Pint Sized Rage

To learn more about Rosidira, head on over to her synopsis in the Characters tab!

Rosidira grew up in the Wandering Woods, an old growth forest protected by fae magic. It had belonged to the benevolent folk of the feywilds for generations, providing comfort and solace from the outside world.

A neighboring kingdom, the Daemon Empire, composed mainly of tieflings and infernals, needed help establishing their land when Rosidira was small, so the fae shared their knowledge with them in return for resources from the outside world. This was a prosperous relationship and both lands benefitted. The Daemon Empire grew quickly, becoming the strongest and most powerful empire in the land. But with that power came greed.

The Empire wished to expand their territory into the feywilds. They offered the benevolent folk lodging and education in return for ownership of their forest. The fae refused- the land was imbued with powerful magic, making the forest sacred ground. But the Empire wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Trade ended between the lands. While the benevolent folk had grown to rely on the resources the Empire provided, the Empire had learned all they needed from them. As they grew weaker, the Empire invaded, driving out all the inhabitants with a bloody battle. The fae had no chance of winning.

Now, Rosidira was typically very friendly, with a bit of a goofy side, but she felt something at that moment that she had never experienced before- betrayal, loss, and fierce anger. She snapped, rushing into the fray. She took out more than would be expected (she is a gnome, after all- they are a race not accustomed to fighting) before she was knocked unconscious.

Rosidira woke up in the aftermath of the battle to find her home deserted, the magical presence she had grown up with gone. Reluctantly, she followed the trail of the surviving benevolent folk, taking refuge in another magical forest for the time being. In the meantime, the Daemon Empire turned the forest into a logging site, unearthing the last of the magic.

Struggling with her anger, Rosidira decided to leave. Since she was no longer tied to her forest, she could explore the world beyond, go anywhere she chose. She also left to try to escape herself and the bloodlust she experienced on the battlefield.

…

The first place Rosidira stopped at was a small town called Darkwell. Not really knowing where to go, metaphorically and literally, she headed to the bar and ordered some ale. Rose’s attention was drawn to the front of the bar as a creepy-looking guy began to pick on another patron, giving them unwanted attention. The same anger as before stirred in Rose’s chest.

“Hey, you. Yeah, you! Back off before I make you!”

The guy turned, a massive tabaxi with mottled fur. “Leave us alone, pipsqueak. Go back to the swamp you came from.”

The mottled tabaxi turned back to the patron, a slender tabaxi with a cream colored coat. She seemed uncomfortable, shaking off the arm the mottled tabaxi rested on her shoulders. Rose looked around; she wasn’t tall enough to grab his shoulder without embarrassing herself. Her eyes drifted down... 

One moment later, the tabaxi was on the floor. He landed with a thud, his legs knocked out from under him. The slender tabaxi backed away, exiting the bar as quickly as possible. Slowly, the one Rose knocked down grasped the barstool and pulled himself up. His catlike eyes narrowed at Rose.

“You’re going to pay for that, runt.”

His foot lashed out before Rose could react, catching her in the chest and tossing her across the room. She hit the base of one of the tables, spilling drinks on a couple orcs and a half-elf in the process. They leaped back from the splash with indignant cries. Recovering, they unsheathed their weapons and padded forward to surround Rose.

A few punches and a bar fight later, Rosidira found herself in the town’s jail along with a few more bar patrons, all in various states of injury. Rose herself sported a black eye and a few slashes across her side and arms. The town guards stood close by in case of another outburst. Rose curled up in the least filthy corner of the communal cell, grabbing a few fistfuls of hay and piling them on top of herself miserably.

“I’ve never seen a gnome fight like that before.”

Rose turned her head to see a tall, scarred half-orc leaning up against the wall, fiddling with a straw of hay. His eyes slid over to her.

“You have some guts, pint size. But if you rush in like that, you’re going to end up failing all your death saves.”

Rose glared at him and rolled over.

“Hey, now, don’t act that way. I’m just giving you a bit of advice. You need some combat training, in your case some close-up training. Being a gnome, I assume you haven’t had much.”

When he didn’t say more, Rose grunted, “Training?”

“Yeah, you need someone to teach you how to fight.”

“I’m not a fighter.”

“You’re right, you’re not a fighter.”

Rose turned to face the half-orc. His eyes were gleaming.

“You’re far more powerful.”

…

Rosidira and the half-orc were released the next day. Rose turned toward the town gates, but the half-orc grabbed her shoulder. She froze.

“I’ve taken a liking to you, pint size. That doesn’t happen a whole lot. Since I like you, I’m going to extend an offer. Follow me, and I’ll introduce you to some of my buddies. We’ll give you some training—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I’m not a fighter.”

