Duke Sir Hobbit Bloodstone, of Gryphon's Perch Rising Winds.
”You mean you've never played the cloven fruit game? Let me show you...”
Left to Right:Sir Hobbit and Malin Salazarian at Gen Con
The moon was descending from its throne as the first light of the false dawn began to illuminate the trail before me. How long I had been on the road was a question that I had stopped contemplating several weeks earlier. The memories of the past few months seemed to buzz in my head like an angry insect and I had no company and no release of this mental burden. So, as I traveled I did nothing but contemplate just what had gone wrong. Traveling by both day and night I was weary and sore as my stiff, painful wounds attempted to close despite my constant travel and lack of rest. The beginning had been so beautiful and rare in its serenity. I had found my home among the strong trees and softly flowing brooks of the Duchy of Tear Glen. I had finally stepped out of the role of public office and was enjoying a life left uncluttered by petty feuds and the rigors of day to day life. I had been reunited with my father and his people and was beginning to believe that all my troubles were behind me. The days seemed to be a never ending stream of joy and pleasure and I found peace in the woods I was quickly growing fond of. Then did the outsiders come. They came first by pairs and then by the dozen. Pirates, thieves, and warlords bent on seizing control of our peaceful land. The people tried to stop them but their numbers swelled and the Crown began to fear a civil war was eminent. The citizens of the Duchy tried to resist their wretched ways but then a dark day came to pass and one of their numbers was placed upon the throne of Tear Glen. The people of the Duchy cried out in anger and some of their number even took to arms against the new tyrannical crown. I was among their number. The people fought like they had been awakened and though they were outnumbered, they were inspired, and they dealt a terrible blow to the forces of the Crown. But, unlike most the fairy tales, history is not so fair and despite the peoples best efforts, they were defeated. Many of the rebellions' leaders were put to death and I myself was to be executed and would have been killed if not for the valor of the Vargr, my father's people, which helped me escape the land I had held so dear. Hunted and alone I wandered in the area for several weeks until I was almost recaptured and decided that the land was too far gone to darkness that I could be of no help. I made up my mind to leave the Kingdom and seek my fortunes in the wild northland which no King or Duke claimed as their possession.
I had learned a new way of life with the Vargr and was anxious to arrive in the lands I knew would be free of all tyranny. As my sojourn led me northward the land began to rise up before me and the leaves began to turn. The animals grew fatter and more numerous. The air became crisp and every breath I exhaled curled up around my face as misty tendrils. It was the most alive I had ever felt. I was able to trap enough food to keep myself well fed and the furs I packed away to use later when the weather would turn truly inhospitable. I would occasionally cross paths with merchants and caravans and I would trade news and furs with them in exchange for a bottle of ale or news from the north. It was with one such caravan that I found my new home. The leader of the group, a plump spice merchant by the name of Hazir, informed me that they were headed north and that they were in desperate need of a skilled ranger to help them find the paths through the woods that their carts and horses could negotiate. I agreed to help them and accepted only a small fee. As we wound our way around the hills of this rugged countryside we encountered several groups of orcish raiding parties. The caravan guards would quickly dispatch the filth by slaughtering a few and forcing the rest to flee. Orcish raiding parties mean that there is something worth raiding nearby and as we crested a hill I saw just what it was that the orcs were after.
There, in a small hollow created by an ancient glacier that had melted eons ago, lay a small village. The people of that hamlet had erected sturdy wooden walls that were now being over-run by a sea of vile, green-skinned abominations. With barely a shared, concerned look, the caravan guards and myself drew our weapons and charged down the slope, into the melee. The din of battle was deafening and the roar of hatred that rolled forth echoed in the tight spaces around me. As I crashed into the back line of the surprised orcish troops I heard a cheer emanate from the walls of the town; the people had seen our charge.
It is said that in the midst of battle a person becomes disconnected from his body. His arms continue to swing with no conscious effort and each scratch received is filed into the back of his mind to be felt later. So it was true with me. I opened my mouth to gulp down a hurried breath and a battle cry came forth unbidden. I could tell I was slowly making my way through the foul orcs to the town walls and soon was standing with my back to the gates and a small army stood snarling before me. As my sword began to slow and my body ache, I heard the gate open behind me and the towns people came spilling out. It was at that moment that my body gave out and I collapsed exhausted. When I at last opened my eyes, I lay bandaged on a bed of straw. Sunlight poured through the window and danced as shining motes of white before my eyes. I blinked to clear my sight and sat up to see the room. I was in a small guest house behind a farm. My clothes lay in a heap with my weapons at the foot of the bed. There was a noise nearby that sounded like a great festival or celebration. I was glad to know that the town still stood. I dressed and exited the room, intent on finding whomever had been so generous to me and thank them. As I crossed the farmyard towards the house, I saw a dark man, dressed in black, headed towards me.
"You're up!" he called out to me as he squinted in the sunlight.
"And alive," I replied, "I'm supposing that I owe that fact to you?"
"Not at all." he chuckled. "It's because of you and those other brave men that I am still alive! Your fool-hearty charge is what gave the people enough courage to face the horde. We all owe you."
"For your care while I was wounded, consider your debt paid. But I would like to know who it is that I apparently saved, where am I and who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Euronymous, I'm a monk of the order of Shi-tan and you are in the Shire of Lyons Tomb." he responded with a slight bow. “And if I may ask, who are you?”
"I am called Hobbit Bloodstone son of Kurgan of the Vargr and it makes me glad to meet you."
"Welcome Hobbit." he said warmly.
I spent many weeks at Euronymous' house and soon found myself wandering the streets of the town with a certain satisfaction. It was at that point that I knew that Lyons' Tomb would be my new home. I grew to become friends with several of the townsfolk and even joined together with a handful of them to form a new tribe of the Vargr. Weeks became months and the weather changed yet again into the sterile white of winter snowfall. It was beautiful. I had never seen a land so wondrous in the grips of the cold season. As the spring came upon us and the snows melted we received word from a passing merchant train that another shire in the area, by the name of Windmoor Crossing, was becoming quite prosperous and populated. We decided to dispatch emissaries to this shire and soon were celebrating with their people. We formed a barony between us and used the natural beauty of the land to name ourselves. The Barony of the Rising Winds was forged.
I have seen Kingdoms be born and die, I have witnessed feats of ultimate bravery and sacrifice, I have seen cowardice in the faces of strong men, and I have seen a dozen men stand shoulder to shoulder against a sea of foes. The winds of time blow without our consent and the serpent will one day consume this world. Until the day of ultimate battle and the eternity afterwards, may we all have the courage to stand with our brothers and sisters and hold our heads high in the face of despair.
May the Phoenix soar on forever over the Rising Winds.
- Knight of the Flame - Knighted in September 2003 at RW Kingdom Coronation #3 by Dekland Silverbush
- Baron - Given by Monarchy of the Emerald Hills, September 1998
- Duke - Given by King Warbird (RW), June 2006
- Baron of The Rising Winds, March 1999 - September 1999
- Baron of The Rising Winds, September 1999 - March 2000
- Duke of The Rising Winds, March 2001 - September 2001
- Duke & King of the Rising Winds, March 2002 - September 2002
- 3rd King of The Rising Winds, September 2004 - March 2004
- Master Scout - Given by Monarchy of the Emerald Hills, January 1995
- Master Barbarian - Given by King Kane (presented by Varas), November 2002
- Master Lion - Given by King Dekland, September 2003
- Master Bard - Given by King Gregor-RW, March 2005
- Link to image 2
- Personal Website
- Company Website