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Victor the Scribe

My name is Victor. Maybe my mother thought by giving me this name, I would inherit some of the attributes of my Father, a man who died gloriously in one of the nameless wars of the past.

An intent, wasted on me. I do not strife for glory or the heat of battle. Flesh is best left on the bone, where it belongs. Especially mine.
I strife for knowledge, since I learned it is the true source of power.
What does a sword bring you, when you don't know how to loosen the thick armor of an enemy with your blow? Do you know witch plant is so poisonous, that the essence of its petals will render a foe unable to defend, even after the slightest cut with a coated dagger?
Well, thats what I try to achieve.

But I am loosing track.
I am not the tallest and by far not the strongest specimen of mankind. Not even most pleasurable to look at.
As a child, they called me lizard, since I lack all Hair and my face is somewhat slender and has pointy features. Armor just slows me down. By my side, you can always find my trusty feather and ink. A sheet of parchment is never wasted on me. I tend to transmute paper to gold, by the art of inscribing knowledge on it.
Am I defenseless? Who knows what else can be found under this bulgy coat and linen.

One day I want to be known for seldom wisdoms and by coin achievable, obscure secrets. This world is my oyster. All I have to do is travel it and pluck the ripe mysteries that hide in even the most obscure places.
Thats why I need to travel.
Thats why I know the value of company.
Thats why I am called Victor the Scribe.

Scribe Victor

Advisor Description

It was a stormy night, one of those, you really don't want to be on the roads and sheets of rain came crushing down on a once solid road.
Victor was unfortunate enough to be one of the lost souls on the street, low on coin but rich in bad mood, since his boots filled with ice cold water and the muck of the road.
Hes goal was one of the flickering lights, behind the windows of bars and brothels in the Town, but he soon gave up, since his purse was too light, to find a dry place and a warm meal.

Hey you! A female voice shook Victor out of his thoughts and he spun around to face the unnerving happy voice.
Yeah, I meant you. The woman in the doorway of a bar laughed. She wasn't the youngest or especially good looking, but in her eyes lay the shine of a stalking cat, ready to jump on its prey.
Looking for a warm hearth and some soup?

Victor turned his pockets inside out to show, that all he had in them was rainwater and soggy lint.
Cant pay, milady. Theres no coin to win with me.
Leaning against the doorway, she answered purposefully: Who said, I want your money?
The drenched boy walked up to her, hands in pockets. For a second he stood there, looking in her smiling face, trying to understand her graciousness.
If its not money you want. What is it then? Nothing in life of worth is free and I don't take you for the selfless kind.
Her smile dropped.
But not because she felt insulted. She just saw, that there was no reason for false niceties.
I need someone to have an eye on the customers. Who cannot pay, who wears weapons, who cheats in the games, who seems like a troublemaker? You seem to have enough of the weather to take the job.

Without another word, he stepped inside. There was no need for more talking. She was right.

The rest of the late evening and the early night he just sat in a corner of the murky pub, watching Kassandra the wench pour ale and the men sing, drink and play cards.
Victor didnt do anything. He just sat there. Watching, taking it all in and processing it like a scarecrow on the field, observing the birds. No one seemed to notice him. Not even Kassandra who appeared, like she forgot he existed completely.
But Victor new better. She tested him. And he refused to fail.

As the sky turned lighter, the room emptied. When the last customer left, she sat next to the boy.
Tell me what you saw!
He did. He told her everything. The things she had told him to observe and all the things she really wanted him to observe, but didnt tell him to.
The way, the drunk men talked about her, when she was not around. The things that worried them, when they thought that no one was listening. The amount of money they lost or won, gambling. And most importantly, where they tugged their keys and money pouches.

Satisfied with what she heard, she leaned back and mustered him from head to toe.
You are a weirdo, hairless boy. You always will be. There are not a lot of people that will know your worth. You shouldnt bother about them.

He wouldnt.
And he was not surprised, when she called for him only a few days later. But this time, he was not about to observe drunkards in a bar.

Victor the Scribe Post Play & MMORPG RPG Text

Reflections on your mother

I once had a mother. I think she loved me.
I that's why I think of her as foolish. I was just a child no strengths no wisdom. There was no need for affection. But still she loved me.

I don't think I really liked her that much. Dont get me wrong, I didnt mind her presents at all. She fed me, cradled my head when I was sick and tended my wounds, when I was hurt.

The love of a mother is not logical, and cannot be bought for it has no measurable value.
I think she knew that, and still she did it.
This woman was a true riddle to me.

Scribe Victor

Victor was going on a quick hike to learn more about the flora and fauna of the surroundings. Next to a Tree he found some mushrooms, that looked eatable. As the greedy little guy he was, he took all of them.
Next thing he heard, was the low grunting and snorting of a hog, witch supplies he just took.
As he realised, it was already too late. The hog rammed his tusks deep into his guts and with a scream of agony he fell to his knees.
The mushrooms spilled out of his ripped bag and fell mossy ground.
The last words, that Victor muttered, as his live left his body, where incomprihensible.
But they pretty much ment: "Who would have guessed..."