Daivat Sorrowgrove
***Earth Eternal belongs to TurnOut Ventures and OutBlaze. Don't sue me, I'm not worth much, and this is only fan work! D:***
Daivat Sorrowgrove, one of the more accomplished melee combatants of the One Patch Behind clan; it can be hard to believe he is who he is when you know of his youth. The powerfully built six foot five plate wearing axe swinger is also known by several nicknames; ‘Happy Place’, ‘Foam-features, and ‘Brick’.
Once, however, he was not known for his fighting prowess.
Once it was his seemingly endless rage and short fuse that he was known for.
Not that it should be thought that he has no love for anything; it only seems that way from the outside. He has a firm relationship with everyone in his clan, especially Faith Salubria, the clan’s main Tank, Vincent Tarrbrock, the clan’s fire mage who is almost constantly under supervision for his rather… destructive tendencies; and the clan’s main healer Remedi Shortwick. He seems to get along best with her, and rumours of a more intimate relationship have been circulating the clan for months.
He has a bright, if not violent and dangerous, future.
It wasn’t always that way.
When he was little, but a fawn, Daivat had a bit of a temper. He was infamous at his school for starting fights, arguing with teachers and students alike, and being constantly in trouble. Most school rules he didn’t break; he knew the difference between right and wrong, but he was touchy and was quick to anger. His mother worried about him constantly, fears that he would bite off more than he could chew and wind up hospitalised. Impressively, what he could handle was more than most could dish out; he’d only ever conceded defeat once, and that fight had been one against forty. His father, however, didn’t seem to care.
He was a captain in the Camelot City Guard with a heart of steel and conviction to match. He’d ignored Daivat for most of his life, only giving fleeting amounts of attention to the boy when he did something that most guards would find difficult. To him, the boy seemed not to exist, and neither did his wife.
One day, disaster struck.
The slums of Camelot City were always rather unprotected, most guards did not like patrolling the area for thieves and cutthroats, and the low lying area was frequent victim to floods until King Arthur had demanded the castle walls to be raised around the area. Daivat had been out on an errand for his mother, seemingly the only person in the whole world who seemed to care about him at all and who he would not argue with. He was returning with the food she had sent him out to buy, vegetables and a loaf of bread, when a rush surged overhead and screams could be heard echoing through the slums. The sounds of splintering wood and breaking glass came from the direction of his home, and he hurried towards the sounds, pushing through fleeing civilians. What he saw when he arrived made his heart jump and his world turn black and white.
A large black dragon had crushed his family home, and he could just see his mother lying limply in the rubble.
His father, first on the scene, pulled him back and tugged him from the sight. Other guards were struggling to contain the dragon, their efforts having little effect on the massive black beast. Another rush of movement went past, and a female canid covered in thick looking armour and carrying a shield slammed the beast’s face with the large piece of plate. Several more people moved past, including one in robes who seemed only joyous that the dragon should be here, flinging fireballs with ease.
“’Bout time a clan showed up!” Daivat’s father grumbled.
One of the clan members, a large brown bear with a two-handed sword, was given a harsh slap with a monstrous claw, and he slammed into the wall next to Daivat unmoving. Blood trickled from his mouth, he was clearly dead.
Managing to get another glimpse of his mother under the rubble, Daivat made a decision.
He pushed the groceries into his father’s hands and lifted the massive sword of the bear, rushing into the fray. Anger and righteous fury flared along his blade, foam trickled from his mouth slightly, the sign that he had become the berserker he is known to be today, and even the fire mage looked dumbfounded at the boy’s actions.
It was a million to one that Daivat could do *anything* to the dragon.
His first swing took one of the dragon’s legs clean off.
His utter fury drove the borrowed blade at impossible speeds, and he swung it with such ease that each cleave into the dragon’s now crippled body flowed like a stream. Not once did he relent, astonishing everyone crowded around as he dispatched the dragon almost single-handed. When the dragon was dead, he rammed the sword through its torso and left it there, fishing the battered remains of his mother from the rubble, cradling her in his arms as he broke down inconsolably.
For the next few days, Daivat’s father seemed more distant than ever; never even acknowledging his son’s existence. He wasn’t at his wife’s funeral either, Daivat mourning alone near the pyre. It was then that he made the choice; to leave his father and the ambitions that he had for his son behind and join a clan, to do what guards could not.
Shortly after putting his application on the Clan Applicant board under Big Ben, he was approached by several clans, all of whom had heard of his incredible feat. He was mobbed by many clan leaders, and through the crowd he could see the canine from the dragon attack, standing back and watching passively. He pushed his way through the crowd and right up to her.
“My name is Daivat Sorrowgrove.” He said firmly. “I take it you are the clan leader of the clan that attempted to save my mother’s life?”
She smiled a little. “That I am, young Hart.” She said, her red eyes twinkling a little. “I’m Faith Salubria, founding leader of One Patch Behind. You were impressive the other day, such strength is uncommon.”
