In one of the Dungeons & Dragons campaigns I play in, my character Lhoris met an untimely and early demise – which is to say … he died. However, in a role-playing game like this (unlike in online games), you don’t just respawn back at a save point (like an inn). And, unlike solo games, you can’t just reload a save file.
Nope, he’s dead.
This meant I had to create (“roll”) a new character. In this campaign, we roll dice to built our character’s attributes. And for this one, the dice were fairly obvious about what character class (the type of chraracter – abilities and such) I’d be picking. She’s a fighter (as compared with Lhoris who was a monk / sorcerer).
Also, unlike Lhoris, the half-elf/half-dragon, she is an Aasimar. Aasimar are, at their most basic level, demi-gods. And, in true Greek pantheonic fashion … how do you get demi-gods? One of the gods has a wife or girlfriend who’s “having a headache”, so he goes off to hang out with a mortal woman and POOF – a new demi-god is created.
It had been a hard day of work at the shipwright smithery for Oskar Dockslinger, pounding out batches of nails to fill yet another barrel. This was the boring work, but it paid well enough and was good work – feeling the metal turn the proper shape under his hammer. And the Union made sure they were the primary source of all materials to make and repair Bahlymor’s ships.
A short trip through the cold and poorly-kept streets of the harbor area of the Lower City brought him to his own doorstep. Eira had the day off, and she usually spent it fussing around the house, cleaning and preparing food for at least a couple of days.
Today, though, upon entering, he was not greeted by the typical warm, wafting smells of food. Instead, Eira was sitting at the table with … of all things … a baby in her arms.
“By the gods, Eira! What sorcery is this? I could’a sworn when I departed this morning ye were as barren as the winter snows! And now, here ye are, a child nestled in your arms like a precious treasure?”
“Fie upon ye! You’ll rouse her. She was as restless as a storm-tossed ship til just now, poor child.”
Before Oskar could say another word, Eira nodded at a basket, stuffed with a blanket, sitting on the table. His brow furrowed, Oskar went to look at the basket. There was a notably baby-shaped indent inside the basket with a note pinned to the blanket. It read:
Please, take care of little Tyrklappi. HE wanted a son and will not accept her. We are sure you will do right by her.
Reading the note a second time, he realized the girl already had a name – Tyrklappi? Oh, by the gods … -klappi meant “clumsy child of”, so she was … oh, no, this was surely a curse upon them.
Coming to this realization, he looked up, wide-eyed, at his wife. Before he could speak, Eira whispered, “There was also a purse with too much coin. Someone trusted her to us! She’s ours, Oskar! … and we will raise her as if she was.”
Seeing the fire in his wife’s eyes, and knowing the battle was already lost, he moved closer, seeing the baby clearly for the first time. She was as pale as the falling snow with just a little tuft of brown hair at the very top of her head.
“Aye, love, that we will.” Realizing the name Tyrklappi, given its meaning, would be too much of a burden for the girl to bear being called continually, he leaned closer and whispered, “I claim you as mine, little Tykki Oskarsdottir.”
Tykki, recently turned five, had been begging her father to go with him to work so she could see what he did all day. And, finally, unable to resist when she smiled at him like that, he relented. All the same, he worried about her safety in the dangerous workplace the smithery was.
Clutching her father’s hand as he led her around introducing her to the other smiths so she could watch the hammers falling and the sparks flying from the red hot metal.
“Papa! Please, could I try hitting it? The sparks are so pretty! Please, papa?”
Not wanting to risk her starting to cry, he agreed, getting her the smallest pair of goggles – still too large for her head – and one of the hammers the gnomes used for their work. He fired a small rod of metal, showing her how the color changed to indicate the heat.
Climbing onto a sturdy stool, she held the hammer, waiting until her father told her what to do. He pointed with another tool towards the tip.
“There, lass, strike it there to form the point!”
A clang of metal and a shower of sparks as Tykki struck true.
“Again,” after a turn of the rod, with another shower.
Three more strikes and he bade her pause while he quenched the nail into a bucket of water, pulling it out to examine the work. He’d allowed her this, expecting it would be ruined metal to be tossed back into a cauldron for melting back down from scratch. To his surprise, though, the nail looked cleanly made.
