked over the
cash and dragged his bulging portable hole to a large locker, number 278.
He pulled it open and was surprised as a huge cloud of dust flew into
his face. With may a sputtering cough and a curse, he rubbed the dust
from his eyes and stared inside. The entire thing was jammed full of,
from what the hero could see, a huge amount of junk which he had put away
and forgotten about. Seeing as he couldn't fit even a single ring or
small gemstone into the cluttered storage space, Urian decided to take
upon himself the tedious task of rooting out those items he would never
use and donating them to the less fortunate.
The hero rolled up his sleeves and reached his hand into the very
depths of the locker, hoping against all hopes that there was nothing back
there that would bite him. The very first thing he pulled out was a
battered old leather tunic, a piece of the first equipment he had received
when he entered the realms so very long ago. He scratched his head and
thought back to when this armor was the best he could manage to use.
"Sorry kid. There isn't enough money here for you to purchase this,"
Alamar the shopkeeper said, snatching back a piece of bronze armor from
his customer's hot hands.
Urian the Pincher glanced mournfully at the small pile of gold on
Harash's counter. He ran his hands over his leather tunic. "Aw... c'mon.
"Out, kid. Get outta here before I call the guards on ya. C'mon!
C'mon!" the shopkeeper pushed Urian out the door before he could react, then
hurled his money out with him. The poor thief scrambled for every last
piece of spare change until his thin purse was at least a little bit
full once more.
With a sigh, he wandered off into the crowded marketplace of Medievia.
Soon, he vowed, he would be able to buy a whole new set of armor, the
best the shops of the land had to offer.
Urian shook his head clear as he glanced back at his bulging locker.
Thoughtfully, he regarded the tunic in his hands. Even though it was
crumbling with age, he couldn't seem to bear to toss it to the ground
before him and send it out for others to use. Instead, the hero reached into
the locker again and tossed out a cloak interlaced with icy crystals
and shoved the tunic into the dusty expanse once more.
With another shudder, he reached deep into the locker and after
searching blindly for a moment grasped around another object. With a mighty
tug he pulled free a small dagger, its blade rusted from the spilt blood
of the monsters he had slain.
Urian regarded the weapon. Though it seemed a flimsy and useless
instrument of warfare now, in the past it had been his best friend. This was
the weapon he emptied the earnings from his first trade run on.
"RUUNNNNN!" roared the leader of the wagon caravan.
Urian the Thief whipped his head around, peering through the pouring
rain in an attempt to spot the monsters whom had set themselves upon the
hapless group of young traders.
"I- I can't see! Which way do we go?" he cried into the confusion.
"LEAVE THE WAGONS! RUN!" shouted the leader. "SPLIT UP-"
The distinct crack of a portal closing cut the shout short. Frantic
cries were replaced instead by the fearful sounds of some terrible
creatures rushing at top speed towards where Urian stood. Frightened and
confused, he lifted his daggers and adjusted his shiny armor. Another one of
their group, a cleric by the name of Orig, stood beside him. The holy
man was trembling in fear.
"We- we're not gonna die, are we? Please tell me-" whispered the cleric
as he glanced around. The horses pulling the wagons whinnied in fear as
the beasts drew near.
"Cleric... don't you have any spells that can help us? Anything?" said
Urian. "Keep your head together... please..."
Orig nodded and chanted rapidly. "Bet-Bet Sanct. Bet Sanct," A warm
white aura wrapped itself around the two adventurer's bodies. The beasts
drew still nearer; Urian could hear their breath now and could see their
glowing eyes in the dim light.
In an instant they were upon the caravan: ten dogs, if they could be
called that. These were not things of the mortal world. Half man and half
beast, the spectral hounds charged down the path and attacked the two
What followed was a swift melee, a grim dance of death which, in the
end, left only the cleric and the thief standing. Though weary and
covered in bleeding wounds, they managed to find the strength to run down the
path and away from the defeated roars of the demonic beast whom had
spawned the hounds.
They arrived at the city of Tear, as it was then called, a day later,
exhausted and frightened. After unloading their freight, Urian and Orig
found themselves locked in a unique dilemma- what were they going to do
with so much gold? As the two parted ways, Urian overheard a courier
asking for bids on an excellent dagger. With a shrug, the thief decided
to unload some of his money.
The hero smiled fondly at the old blade. So many memories from such a
flimsy piece of steel! He shrugged as he shoved it back into the locker.
Something else would have to be sacrificed for the sake of that dagger.
He grabbed a fistful of knives, daggers, and traps and sacrificed them
to the gods. No use for them now- after all, he could make his own
traps at a moment's notice at his level of skill.
Cleaning continued at a rapid pace until Urian came across another
trinket which piqued his memory. A large, crushed egg from deep within one
of the most dangerous areas of Medievia rested before him. As he
recalled, it was from his first foray into the place.
