/builders/ - Hero and Nation Builders!

>>52519

1/2/3. For a "man" with little to his name you have no means of buying anything that would allow you to make the finer inks that you know of, but there are plenty of fires in the city with plenty of ash and burnt wood in them, and though many are disturbed by what appears to be the giant poster talking to them, they do not object to you taking their former kindling. After almost igniting yourself on a still-smoldering piece of burnt wood, you more carefully select pieces and store them in your bag. After collecting what amounts to the most basest of materials, you chat up some local tradesmen in their printshops and the local librarian about local methods of ink production. The capital elite is very found of purple, and this is reflected in their preference for ink as well. The pigment itself is obtained from crushing the seashells of a mussel that grows in the waters off the western coast, and its use is restricted strictly to the nobility, all others found using it facing the death penalty. Men make their fortunes off of making this ink, and its distinctive and radiant color can be seen on all imperial documents. The common man uses a variety of ink shades composed of differing materials, really whatever is on hand and cheapest, though for certain works certain shades and materials are used. For the slave market and to mark serfs and peasants, lords and traders use several types of indelible inks, with varying shades use to denotate different statuses and other miscellaneous statuses. Trading documents and governmental decrees are usually written in either a green or deep blue ink for instance, while religious texts are usually a orangish color (for the Solarian Church, which is the Imperial Faith). As you are aware, inks can have several different recipes depending upon the desired color, consistency, and persistability of the product, along with other off-aspects such as disappearing ink, or ink that can be quickly erased with the application of a substance, but all hold the standard recipe of a pigmented substance, a solvent (usually water) that allows the pigment to be suspended and flow, and typically some other stabilizing substance that holds the entire mixture together over a long period of time, which is usually either some thick substance like resin or in some case egg whites or emulsified fat. You learn much about the local method of ink production, and along with the charcoal and ash you've collected, are not far off from producing your first batch.

+ 1 [Charcoal & Ash] - can be used for any myriad of purposes, but in your case can be used to make 1 Batch (approximately 1 Liter) of ink

>>52520

1/2/3. You stumble in the darkness at first, grasping ahead of you, searching for some hand or foot hold of a wall, something from which you can begin to make real progress on escaping this abyss. The dark is comforting to you, but now it smothers more then anything. You have been asleep for eons, you can feel in in your bones, smell it in the stale air. Nothing has moved through this space in ages, and with every footstep you can both feel and smell the dust rising in the room as the accumulated detritus of centuries is cast with each ponderous step forward. After several minutes you finally feel the cool sensation of stone on your hand, you have found a wall, and from there you move along its length trying to find a gap, a hall, and from there, hopefully freedom.

The sensation of hope is a strange one, to you it almost feels like a poison, but you feel it all the same, and its effect doubles when your hand finally leaves the wall and emerges once more in the empty air of a hallway. Freedom is close, so very close…

> Emerging from the Abyss 3/10

>>52521

1/2/3. You keep to your table, listening in on the conversations that occur. Oddly enough you recognize some cognates in the words being used, some sound oddly like the sparse bit of Russian you know, and every once in a while you swear you hear a word that sounds remarkably like "fuck" and its various conjugations and alterations. Sitting for a few hours and observing you do manage to learn a few local words and phrases which your pretty sure you have pinned down, such as; "Give me a Beer/Mead.", "Whore", and "I'll have some Ham." Alongside are what you think are several swear words, but you don't quite know for sure if they are that. Leaving the tavern you head towards the market, which you find by following carts laden with goods. A venerable canvas tent city, you walk around the humongous area and listen to the transactions taking place and the calls of merchants plying their wares. After several more hours of this you feel that you have some common trade goods down pat, such as "Cloth" and "Water", "Spices" and "Fermented Bull Testicles". Along with this comes something of an understanding of the currency used, or rather of some of some of the currencies used; You saw no less then 15 distinct types of coins or other items used as what you thought to be money, and different words used where one would describe the name and quantity of the bills as well. At the end of day you develop quite the headache, but you do manage to find several small coins that all look similar on your way back to the tavern. Using several of the coins you practice your first sentence, "I Beer need give us ass fish" being the rough translation (not that you would know). The Barman looks insulted at first, before one of the patrons besides you turns and quickly says a sentence that seems to soothe the barman, who takes your money (which happened to be 3 times what a beer costs, not that you would know that either) and gives you what is actually the cheapest booze he's got behind the counter (again, unknown to you). You take a quick gulp and almost heave. This is worse then the stuff you used to make after browsing all those /sig/ threads of /pol/ and /k/ and /out/. The patron who saved your skin laughs, and then turns to and speaks in fluent english "You must be new here then, I take it? Your Eidolish needs work, and you somehow worked some Elvish in a small amount of Uyygur into that insult you just hurled at the Barman."