Suddenly, he heard a laugh just behind his back. Kragnir Blackiron, the foreman, clapped him on the back.
“Keep yer wits about ye, or she’ll be hammerin’ all yer nails for ye.”
Oskar knew was said in jest – no one was about to get tossed to the streets here.
Meanwhile, little Tykki just stood there on the stool, overlarge goggles still covering her eyes, holding the small hammer, beaming, with a faint hint of an inner glow emanating from her cheeks.
Ever since she’d turned twelve, Tykki had taken to putting in a few hours at the smithery, joining her father at work. She’d learned at his side, from melting to molds to hammering and quenching. Kragnir had even recently remarked on her accomplishments.
“Ye’ve been hammerin’ away like a pro, lass! If ye keep it up, we might ha’ to get to talkin’ ’bout sendin’ ye to test yer mettle for a journeyman.”
With lunch time completed, it was time for her to head back home. Oskar came over to give her a hug before she left. She was already taller than he was, if only by an inch, but unlike him, she was still growing. “Time to get back home to help yer mum with chores and shopping, little one.”
“Yes, papa.”
As she was leaving, she heard the smiths joking with Oskar about how she was already very tall for a dwarf – a common joke which brought the flicker of a smile to the edge of her lips.
Walking home, she heard a scuffle down one of the alleyways. It wasn’t uncommon for some arguments to be settled with fists around here. After all, some people couldn’t see sense until you’d hit them a few times – just like most metal was nothing more than a lump before you fired it and hammered it into shape.
This scuffle sounded different, somehow. Pausing, she looked closer and saw a mixed group of three humans, a couple dragonborn and an orc squaring off with three dwarves. All of them appeared young, probably just a little older than she was.
While she didn’t recognize any of those involved, she knew an unfair fight when she saw one. And, without understanding the source, she suddenly felt anger swelling from her core.
This was not right.
This was not just.
In that moment, she knew what she had to do.
Snatching her hammer from her tool bag, she began running down the alley. She could feel heat inside her, growing hotter and brighter as she ran, brandishing the hammer above her.
The thugs heard her approaching and turned to stare at her, a young teen girl, golden eyes blazing, running towards them. One prepared to fend her off with his club, while the other was preparing to tackle her.
Suddenly, she screamed as the heat inside her burst forth, turning into light. The entire alleyway was bathed in light so bright it was as if Tykki herself had become the sun above. Blinded, the thugs could only flail around helplessly.
Still screaming, she swung her hammer at arms, legs and ribcages, quickly taking them all down.
Panting, she leaned against the wall before turning to the three dwarves. While they’d also been blinded, they saw her coming to their aid and huddled against the wall, avoiding the thugs who’d been fighting blind as well as her aimed blows.
“Are … you … all right now?”
Just then, behind her, she heard the distinct sound of a male dwarf clearing his throat.
“Ye’ve got more spunk in ye’ than most of ‘em twice yer age! What’s yer name, then, lass?”
“Ty… Tyrklappi O… Oskarsdottir.” She blinked, still worn out by the unexpected exertion. “Tykki.”
“Tyrklappi, eh? No clumsiness here I can see. Who’s yer da?”
While she didn’t recognize him, he was a fellow dwarf and seemed to be in a good mood.
“Oskar Dockslinger. He’s a smith over at the shipwright.”
“By the looks o’ ye, I’ll wager ye’ were helping yer da at the smithery? Lass, on the ‘morrow, mosey on over to th’ Union Brotherhood office. Ask for Elina. Tell her yer the one her da, Bjorn, sent over.”
“Ye… you’re Bjorn?” Bjorn Henrikson was the head of the entire Union. And Elina was… Belatedly, she added “ser?”
“Aye, that I am. Not to worry yerself. What I jest saw, I think Elina might ha’ an even better job for ye’ than simply working as a smith.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Tykki’s mind was reeling. Aside from whatever had just happened to her and whatever it was she’d just done, Bjorn Henrikson – the very head of the Union that ran the harbor – had as much as told her she had a job working for his daughter, Elina.
