A Warrior Hatched.

One fine morning, Gyrax the Harpy was taking a nice sand bath when she noticed something shiny in the distance.

She was in the middle of one of her favorite bath songs, and really didn't want to stop now, for she was sure to lose track of where she was, and would have to start over! That was very annoying. Still, it wasn't every morning that there was something shiny to be had in the Sea of Salt. Besides the occasional band of kobolds, or wandering tribe of orcs, no proper caravans had dared to tread the hungry dunes for centuries, and while the few feral goats they left behind were certainly interesting, they sure as Hells wurn't nothin' so fancy as shiny!

Flapping the sand off her wings, the creature dived off her rock and hovered downward. Like most harpies, her flying skills fell somewhere between chicken and bird sidekick to Snoopy, and she ended up walking most of the way there, doing the little hop-skip that only birds and harpies can pull off with grace.

It was a woman, barely taller than Gyrax herself, and many years older. She was already half-buried in the sand, and almost completely enveloped in metal plate. Even Gyrax would have had to wonder why anyone would be crazy enough to wear that while wandering the desert, except that her experience with metal armor was next to zilch. She tapped at the gleaming carapace curiously and was starting to examine the metal buckles for a way to pry the shell open and reach the tasty pulp within, when a strong hand grasped her talons.

“No! Don't bother. It’s too late for me, lass. I lost my balsam of Fierabras. Have all the Gods abandoned me, who was ever their servant? Did I not part the Mists of Autumn and confront the Beast of Honalee?”

Gyrax screeched and plopped back onto the sand. She was still alive! Felt pretty strong too, and Gyrax had the impression she would not have been able to escape her grip had the woman not willingly released it. The harpy eyed the longsword the woman held to her chest, and decided to play the part of the vulture and wait it out.

“Did they send you? Are you Angel or Valkyrie, sent to take me to the Great Battlefield? But the Black Wind howls, and the Throne of the Emperor's Groove is on the move. Ah, the wound on my heart! If not Emissary of the Heavens, or Vision of Madness that my death throes fabricate to appease my woe, hark my words! They are the testimony of the last of the Paladins of Lapis Lazuli, whom King Gothma himself would…”

Damn, she was chatty. Couldn't she hurry up and die, already? The day wasn't getting any cooler, and Gyrax hadn't even gotten a chance to finish her bath.

“…but never did her hand hold the Scepter of Serpents. The Rogues of Cadmia sealed the crypt with the craft of Cunning, which no spellcraft can decipher. Long were the Years of Purple Sorrow. But not wasted. For the tools of Kaphyr's doom were slowly being crafted by those who…”

And now her breast was itching. Should she scratch it? Her sister always told her that scratching it would only make it worse. But her sister was such a prat. Maybe she only told her that to make her look stupid. But what if she was right? Aw, Hells with it! She would just go ahead and scratch. There! That was nice.

“…sought to unite the Sages with the lure of Wadigan’s heir. But it was a fool’s hope. There would be no Kingdom of the Seventy-Eight Unicorns within his lifetime.”

Ah! Was she done? It sounded like she was done. And… and there she starts again. Damn it!

“…And so the burden lasts on you, my lady, whom the Gods saw fit to grant me comfort in my final hour. Swear this to me, stranger! That as long as your arm and breath will hold, that Evil will know neither comfort nor certainty. Swear this and rise... Warrior, Champion, Paladin, and claim your sword and mantle.”

It took the better part of yet another ten minutes for Gyrax to figure out the latches of the armor, but all in all, it was well worth the hassle. The woman might have been on the older side, but her meat was quite tender. As for the shiny armor, it immediately became her favorite ornament and the envy of every bird-like creature in the desert that could appreciate that sort of thing.

There is a belief among some barbarian clans that eating the heart a warrior will infuse the consumer with the spirit force of the deceased. If this is true, then perhaps Gyrax might have been more careful, for the hearts of Paladins make expensive snacks. All anybody knows for sure is that she became an oddity among Harpy kind. She would stand when others would flee. Would help when others would mock. Would serve when others would steal. And one day, both she and the armor were gone, never to return to her ancestral home. And the tale grew far and wide of 'that crazy harpy chick who though she was a paladin'.

I love your story, Gyrax

200 xp has been added to your character sheet. Well done!

"Such a delicious prospect. Yehehehe!"

"I dig it. ... you expect a bone pun, don't you? TOO BAD!"

Gyrax: based on your back story, you get the Carrion Eater backstory bonus. Please add +3 to your endurance.