Squire Urian the Assassin grinned evilly as the leader of his clan
marched the small group of adventurers farther into the dark, twisting
tunnels of the catacombs. His sack bulged with eggs that would net him
quite a few interesting deals back on the surface.
"What's so funny?" asked his companion, Orig the Greater Demon Slayer.
They spoke through a mind link that had been set up between members of
the group to bypass the strange echoes that rang through the caverns.
"Nothing, nothing. This place is fun, that's all". Urian thought back
Orig rolled his eyes. "Right. You'll see."
"Quiet, you two!" snapped the leader. "Keep your eyes and your ears
open. Watch for the wind."
"Wind? What wind?" questioned Urian. He rubbed his head as he ran into
a stalactite, then rushed to keep up with the group. To his surprise,
they were all sitting down, each and every one of them looking
terrified. "What's going on?"
A sudden roar answered his inquiry. Huge gusts of wind shot down the
cavern ahead, slamming the thief into the rocky cavern walls. After what
seemed like an eternity of pain and chaotic noise, the winds finally
passed on, leaving a battered Urian to slump to the ground, panting and
covered in eggs.
"Told ya so." An unharmed Orig thought at the humiliated thief. He
laughed, creating an eerie echo which passed through the lonely caverns and
into the unknown.
Urian glanced at the egg in his arms. Somehow, in some strange way, he
just couldn't seem to part with this little souvenir. Instead, he
tossed away some treasure that he had found in one region or another, which
one he couldn't remember.
The hero's locker was almost empty now. Still, he searched through the
last few layers of random objects, those last pieces of the mosaic that
was his adventuring life. Some of the objects were shiny and almost
new, others were quite worn down. After a bit more cleaning, Urian drew
out one of his most treasured objects. He grinned, having almost
forgotten about this unique piece of his history.
In his hand was a ball of gray cracked glass. Such a small object had
been obtained at such a great cost after a huge struggle. For this was
no ordinary extinguished light- this was the light of a dragon, a dragon
which he, with his own two hands, had slain.
"Look out!" cried Baron Urian the Overlord.
He ducked just as the huge dragon swung its tail around, attempting to
knock away his assailants. Urian, along with a large group of heroes
and powerful fighters and mages, had chased the dragon from its lair and
perused it to the small town where the stood. The dragon vented its
fury by striking out at the buildings of the place, harming innocent
civilians and wreaking havoc wherever it went.
He had been through many adventures in the past few years. His restless
spirit had not allowed him to stay in one profession; Urian had since
become a cleric and a mage. Now as a warrior he was strong, though still
not nearly strong enough to defeat a dragon on his own.
The dragon roared in triumph as it felled yet another member of the
warrior's group. He shuddered in disgust as still another fell to
desperate swipes of the dragon's claws. With every movement, the wounded beast
dropped a bit of blood onto the cobblestone street on which it stood,
splashing the weary combatants.
"Volingak the dragon! You'll be my death yet," murmured Urian as he
lunged toward the winged animal, his two-handed sword held high. With a
battle cry he plunged the blade through a gap in the dragon's defense and
deep into its breast.
The dragon let out a final shrieking roar and toppled, a huge bundle of
muscles and scales, over to the streets below. When the dust cleared, a
bewildered Urian was left standing between two of the mighty beast's
claws, his blade at his side. A cheer rose from the ragged group: the
mighty dragon Volingak had been slain!
Cheers from the victorious fell on deaf ears. Urian felt strong,
incredibly more powerful than he had been only a few moments before. With a
gasp, he let his blade drop from his hands and sunk to his knees.
Suddenly, a swirling mist shot up from the ground. Urian shuddered and
fell backward, then looked up to see a glowing figure standing before
him. The face was unmistakable.
"Orig? Is that you? What are you...?"
Orig smiled down on the cowering Urian. He opened a clenched fist and
extended his hand toward the warrior.
"I thought you might want this. It's from the dragon, a little
something to remember the day you became a hero by," said Orig.
Urian accepted the little ball of light with trembling hands. "I'm- I'm
a hero? Are... what are you?"
Orig chuckled softly. "I am a god. I built parts of this world,
creating people and places from nothing more than dust and water, and," he
tapped his head, "a little imagination."
With a warm smile, Urian stood and grabbed his sword. Immediately, he
was mobbed by the other warriors. Orig chuckled and faded away into the
sunny day, leaving Urian to bask in his newfound fame.
Smiling fondly, Urian placed the cracked ball of gray glass next to his
other valued items, beside the tunic, the egg, and the dagger. He was
just about to shut his locker and walk away when a voice called out from
"Say! You're a hero, aren't you? What's with all of that junk, then?"
asked a young man dressed in a battered leather tunic, his arms crossed
over his chest.
Urian simply smiled. "You wouldn't understand. Not yet, anyway. You
see, the most valuable items aren't those that cost the most- they're the
ones with the best memories attached."
With that, he shut the battered locker and walked out of the storage
building to make a few new memories.
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