And everyone knew Elina was in charge of all the security jobs for the harbor.
The day had become very interesting.
Many years had passed since taking the job with Elina Bjornsdottir. Tykki was now officially one of Elina’s Varangians. Early on, she’d joined for a couple of sea-faring raids, but those had never quite sat right with her – setting upon merchant vessels just traveling the water. It felt far too much an unfair fight – just like the one she’d charged into and broken up that day.
It wasn’t right. It wasn’t … just.
Thankfully, Elina had understood.
“Aye, Tykki. It’s in yer name, is what it is. ‘Tyrklappi’ … yeah, I know yer da’s Oskar and yer mum’s Eira, but they also tol’ me the story of ye’ as a wee babe. E’en shown me the note. I git it’s not in yer nature to be on the wrong side.”
After that, she’d solely been given security and protection jobs. Sure, there was still some stuff happening she wouldn’t be happy with, but Elina had passed the word to keep all of it away from where Tykki could see or hear it. It was odd turning a blind eye to what she knew was happening elsewhere, but … such was the nature of the work. Just like, at times, a customer wanted the shoddy, sub-quality nails you’d throw back into the smelter.
It became clear to her and everyone who knew her, even from that first trip to the smithery, she wanted to be good at whatever she was doing, whether hammering metal or bones, and she practiced both diligently. She still spent her off-hours at the smithery, but now she wasn’t solely focused on shaping metal, she was also helping move the unshaped ingots and scraps. Nothing like wrestling carts and heavy pallets to build up some serious muscles.
And those muscles got used swinging weapons. Sure, a pick was almost like a smithing hammer, but that spike went through wooden doors – and even steel plate – like it was molten.
To keep practicing, many nights after dinner at home, she’d go dockside. Elina had space set aside in several warehouses for all of the Varangians to store practice dummies and spare weaponry. Tykki would grab a wooden dummy or two and whatever weapon she was working with just then. She’d drag them out to one of the docks and work for hours to learn the intricacies of each one.
So far, her absolute favorite was a glaive – not much more than a long pole with a scimitar blade stuck on the end. Since she knew she wouldn’t always be able to just reach out and punch someone directly, she also practiced with throwing daggers and hand-axes and anything else which could penetrate flesh. She was most accurate with the axes, able to shatter practice dummies with some of her throws.
Through it all, she still felt that little touch of … of a calling. She couldn’t describe it any other way and certainly didn’t understand it. But, whatever it was – and whatever she was, very tall dwarf or otherwise – she’d learned more about it and had gained control over it.
She thought back to three years early … standing evening watch in a ship’s crow’s nest – not that there was anything to see in the dark of night on the open ocean. The moonlit waters beckoned her to see more of them, gazing beyond the horizon. Her shoulders itched for a moment and then, as if it was a miracle, she became a brightly-lit beacon and sprouted wings!
Certain she was dreaming, she flapped them and began to fly. From far above, she could see the crew on deck shouting and pointing at her as she soared away, circling the ship.
Until suddenly and far too soon, her light went out, the wings disappeared and she plummeted into the cold water. She could still hear the cries of “Man overboard!” and the splash of a dropped boat quickly sent to retrieve her. The crew in the boat were able to row unerringly to her as her eyes retained a full glow, like a bright lantern shining, which would not be extinguished. She had become her own lit buoy guiding them to her rescue.
While she was dreadfully embarrassed at needing to be pulled out of the ocean, that sense could barely tarnish the exhilaration of the feeling of flight.
Once they returned home, she sought out a pair of smithing goggles to hide her glowing eyes and began to wear them continuously. The darkened lenses were just barely able to hide the glowing orbs which her eyes has become. After all, if you’re working in the dark, wandering around gazing with the brightness of noon sunlight on a cloudless day wasn’t the best way to avoid drawing attention to yourself.
Recently turned thirty-three, Tykki was amazed at how quickly Elina was comfortable using her as a valuable resource for the Varangians and trusted her to do so.
