Why you're down in Grimrock. (Story-writing fun times)
Had an idea recently of writing up how exactly my characters found themselves in Grimrock. Behold the tale of Venn "Sandals" Malone, Lizardman fist-fighting rogue.
I was born and raised in the city of Malan Vael. Three generations my family had been there, but as far as most people were concerned any lizard they saw had just stepped in that afternoon. They’d assume you were some stupid backwater bug-eater and treat you like it. Wasn’t anywhere much that’d accept me, and I ended up in more than my fair share of fights.
That didn’t out so bad though. See, there was this guy, Ochard Ragen, ran a little fighting league in the back of his bar. Illegal, but most of the guards didn’t give a damn, and those that did generally stopped caring when they got a bag of gold in their face. He saw me brawling in the street one day and decided I had some potential. Signed me on up and told me to do my best.
Wasn’t a man in that league knew how to fight. They were all big tough guys who thought you won by standing there and slugging the other guy until he fell over. Didn’t know a thing about dodging and weaving. It’s not about how hard you can hit someone; it’s about how hard you get hit yourself. Wasn’t long before I was the reigning champ of the place.
That’s where I got my nickname by the way. There was this one great muscle-head who didn’t take his ♥♥♥♥-kicking too kindly. Started ranting and yelling that I was dodging so fast I had to be cheating, said I’d had a wizard enchant my boots. Well, I didn’t appreciate those remarks, so I tore off my boots, grabbed a pair of sandals and then beat him down again. People started calling me “That lizard who won a fight even though he was wearing sandals”.
It got shortened a bit later.
So yeah, how I ended up in Grimrock. One day there was this kinda poncy looking guy stepped into the ring. Didn’t think too much of it at the time, but I remember he was even worse at fighting than the normal ♥♥♥♥♥s. Ran off crying after I flattened him.
Turns out he was the son of the local lord. Never occurred to him that the servants were pulling their punches and letting him win when they boxed against him, so he got it in his stupid head that he could handle himself in a real fight. He’d run home to daddy and told him that a mean lizard had mugged him.
The very next day the guard came bursting into the bar, went straight on through to the rooms in the back. They had all the evidence they needed to arrest Ochard – Hell, they’d always had it – So he crumpled immediately. Gave ‘em my address, name, everything. Got woken up by a kick from some right ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ in a fancy metal suit and was dragged in front of a judge to try and persuade him that the little git had volunteered to be punched in the face.
Since I’m sitting here telling you this story, I’ll let you work out how well that worked out.
That’s everything though. Can’t say I really blame old Ochard, it was me or him and I’d have done the same.
Storytime’s over. Let’s get on with not getting killed by whatever’s down here.