The half-orc withdrew his hand, his eyes wide. “Look, I don’t care what you think or don’t think you are. You could’ve died in that bar fight yesterday. This is a very generous offer— I would think twice before walking away.”

Rose spun around. Her eyes were fierce, but tears sparkled in their corners. “No,” she stated calmly. “I’m not a fighter.”

The half-orc’s eyes softened. He crouched down to meet her, looking into her eyes. “It’s the Rage, isn’t it? It burns you, but not like fire. It’s deeper, in your chest. A beast that growls and moans.”

This time, it was Rose’s eyes that widened. “How do you know that?”

He smiled grimly. “I feel it too. I’m sure it’s not exactly like yours, but it hurts.” After glancing left and right, he added, “For a long time, I just ran. I tried to get rid of the pain any way I could. But it wouldn’t go away. Pretty soon I figured out that the only way to lessen the pain was to face it. That’s what you need to do if you want any relief. Face it.”

Rose looked down. It was a long moment before she met the half-orc’s eyes again. When she did, her tears were gone.

“Alright. Teach me how to fight.”

…

The half-orc, whose name was Golriat, took Rosidira to the underground bunker which housed the training equipment for others with the barbarian’s Rage. Many were orcs or half-orcs, but there was a mixture of other races as well. Rose met several humans and even a few dwarfs there. Everyone was surprised to see a gnome in their midst, but she proved herself to be just as dangerous as them. For lack of a better term, Rose joined a fight club. She lived and trained there for the next ten years, growing stronger and more sure of herself every day.

Golriat was the leader of the fight club. He was the strongest barbarian of the group, undoubtedly, but also the one the group trusted the most. He wouldn’t necessarily give the advice they wanted to hear, but he always gave the advice they needed to hear. 

Rose formed a special relationship with Golriat. Why he took a liking to her, she could never fathom, but he always made sure she was taken care of. After leaving the ruins of the Wandering Woods, Rose desperately needed a friend who understood what she was feeling. Golriat saved her from herself, something that she could never find a way to thank him for.

She never did find a way to thank him.

It was a bleak morning when Rosidira woke to the dull tolling of the town bells. Shaking off her slumber, she and Golriat rushed to the town gates, a few other barbarians at their heels. Four figures approached, figures Rose recognized immediately. They were tieflings dressed in the red robes of the Daemon Empire. The now familiar Rage welled up inside her. It must have shown on her face since Golriat placed his hand on her shoulder. She spun around, but there was warning in the half-orc’s eyes.

“I know just as well as you whose allegiance those creatures belong to, and they’re stronger than ever. You can’t fight them.” 

As Rose tried to protest, he continued, “Just like you, they’ve had years to train and hone their skills. I know I’ve been a pretty amazing teacher,” he smirked, “but they have resources we don’t. Trust me, pint size. We can’t win this one.”

Rose looked away, her hands clenched at her sides, but didn’t say anything.

The Daemon representatives met with the town officials that day. Just as they did with the benevolent folk of the Wandering Woods, they offered lodging and education to the residents of Darkwell in return for ownership of their land. The town officials decided to hold their decision until they could form a council. The Daemon representatives left, forming camp a mile or so away.

That night, while the rest of the town was asleep, Rose crept from her quarters. Closing the bunker’s door silently behind her, she slipped into the alley and made her way across town. Just as she reached the gates, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder.

“This is an awfully late hour for taking a stroll.”

Rose sighed. “Golriat, let me go. If I let the Empire take over, Darkwell is finished.”

“I told you before, you won’t win this one. Not if you go alone.”

Rose turned to him. “Wait, you’re coming with me?”

Golriat smiled grimly. “I know there’s no way to stop you, so the best I can do is fight beside you.”

Rose beamed, pulling Golriat into a massive hug. He winced, then sighed and hugged her back.

“Don’t let any of the others know I’m a hugger. I’ll never hear the end of it,” he whispered.

Rose giggled, then they snuck side by side out the town gates.

…

The Daemon representatives’ camp was extravagant, to say the least. Each tiefling had their own traveling tent, ornamented with gold threads and tassels only the elite could afford. They stood over eight feet tall and were wide enough for several cots each. Silken flaps covered their entrances. Each was the signature red of the Daemon Empire, sporting the insignia of a horned face with pointed eyes. Small purple flames flickered over each tent and around the center of the camp, over a charred black circle on the ground.

Rose tugged on Golriat’s cloak. “We have to be careful. I’ll bet my best handaxe they put some sort of alarm spell around their camp.”

Golriat frowned, then motioned to the far side of the camp. “You loop around and wait on that side of the tents. Make a wide arc so as not to step on enchanted thread. On my cue, we’ll both rush in, each of us taking down two tents. If we’re lucky, we’ll take them by surprise. Be sure you’re Raging.”