Elina had created a handful of teams, anywhere from five to ten members each, which had been dubbed her “Response Force”. As she explained, “We got too many strangers pokin’ their noses around here. When I call for ye, ye’r gonna go knock ‘em flat on their backsides ta’ make sure they won’t be botherin’ us no more. If that means cleanin’ up any messes left behind? Well, we know the sea can swallow all sorts of things that never get found again, right?”
Everyone involved understood her meaning perfectly. For Tykki, so long as it was troublemakers she had to deal with, she had no issues with it. After all, anyone trying to beat up any of her people deserved it – and she counted far more than just the Varangians as being her people. Everyone living in the harbor area were definitely one of hers – just as both Bjorn and Elina felt. From Oskar and Eira to Kragnir and everyone who’d smiled at the young girl she was and the young woman she’d become. They were all hers and she was one of their chosen protectors.
Tykki was once again working at the Smithery, wearing a grimy leather smock and her goggles, working with two other smiths to wrestle one of the giant cauldrons of molten iron. The mold for an anchor was prepared and waiting, ready to greet the vat of liquid iron on the start of its journey into being.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a young orcling boy, dressed in dirty rags, come dashing through the large factory door. She recognized him as one of the runners who hung out around Elina’s office. A few of the local kids would stay ready, wearing the rags almost as a uniform, waiting to be summoned and dispatched to deliver messages. They were trustworthy and few, if any, outsiders ever considered the “street urchins” might be a vital Varangian resource. Even if they did, anyone would be hard-pressed to chase down the pre-teens who knew their way around the streets, alleys and gutters of the Lower City.
Realizing he could be there for only one thing, Tykki glanced over at Kragnir, still the foreman, and shouted out, “Ho! Blackiron! Pretty sure my ride is here. You weaklings gonna be able to handle the pot while I’m gone?”
There was general laughter all around the smithery floor, and one of men working on a repair job put down his hammer to move towards where she stood. Kragnir, meanwhile, shouted back, his voice booming over the clang of metal on metal and the fiery call of the furnaces. “We can handle it, lass. Don’t get yerself in deeper than ye can climb out of!”
The boy stood there, catching his breath, as she danced around the other workers, anvils and assorted equipment to him.
“Elina … said … trouble … at Sifu’s … bodega … Fast … as … y’can.” A quick gasp. “Thrax join … there.”
Thrakos Slade, Thrax to his friends, was one of her team members – a big burly orc who spent far too much time off the job at the bottom of a barrel, having drunk his way down there. He’d confided in her how his wife had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and fallen victim to some Wild Hunt assholes looking for someone to play with. Once she’d heard that, she enlisted Elina’s help to hunt down the ones involved. A few bodies were lost at sea shortly thereafter. While the world was still a grim place, it had become at least a tiny bit brighter for that particular justice having been delivered.
She grabbed a couple of coppers from her pouch under her smock and tossed them to the runner. “Catch yer breath. Then, quick drink at the fountain outside and back to Elina. Tell her I’m on my way in less than ten from when you got here.”
Turning away from him, she began striding, purposefully, towards the back room, to doff her smock and change from Tykki the smith into Tykki, bringer of justice … and pain to those who deserved it.
She wouldn’t be able to clean off her face, but she was certain that would add to the presentation – soot-streaks on her cheeks and arms, and her ever-present darkened goggles which barely hid the glow from her eyes. Armor in place and strapped down, weapons loaded, she left the smith, running through the streets to the bodega to greet whoever or whatever dared cause trouble in her home and to her people.
A couple of notes about the above story.
First off, the ending is specifically engineered to provide the DM with a narrative “hook” to bring my character into the campaign. It was constructed by coordinating with another player as well as the DM.
Secondly, there are a couple of bits from the story which stand out as my personal favorites with some really nice imagery. The DM and other members of the party agree with my opinion here:
- Little Tykki at the smith, wearing goggles which are too big for her, holding a hammer which is also too big for her, smiling proudly at her work smithing a nail.
- Tykki on the ship, discovering she can “pop wings” and fly, only to discover the ability has a short run-time and she’s still subject to gravity and proceeds to go for a swim.
Hope you enjoyed the story! The banner image is courtesy of HeroForge. I designed a miniature model of her, which I’ll be 3D printing to use on the tabletop in the real-world game.