>>52522

1. A crow is watchful, and in its watchfulness it both spots items it can use, while also keeping an eye out for the owner of those items. Luckily for you you are infact a walking, if not talking, crow, and make use of your skills to tactically acquire enough supplies to make it to Dampouran comfortably. Fortunately for you plenty of people in the capital are willing to leave their imperishable and provisionable goods within claw's reach, along with a Kenku-sized child's cloak for the road and a small dagger found in the back of a man in a small alley.

+ [Tattered Cloak] - Can be used to keep the rain and mud off, and to hide your identity (Aside from your large beak)

+ [Rusty Dagger] - Brittle, old, but will work in a pinch. +15 to smaller targets, +10 to similar targets, and -5 to larger targets.

+ 3 [Travel Rations] - Good for 5 turns, must be eaten on the road to maintain health, 1 used per day of travel (1 turn being a day, etc.)

2/3. You gather what things you have and set off for the border town of Dampouran, departing from the tavern and taking the south-easterly road past the main market-square, through the city and past one of the worst slums in the Capital, and heading out the Lion's Gate and crossing the Kunibald River, which flows from the south and out to the Bay of Beäulou. You arrive on the other side, leaving the last parts of Loune in the form of a small town of craftsmen and simple folk, and after helping yourself to a slice of pie that someone had so willingly left on their windowsill to cool, you turn and head down the Klingsfeldst Road to Dampouran, and soon enough the tilled fields and occasional cottage turns into dense woods with trees as tall as castle towers and just as thick. You are about 3 days (3 turns) from Dampouran, Your route taking you through Cenay, down to the Border Fortress-city of Bois, and Finally across the Raffzigt hills to your destination of Dampouran. You can reach Cenay in half a day (you're able to spend 1 action as if you were in the city itself, if you want details of it pm me) and make it half the way to Bois, the other 2 days will be reaching Bois and then arriving at Dampouran.

+ [On the Road] - You are out of the relative safety of civilization, and any low roll will be worse as you are both alone and away from the defending shield of law and order. You must also consume a item of food a day (done automatically) or spend an action to forage for food, otherwise you will lose health.

1/2/3. You hunger for battle, and battle you shall have! It just so happens that a particularly bad batch of Uruks have taken up residence in the sewers underneath the Merchantile quarter directly outside of the city walls (the 5 on the map in the bend of the river) and the city guard that has been dispatched to deal with them have not returned. Ergo the city guard has put out a call for any qualified person of ample martial skill to rid the remarkably large sewers of the city of their Uruk infestation. As an Elf you have a particular hatred for the Uruks, their origin said to come from the tortured and twisted Elvish prisoners taken by the Umli in the Old wars, and the gnomish ancestors that now dwell in the old Umli heartlands. You tear the bounty poster off the post it was nailed too and head to the nearest guard station and demand more details. The guard is intimidated by not only your anger, but your armor and form as well. Most elves are not as muscled as you, know more for their lithe and elegant forms. Your knife-ears are the only distinguishing feature that sets you apart from a well-defined man. The guard stammers out the details of the contract. 5 Gold pieces per Orcish head, and 1 per Goblin Head. There is also rewards for finding the missing guardsmen, alive or dead, and the several dozen citizens that have gone missing as well. Furthermore if you can map out the locations of Uruk pits in the Sewers (breeding sites) and/or destroy them, your reward will also be increased and you will be granted 1 favor from the Prince.