Rose chuckled humorlessly. “Won’t be a problem.”

She snuck around the campsite, giving herself plenty of distance to be sure she didn’t trip any spells. Hiding behind a small bush, she made eye contact with Golriat across the camp. He nodded once, twice, then leaped out from his hiding place. When he was within twenty feet of the tents, he bellowed, deep and strong, his eyes glowing with wild Rage. He drew his greataxe, the handle full of notches from past victories. Rose followed, her greataxe comically large for her small frame but still raised proudly above her head. She screamed, channeling all the pain and power she felt the last time she saw her homeland.

The tieflings weren’t expecting a fight but were more than prepared for one. Rose stiffened as necrotic energy snaked up her spine. It plunged into her veins, making her cry out. Gritting her teeth, she swung her weapon, feeling grim satisfaction as it caught the tiefling’s side. On the other side of the camp, Golriat ducked out of the way of a blast of magic and knocked the tiefling who cast it to the ground. They fell with a yelp. A third tiefling extended his staff at Golriat’s back, blasting him square on and pushing him to his knees.

The last tiefling, anxiously looking left and right, darted from her tent to the charred circle in the center of the camp. She raised her arms above her head, shouting something unintelligible. 

Must be Infernal, Rose thought.

The other tieflings looked to her, then broke away from Rose and Golriat. Rose growled as her axe swung wide. The three tieflings rushed to the one in the center, standing around the circle and clasping their hands above their heads. Softly but growing louder, they began to chant. Arcane energy sparked around their arms. Rose and Golriat stared, their mouths hanging open.

The circle on the ground began to glow purple with eerie, unnatural light. It lit up the tieflings’ faces, making their appearance more monstrous than man. Their eyes, which had been closed in concentration, snapped open in unison, shining with the same otherworldly glow.

The ground shook as two clawed arms shot out of the circle. The arms ripped at the ground, forcing one of the tieflings to step back. Finding purchase, they pulled, dragging a sharp-toothed snout behind them. Two shining golden eyes focused on Rose and Golriat as massive wings emerged behind.

“It’s a dragon,” Golriat breathed.

Rose’s Rage was replaced by fear as the great beast rose to its full height. Its dark scales gleamed in the light of the circle. With one swift motion, it leaped over the outstretched arms of the tieflings to crouch between them and the two barbarians.

Behind the dragon, the tieflings continued their chant. Smaller shapes now emerged from the circle, more figures robed in the red of the Daemon Empire. Without hesitation, they dashed into the night, taking the same path Rose and Golriat used to reach the camp.

What happened afterward was a blur. Rose remembered pulling herself to her feet and grabbing her greataxe to head after the disappearing figures. But wherever she turned, someone was in the way. The dragon breathed a plume of purple fire in front of her, lighting up the nearby grasses and trees. Golriat disappeared behind the wall of flames. One tiefling dove for Rose, but she rolled out of the way. Another swung a blade, creating a fresh gash along her side. Rose turned away, only to be met by the slicing tail of the dragon as it whipped around. It hit her hard, flinging her outside the camp and into the darkness. Her head cracked on a stone, and she was out like a light.

… 

A splitting headache greeted Rosidira as she came to consciousness. Groaning, she reached back to rub the spot. That’s going to leave a mark, she grumbled. As Rose took stock of her injuries, the events of the battle came flooding back. She staggered to her feet, racing over to the campsite.

The camp was in tatters. The tents were barely standing, having been ripped apart either by Golriat or the summoned dragon. Rose was thankful the beast wasn’t in sight, but she worried for her friend. She had no idea if he survived, although his body was nowhere in sight. The circle had reverted to its original, charred state. Nothing glowed but the last embers of flames in the grass.

Rose grabbed her greataxe off the ground. It was a miracle no one had taken it in the onslaught. Glancing back one last time at the ruined camp, she headed for Darkwell.

The soft light of dawn did nothing to lessen the shock of Darkwell’s condition. Everything had been burned. The remains of storefronts and houses were blackened, their structures collapsed. A few dying fires let off wisps of smoke and ash. Windows were smashed in. Bruised fruit and other belongings had been scattered across the main street. Flags, once proudly flown above the ramparts, had been pounded into the ground. Not a single living person remained.

Instead of saving her town, Rose had sentenced it to death.

Sadly, Rosidira turned away from her second home, her second set of ruins. It seemed the Daemon Empire continued to take everything from her- her land, her family, her friends. There was nothing left for her in Darkwell now. And if her Rage hadn’t blinded her sense of caution… Golriat was as good as gone- Rose knew even if he were still alive, he was skilled enough to hide his tracks. He probably thought she was dead, otherwise he would’ve tried to revive her.

Now begins Rosidira’s new adventure. We’re all just stories in the end. Let’s make it a good one, eh?