Odowla, Masked Jungle Warrior
A single man sat in the forest and watched the world unfold around him. He sat there on a branch of the tallest tree in the forest, seeing the most beautiful site he could ever see, a sunrise in his own forest. He sat there, briefly stripped his weapons, all his unfeeling yet necessary, tools. Each and every morning this happened, and each and every morning Odowla sat and watched on this very branch, in awe of nature’s sheer, untainted glory. He could never get tired of such a marvelous site, how could anyone? And so he sat, and he watched the sun rise into life once again, to begin the day.
After a little while, Odowla climbed down from his perch, spinning and swinging from the branches like a gymnast until he reached the ground. It was just another part of the daily routine for on such as him. As he picked up his weapons and his small belt pouch of tools, he reflected on his life, as the last part of his daily ritual, and felt good about himself and hid actions.
Without this daily reflection, a Druid like Odowla was just another common man, living his life as directed by some authority figure in a castle somewhere in the land. But for those few men who were called elite, the Paladins, Monks, Rangers and Druids of these lands, whose business all too often was death and war, reflection was a necessary tool. Even if one’s cause was just, killing took its toll on a man.
Odowla was a large man, wearing worn leather armour on top of his tunic and breeches. He had startling eyes, one green and one blue, and a great shock of hair that hung down to his broad shoulders. His face was dotted with various tiny scars from a great variety of old wounds. Everything from dagger slashes to willow branches had caused those scars, and each one had its own story. But not a one of this multitude of scars were larger then a gold coin. If one were to stand a mere 10 feet away, all but a few would disappear.
And for a man like Odowla, this was a testament to his prowess.
But the most remarkable thing about Odowla was what he carried, not how he looked. He practically bristled with weapons. A large Bo staff was slung across his back diagonally and four smaller Bo’s hung at his hips like daggers. A dozen perfectly balanced throwing knives in a bandolier across his chest allowed for easy access. Wrapped around his upper arms were a pair of metal bands with razors laid along them, designed to cut and tear at close quarters. Kamas swung from tethers on his back, and several nunchaku as well. And most frightening of all, he was deadly with each and every one.
But as opposed to this gruesome appearance, he did not enjoy violence. But when the situation called for it, as it all too often did, he became a warrior. When his strength was not called upon, he is like a deer, calmly grazing. But in battle, he becomes a wolverine, fighting to defend itself and others. This duality was the secret to his prowess, allowing him to be a caring killer, a friendly murderer, and a kind executioner. When conflict was upon him, he was no longer a man, but a defender of the realm, focused entirely on the battle.
Back in the forest, Odowla was ready for yet another day. He started to walk away from the tree where he’d been sitting just minutes before, and smiled. He couldn’t explain it, but he just felt at ease today. He had a feeling that nothing would go wrong today. His entire world was in this forest, known as Fleetwood to some. It was a truly ancient forest, with trees that went back thousands of years to a time before The Opening of the Portal, before even the land now known as Viallay was inhabited by people. The trees remembered a time when only the animals and the monsters lived here. Odowla knew this, for the trees had told him of it. He often wished he could have true aloneness like that, but unfortunately, he lived in the land known as Viallay, not some unnamed, uninhabited land from long ago.
He decided that today he would patrol the north side of Fleetwood, known as The Tusk, on account of its constant white covering. It was a great expanse of cold evergreen, a constant medley of colour and nothing that stretched on seemingly forever. It had been forever for some foolish men who tried to traverse it without the proper clothing and tools. Most people failed to realize its danger until it killed them. Luckily, Odowla knew all the winter’s secrets.
So he began to move north. He passed the places he knew well, a watering hole where several deer drank, unaware of his passing. He had plenty of food stored in various places around the forest, and so had no need to harm them. He skirted up around a ridge where a wolverine had taken up a residence, and as he went above the entrance to its burrow, it poked its head out. When it didn’t detect him there above it, it made a small, “huff” sound and wriggled back into its home. A large reedy pond sat just before the white edge of The Tusk, and an enormous moose stood there grazing, chewing on great mouthfuls of watercress and seaweed. It didn’t look up as he passed behind it.
And so he entered The Tusk.
Most people would see it and think of words like “desolate” or “inhospitable”, but a druid knew better. It was filled with life!
Plants, from small trees and bushes sticking up through the perpetual snow cover, all the way up to enormous oaks and pines, heavy with the ice and snow ladled on the branches. Small mammals were abundant underneath the carpet of snow, mice, voles, marmots, ferrets, moles and shrews all had small systems of tunnels to keep them warm and safe during the winter. But foxes and wolverines knew about them too and always managed to find more when they were hungry. And cougars, bugbears and wolves in turn ate them. Sunrise, sunset, it was the circle of life.
Recently, there had been a small problem with Freits, ice goblins, trying to swarm The Tusk. But today didn’t seem like a very good opportunity for that. It was comparatively hot today up in the mountains, and the Freits need the cold for any sort of morale to be present. So an attack wasn’t likely. But you could never be too careful, so he scanned the ground quickly for any sign of goblinkin. Like most other variations of goblins, the Freits weren’t exactly cautious and any sign of their passage would still be visible in the deep snow. It didn’t seem like it had been disturbed since his last patrol of the area several weeks ago.
So today was another uneventful day in his forest, patrolling pointlessly through the snow, searching for some non-existent threat? Odowla could tell it was going to be a long day…