You depart immediately and head towards the Merchant district , the same guard you had explain the nature of the bounty to you escorting you to the same entrance that the city guard had entered. As you make your way towards it you see the change in the demeanor of the people as you step into the part of the city that has been ravaged by the Uruk's midnight raids. Doors are barred shut, and windows boarded over with wood and steel rods. Piles of food and goods are set out in an effort to deter the Uruks from breaking down the meager barriers to people's homes and doing unspeakable things to people inside. Occasionally you see a dark brown stain on the pavement, and occasionally a few scraps of flesh or the occasional finger or bone. This only hardens your resolve, these simpletons are vulnerable, afraid. It is up the Elder races to guide the Lesser races, despite their own dwindling numbers. You would be a shining example to these people and harden their hearts of the horrors of this world, to its monsters and its pain. As you muse on this your thoughts are interrupted by the Guardsmen, who informs you that "This is tha place Mr. Elf-sir, please don't hurt me, I've a family waiting for me back home."

>>52535

1. Your emergence into this world has disoriented you greater then you had first realized, and when trying to orient yourself to the magic of this sphere you are overwhelmed. Stumbling around in the muck as your vision goes hazy, your "senses" overwhelmed. You finally fall into the muck, and in your anger at this indolent new form, you idle-mindedly cast a force spell and throw the water and mud around you about and away from your form.

> Mana: 14/15

2. Cursing your rashness, you instead see what this body can do aside from stumble about. You leave the tepid waters that you had apparated into. Arriving at a tree at the edge of the waters you squarely face it, forming your black, hawkish digits into a fist and striking the tree. Its bark peels away from your touch, and the wood you strike turns black with rot. The actual physical force of your strike is not too impressive, not much stronger then that of what amounts to the average being on this plane, but the additive effect of your touch decaying and destroying organic matter is most impressive, most impressive indeed. You turn and grab a fistful of reeds as well, and they too slowly rot and fall from your hand. Finally, a creature that is ponderously walking by, its movement constricted by its heavy shell, is snatched up in your claws. It is alarmed at first, before a slight scream escapes its beaked mouth. It goes limp, and your fingers make its shell peel and crack, until you are only holding the bones that lie underneath its decorative outer coating, the rest of the beast a slurry beneath you.

3. You look up into the night sky. It is a cloudless night, and the hot air… what is hot? Irregardless, the stale, warm air gives you a uninterrupted view of the night sky. Stars twinkle above, and behind them in radiant glory shines the vast expanse of existence. Worlds were born and died in the dark, and by the slight flicker of distant suns did some of them have their myriad of surfaces, no two alike, illuminated, if only for the briefest of moments. There was a calm in it, the flow of energy in existence, a brevity exchanged between the void and the small sparks of creation the existed as tiny islands in the abyss. There was a balance, a order. Light and Dark, presence and absence, something and nothing. Energy flowed and returned, worlds burned into existence and disintegrated into nothing as time marched forwards on its inexorable quest to end all things. Only in certain spots did you sense a disturbance to this order, an aberration to the natural beauty of the cosmos. Life, it poisoned all that it touched, used the force of magic for its own purpose, and corrupted the magnificence of creation with its own paltry attempts at the game of beings far beyond their understanding. This is your purpose, as it has always been and always will be. This "life", this cosmic mistake, must be eradicated, before it can spread and infest all that is with its sickness…