“I was wondering if there was a position available in your clan.” Daivat probed unabashed.
“Why would you be interested in us?” Faith asked in return. “We’re but a small clan, hardly any fame to our name. Surely you’d prefer one of more stature, such as the Raiders of Oblivion, or the Stone Scatterer Clan?”
Daivat shook his head. “Size and stature mean little,” he said, “as I intend to bring fame to my clan. I want a clan I feel I can trust. You tried to help the city without duty or request, I have seen your strength, and I would like to bolster it.”
Faith chuckled. “Brash, aren’t we, young Hart?” She asked. “Yet you have a fire in you, I have seen it with my own eyes. I guess I can give you a tour, let you meet the rest of the clan. If you gain their favour, you might just find yourself a position.”
Daivat turned around to remove his message from the applicant board, only to find his father holding it out, a stern expression on his face.
“What the hell is this?”
“Mine.” Daivat snapped in return.
“When did I say you could-“
Daivat grabbed the paper and tore it from his father’s hand. “When have you ever taken interest in anything I do?!” He snapped angrily. “You didn’t care when I got into fights, or when I asked you for advice, or even when I got lost in the Royal district! Suddenly you’re all over me for wanting to join a clan?!”
“Clans are bounty hunters! Vigilantes!” Daivat’s father roared. “They barely follow the law; take money from anyone who will hire them for any job, even assassination! They’re as low as highwaymen or bandits!”
“Watch your tongue, captain;” Faith growled, “I find offence at your words. You may be a captain, but I shall find no trouble in taking you down a notch.”
Daivat’s father spat at her feet. “Get out of my sight, before I clap irons on you for loitering!”
Her mouth opened in furious shock, but before she could say anything Daivat spoke.
“I don’t want, nor need your protection or guidance, father.” He growled, barely containing his anger. “The only part of our family I ever heeded was mother, and she is gone. Faith’s clan leapt in to help when the guard could not do what needed to be done. Without their bravery, the dragon would probably have rampaged through all of the Slums. You did nothing to help yourself, pulling me from it all and cowering. My short temper has gotten me nothing but grief in my short, pitiful life; it’s about time I put it to good use.”
He looked dead in his father’s eyes, fury to fury. “If my rage can be used to save lives, then that’s what it will be used for, at my choice.” He chuckled a little, a cheeky grin on his face. “Life is what we make of it, and I’m going to make it fun.”
Daivat’s father huffed and turned his back. “Don’t bother coming home.”
“There is no home to return to.” Daivat retorted. “Just a pile of rubble that belongs to an uncaring father.”
Daivat Sorrowgrove, one of the more accomplished melee combatants of the One Patch Behind clan; it can be hard to believe he is who he is when you know of his youth. The powerfully built six foot five plate wearing axe swinger is also known by several nicknames; ‘Happy Place’, ‘Foam-features, and ‘Brick’.
Once, however, he was not known for his fighting prowess.
Once it was his seemingly endless rage and short fuse that he was known for.
Not that it should be thought that he has no love for anything; it only seems that way from the outside. He has a firm relationship with everyone in his clan, especially Faith Salubria, the clan’s main Tank, Vincent Tarrbrock, the clan’s fire mage who is almost constantly under supervision for his rather… destructive tendencies; and the clan’s main healer Remedi Shortwick. He seems to get along best with her, and rumours of a more intimate relationship have been circulating the clan for months.
He has a bright, if not violent and dangerous, future.
It wasn’t always that way.
When he was little, but a fawn, Daivat had a bit of a temper. He was infamous at his school for starting fights, arguing with teachers and students alike, and being constantly in trouble. Most school rules he didn’t break; he knew the difference between right and wrong, but he was touchy and was quick to anger. His mother worried about him constantly, fears that he would bite off more than he could chew and wind up hospitalised. Impressively, what he could handle was more than most could dish out; he’d only ever conceded defeat once, and that fight had been one against forty. His father, however, didn’t seem to care.
He was a captain in the Camelot City Guard with a heart of steel and conviction to match. He’d ignored Daivat for most of his life, only giving fleeting amounts of attention to the boy when he did something that most guards would find difficult. To him, the boy seemed not to exist, and neither did his wife.
One day, disaster struck.
The slums of Camelot City were always rather unprotected, most guards did not like patrolling the area for thieves and cutthroats, and the low lying area was frequent victim to floods until King Arthur had demanded the castle walls to be raised around the area. Daivat had been out on an errand for his mother, seemingly the only person in the whole world who seemed to care about him at all and who he would not argue with. He was returning with the food she had sent him out to buy, vegetables and a loaf of bread, when a rush surged overhead and screams could be heard echoing through the slums. The sounds of splintering wood and breaking glass came from the direction of his home, and he hurried towards the sounds, pushing through fleeing civilians. What he saw when he arrived made his heart jump and his world turn black and white.
A large black dragon had crushed his family home, and he could just see his mother lying limply in the rubble.
