Old Ones of Azamar
Rogues Gallery : Yogg-Thoth (Samwell Yosemite, Alain McKenzie)
Yogg-Thoth (Samwell Yosemite, Alain McKenzie)
Samwell Yosemite stormed past the Mul guardians outside of the adventurer’s guild in a boiling rage. He had already dismissed in his mind the motley crew of neophytes he passed in the lobby. His companions, Gokk the half-orc barbarian plainsman and Shaelynn, the tiefling wizard from parts unknown, flanked him. Passersby on the streets of River’s End outside of the adventurer’s guildhouse gave them a wide berth. Samwell had always had trouble masking his emotions. Anger reddened his face, making it match his fiery red hair and beard and giving him the appearance of a creature from the Plane of Fire or a demon of a fiery layer of the Abyss.
“Threaten us, will he?” Samwell grumbled aloud. “That sand-eater and Captain Hawkins can bugger each other for all I care; the three of us are going to find a way to that island.”
Gokk responded in his usual slow, methodical way of speaking, “How are we going to do that? We have no boat, and the Moon Tower does not exist to most. It is bad medicine.”
Samwell was proud that Gokk did not mention fear of the bounty Hamad had threatened them with should they go to the Moon Tower on Midsummer Isle without adventurer’s guild sanction, but was irritated with the half-orc’s questions just the same, mostly because he had no answer. “That’s why I said FIND a way you simpleton!”
Shaelynn placed her hand calmingly on Samwell’s shoulder. “Now, now. Gokk is only, surprisingly I admit, thinking the problem through. I agree with the plan, now let’s ponder a way to execute.” The tiefling’s infernal yellow eyes sparkled with avarice and dreams of power as she spoke. Samwell found the wizard invaluable both as an adventuring companion and occasional lover, but he held no illusions about her motivations. She desired wealth and power, and found Samwell and Gokk strong and amoral enough to help her obtain both.
The three of them,(the Ruthless Bastards, they called themselves, ) wandered aimlessly around the city streets, unconsciously moving in a general northeasterly direction towards the Temple District. Samwell pondered the issue.
Hawkins. He mentally spat the name. Why did it have to be Hawkins?
With his large build, fiery and unruly hair, and unquestionable skill in battle, Samwell looked like a hero of Cormach legend, but the truth was far different. He was an outlaw, a fratricide and a rapist on the run from the clans. At one time he was Alain McKenzie, brother to Laird Duncan McKenzie of Long Hollow, but Duncan’s whore of a wife, Moira, ruined all of that. She wore those revealing outfits and gave him that smile, asking for it…begging for it. But when he gave it to her, she pretended she didn’t want it. When Duncan walked in to her screams and drew his sword, Alain had no choice. He knifed his brother in the belly, spilling his entrails, and raped Moira over his dying body. There was no choice then but to flee Cormach, knowing a Blood Hunt would be called for him.
Alain fled first to Edoric, where he changed his name to Samwell Yosemite, so that at least his name would belie his Cormach appearance, and became an adventurer. When Edoric proved not far enough he blended into the relative anonymity of the huge metropolis of River’s End. Samwell took a few low-profile jobs from the adventurer’s guild and eventually met up with Gokk and Shaelynn, whose dark souls and hidden pasts called to his own. They formed the Ruthless Bastards and began accumulating treasure and items of power. Things were going well, before that damned Hawkins.
Hawkins was a privateer and a mercenary, and could have been great, but he was held back by some soft code of honor that kept him honest and trustworthy, even when it did not benefit him. That is why when he was approached by hunters for the Cormach Lairds with a description of Alain McKenzie and the atrocities he had been forced to commit, he revealed to them what he had learned about a man named Samwell Yosemite who matched that description rather well.
Samwell was forced to go into hiding for a while, after arranging for the deaths of the hunters (cousins of his, even!). The hiding did not sit well with the rest of the Ruthless Bastards, who nagged and harangued him until he once again approached Hamad ibn Almazin and his adventurer’s guild and was told of this job. This job he very much wanted. This job he could not accept because it had been commissioned by the very same son of a bitch Captain James (may Arawn eat his soul) Hawkins!
Samwell’s angry ruminations were interrupted by a dirty, disheveled, barefoot man who walked up into his path. Samwell was about to push right through the man when he spoke “Alain McKenzie.”
Samwell looked up in readiness and alarm, prepared to run this man through and make some excuse to the guards as to why. The man gave the appearance of ancient, but on closer examination couldn’t be more than thirty. His wet, teary eyes practically danced with madness.
The madman spoke again, “Alain, Samwell, Yogg-Thoth…names of past and future are meaningless dribble. That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange eons even death may die.” The Mad Prophet (as this obviously was, a man that the preachers had been complaining about shouting doom and gloom prophecies from the corners in the Temple District) cackled uproariously, holding his stomach as if he had just heard the funniest joke ever.
Samwell narrowed his eyes. “You do not know what you think you know, and what you speak is half gibberish.”
“Oh, I know, Samwell. I know. I know many and much. The Ones Who Came Before, the Old Ones, they seek you. They want you. They want their Yogg-Thoth.”
Samwell decided he could just move on. Whatever this man said would be taken as lunatic ravings, if it was even heard at all. He wasn’t worth the risk of killing in broad daylight in the Temple District. “Out my way or I’ll run you through. You are insane and I have no idea what you are talking about and no patience to listen to it.”
Instead of being afraid of Samwell and his companions, the Mad Prophet convulsed into another fit of hysterical laughter. “No patience! Cthulhu fhtagn! For Millennia, and Yogg-Thoth His slave has no patience! Very well, impatient one, I speed your progress.” The Mad Prophet shouted more gibberish, moved his arms expansively, and then everything went dark.