kobold, and kobolds were still rather small compared
to most things in this world. Indeed, the last two moons of training had
changed him, for a kobold caught unaware often was a dead kobold.
Jerrig was an outsider to most of his peers, never
fully accepted in anyone’s social circle. Certainly his cousin Durik was kind
to him, always watching out for him and such. And though he could tell Durik,
and to some degree the other yearlings, were helpful to him, none of them had really
taken him in and included him in their activities or made him their friend.
Considering his history, however, he couldn’t blame them.
It had not been long since he had passed through a
time of extreme turmoil in his life. As if the coming of age had not been
enough with the raging hormones and great physical changes it brought, several
other stranger things had happened to him. It had all started about the same
time the coming of age had occurred, more than two years now in the past.
About once or twice a day, usually when beginning to relax, he could feel a
surge of energy begin to form in his head.
At first, he’d not known how to control it, and
after a couple of months of this, the problem only got worse. One night as he
lay trying to get to sleep in his bed, he had felt a surge of energy stronger
than any other before. Not knowing how to control it, he had begun to cry out
for his mother. Instead of sound, however, a pure wave of force seemed to project
from his hand, shredding a hole straight through the curtain that surrounded
his bed in their dugout house.
His parents had not believed his story, nor did
they understand why their son had ‘become so clumsy,’ breaking pots, chairs,
and on one instance shattering a pitcher of root tea while reaching for it
during a quiet, late summer evening story-telling. What no one had noticed was
that his hand had been an arm’s length from it.
For a time, Jerrig had not slept except when he
was so exhausted that he could fall asleep immediately. He had found that,
when exhausted and weak, the energy would not come. After a couple of weeks of
this, he had been helping his father as an apprentice in his leather shop when
he stopped to rest for a minute. Almost without warning, the energy had welled
up within him and burst forth, cracking the cauldron his father used to boil
leather and throwing it onto its side. The hot oil had spilled throughout the
entire shop, scalding two warriors that had been in the shop looking at his
father’s goods. Jerrig had felt like his world was coming to an end.
Exhausted from the release of so much energy and
frightened by the accident, Jerrig had run from the scene of the accident out
of the caverns and into the wilderness, and continued running until he was far
from home. For several months he had lived in the forest, using his limited
knowledge of the wilderness to live off the land. That time in the forest had
taught him much, and the fact that he’d stayed out there alone had gained him
some semblance of self-confidence, despite narrowly escaping being eaten by
giant hunter ants, despite almost having been found and killed by a raiding
party of orcs, and especially despite his poor ability to feed, warm, and
protect himself.
After many moons had passed and the cool winds of
winter had come, he had returned to the gen. This time, however, Jerrig had
finally gained a measure of control over this power. As he had explained what
had happened that day in his father’s shop to his father’s warrior group
leader, he had been called a liar and only under condition that he never speak
of this power again was he allowed to enter the year of training and
participate in the Trials of Caste. From that time forth, there had been only
a couple of instances where he’d not been able to control the energy, both of
which, fortunately, had been while no one else was around.
As time passed, Jerrig not only learned to
to most things in this world. Indeed, the last two moons of training had
changed him, for a kobold caught unaware often was a dead kobold.
Jerrig was an outsider to most of his peers, never
fully accepted in anyone’s social circle. Certainly his cousin Durik was kind
to him, always watching out for him and such. And though he could tell Durik,
and to some degree the other yearlings, were helpful to him, none of them had really
taken him in and included him in their activities or made him their friend.
Considering his history, however, he couldn’t blame them.
It had not been long since he had passed through a
time of extreme turmoil in his life. As if the coming of age had not been
enough with the raging hormones and great physical changes it brought, several
other stranger things had happened to him. It had all started about the same
time the coming of age had occurred, more than two years now in the past.
About once or twice a day, usually when beginning to relax, he could feel a
surge of energy begin to form in his head.
At first, he’d not known how to control it, and
after a couple of months of this, the problem only got worse. One night as he
lay trying to get to sleep in his bed, he had felt a surge of energy stronger
than any other before. Not knowing how to control it, he had begun to cry out
for his mother. Instead of sound, however, a pure wave of force seemed to project
from his hand, shredding a hole straight through the curtain that surrounded
his bed in their dugout house.
His parents had not believed his story, nor did
they understand why their son had ‘become so clumsy,’ breaking pots, chairs,
and on one instance shattering a pitcher of root tea while reaching for it
during a quiet, late summer evening story-telling. What no one had noticed was
that his hand had been an arm’s length from it.
For a time, Jerrig had not slept except when he
was so exhausted that he could fall asleep immediately. He had found that,
when exhausted and weak, the energy would not come. After a couple of weeks of
this, he had been helping his father as an apprentice in his leather shop when
he stopped to rest for a minute. Almost without warning, the energy had welled
up within him and burst forth, cracking the cauldron his father used to boil
leather and throwing it onto its side. The hot oil had spilled throughout the
entire shop, scalding two warriors that had been in the shop looking at his
father’s goods. Jerrig had felt like his world was coming to an end.
Exhausted from the release of so much energy and
frightened by the accident, Jerrig had run from the scene of the accident out
of the caverns and into the wilderness, and continued running until he was far
from home. For several months he had lived in the forest, using his limited
knowledge of the wilderness to live off the land. That time in the forest had
taught him much, and the fact that he’d stayed out there alone had gained him
some semblance of self-confidence, despite narrowly escaping being eaten by
giant hunter ants, despite almost having been found and killed by a raiding
party of orcs, and especially despite his poor ability to feed, warm, and
protect himself.
After many moons had passed and the cool winds of
winter had come, he had returned to the gen. This time, however, Jerrig had
finally gained a measure of control over this power. As he had explained what
had happened that day in his father’s shop to his father’s warrior group
leader, he had been called a liar and only under condition that he never speak
of this power again was he allowed to enter the year of training and
participate in the Trials of Caste. From that time forth, there had been only
a couple of instances where he’d not been able to control the energy, both of
which, fortunately, had been while no one else was around.
As time passed, Jerrig not only learned to
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