His father, first on the scene, pulled him back and tugged him from the sight. Other guards were struggling to contain the dragon, their efforts having little effect on the massive black beast. Another rush of movement went past, and a female canid covered in thick looking armour and carrying a shield slammed the beast’s face with the large piece of plate. Several more people moved past, including one in robes who seemed only joyous that the dragon should be here, flinging fireballs with ease.
“’Bout time a clan showed up!” Daivat’s father grumbled.
One of the clan members, a large brown bear with a two-handed sword, was given a harsh slap with a monstrous claw, and he slammed into the wall next to Daivat unmoving. Blood trickled from his mouth, he was clearly dead.
Managing to get another glimpse of his mother under the rubble, Daivat made a decision.
He pushed the groceries into his father’s hands and lifted the massive sword of the bear, rushing into the fray. Anger and righteous fury flared along his blade, foam trickled from his mouth slightly, the sign that he had become the berserker he is known to be today, and even the fire mage looked dumbfounded at the boy’s actions.
It was a million to one that Daivat could do *anything* to the dragon.
His first swing took one of the dragon’s legs clean off.
His utter fury drove the borrowed blade at impossible speeds, and he swung it with such ease that each cleave into the dragon’s now crippled body flowed like a stream. Not once did he relent, astonishing everyone crowded around as he dispatched the dragon almost single-handed. When the dragon was dead, he rammed the sword through its torso and left it there, fishing the battered remains of his mother from the rubble, cradling her in his arms as he broke down inconsolably.
For the next few days, Daivat’s father seemed more distant than ever; never even acknowledging his son’s existence. He wasn’t at his wife’s funeral either, Daivat mourning alone near the pyre. It was then that he made the choice; to leave his father and the ambitions that he had for his son behind and join a clan, to do what guards could not.
Shortly after putting his application on the Clan Applicant board under Big Ben, he was approached by several clans, all of whom had heard of his incredible feat. He was mobbed by many clan leaders, and through the crowd he could see the canine from the dragon attack, standing back and watching passively. He pushed his way through the crowd and right up to her.
“My name is Daivat Sorrowgrove.” He said firmly. “I take it you are the clan leader of the clan that attempted to save my mother’s life?”
She smiled a little. “That I am, young Hart.” She said, her red eyes twinkling a little. “I’m Faith Salubria, founding leader of One Patch Behind. You were impressive the other day, such strength is uncommon.”
“I was wondering if there was a position available in your clan.” Daivat probed unabashed.
“Why would you be interested in us?” Faith asked in return. “We’re but a small clan, hardly any fame to our name. Surely you’d prefer one of more stature, such as the Raiders of Oblivion, or the Stone Scatterer Clan?”
Daivat shook his head. “Size and stature mean little,” he said, “as I intend to bring fame to my clan. I want a clan I feel I can trust. You tried to help the city without duty or request, I have seen your strength, and I would like to bolster it.”
Faith chuckled. “Brash, aren’t we, young Hart?” She asked. “Yet you have a fire in you, I have seen it with my own eyes. I guess I can give you a tour, let you meet the rest of the clan. If you gain their favour, you might just find yourself a position.”
Daivat turned around to remove his message from the applicant board, only to find his father holding it out, a stern expression on his face.
“What the hell is this?”
“Mine.” Daivat snapped in return.
“When did I say you could-“
Daivat grabbed the paper and tore it from his father’s hand. “When have you ever taken interest in anything I do?!” He snapped angrily. “You didn’t care when I got into fights, or when I asked you for advice, or even when I got lost in the Royal district! Suddenly you’re all over me for wanting to join a clan?!”
“Clans are bounty hunters! Vigilantes!” Daivat’s father roared. “They barely follow the law; take money from anyone who will hire them for any job, even assassination! They’re as low as highwaymen or bandits!”
“Watch your tongue, captain;” Faith growled, “I find offence at your words. You may be a captain, but I shall find no trouble in taking you down a notch.”
Daivat’s father spat at her feet. “Get out of my sight, before I clap irons on you for loitering!”
Her mouth opened in furious shock, but before she could say anything Daivat spoke.
“I don’t want, nor need your protection or guidance, father.” He growled, barely containing his anger. “The only part of our family I ever heeded was mother, and she is gone. Faith’s clan leapt in to help when the guard could not do what needed to be done. Without their bravery, the dragon would probably have rampaged through all of the Slums. You did nothing to help yourself, pulling me from it all and cowering. My short temper has gotten me nothing but grief in my short, pitiful life; it’s about time I put it to good use.”
He looked dead in his father’s eyes, fury to fury. “If my rage can be used to save lives, then that’s what it will be used for, at my choice.” He chuckled a little, a cheeky grin on his face. “Life is what we make of it, and I’m going to make it fun.”
Daivat’s father huffed and turned his back. “Don’t bother coming home.”
“There is no home to return to.” Daivat retorted. “Just a pile of rubble that belongs to an uncaring father.”
14 years ago
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