>>52536

1. Awakening at the crack of dawn, you get a small but earnest breakfast of ham and grits, as you are accustomed too. Downing a small cup of mead (non-alcholic) and heading out you wander on down to the docks, a short walk from the tavern, with a pep in your step and a tune on your tongue. You find a nice little soapbox and stand upon it, straightening your cloak and coif, and open your mouth and allow the word of the Lord to come forth. People come to you and gather around as your lyre as you fill the air with the sounds of wonderment, and soon others are joining in, after only 1 verse no less! A large crowd forms , and the raucous chorus soon becomes a heavenly choir. This continues on for several minutes, before you begin to wrap up your song. People are sad at first, as if something beautiful was stripped from them. They are even more bewildered when you descend from on high to mingle among them, telling them of the glory of the Lord and how the song they just enjoyed and joined in was only possible due to his will. Many are interested, and ask to hear more of this Lord of which you speak. Though others seem to be watching you from a distance, cloaked figures in white robes, whispering to each other and pointing at you…

2. You continue your song and musical routine for the rest of the day, and to your surprise the crowd seems to be getting larger and larger each time, though the people do seem to be changing as well. A lot more bald people show up as the day goes on, and their smiles seem forced, but still you persist. They seem more intent on you preaching somewhere else, somewhere quiet. This works out for you because you were looking for a place to preach from, a solitary place where you can guide a new flock in the to light. A nice man instructs you to follow him, he is very interested in your lord and has a vacant warehouse from which you can preach your sermons to the growing congregation you have here. You follow the man to a shady part of town, but you do not judge, for the lord's will is at work here…

3. Oh God, Oh God, what is happening. You were following the man down a alleyway near the Slums near the craftsmen's district in the center of the city when everything went dark. Where are you? Why is it so… so hot? You can't see, your face feels wet. Oh Lord, oh God, please… please not like this…

>Health: 5/10

+ [Blinded and Bound] - Your hands and feet are tied. You can't see from the blood covering and caked over your eyes. The room is getting hotter and hotter around you…

>>Stat sheet:

Name: Grimmwald the Monster Slayer

Fluff:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3Ha8GCv788

Grimmwald was born as the son of a mighty Vinod warrior, a stalwart protector of the peaks and clouds the Vinod call home. For much of his childhood Grimmwald lived in his father's shadow, with expectations upon him to achieve greatness as well and to fill his father's very large shoes. With this in mind, when his coming-of-age rolled around Grimmwald elected to take on perhaps the highest calling of the Vinod - the slaying of their corrupted and evil Aslardi cousins. To this end he was trained in a variety of weapons, from sword to spear and from hammer to greatbow. The Aslardi were perhaps the greatest enemy of the Vinod, an insult to their very being, and as such no amount of training or trials was too much to ensure their extermination. Grimmwald proved to be a capable learner, showing this by his first victory over a roving band of Aslardi raiders, holding the distinction of getting the most kills from among the other young giants who accompanied him. However, this distinction was not enough for young Grimmwald. As he spent time in the lowlands he realized that the Aslardi weren't the only dangers this world faced. Great and fell beasts roamed the world, just waiting to bring destruction to anything that lies in their path. Thus Grimmwald decided to take on the life of a monster slayer, using his formidable size combined with the huge weapons he wields (most notable his trusty greatsword, whose sheer weight and sharpness is designed to pierce through thick hide and tough scales alike) make him a valuable asset indeed in this field, and no job is too big for Grimmwald, be it Aslardi, dragon, ogre or whatever else the wild may throw at him! By the time he is done down here he will surely have proven that he is worthy of his father's blood or he will die a warrior's death trying!

>>Don’t Fill this in

Health: 10/10

Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits

Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying

Bonus: Based on Fluff

Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items

>>52538

1/2. Arising in the morning and after a quick breakfast, you pick up your slab of metal and go out to the wide, open courtyard and decide to train with it. Setting up several targets from empty ale barrels filled with sand and several grain sacks suspended from poles, you get to work practicing your swordsmanship. The first few swings are lackluster, as to be expected. You treat the sword more like a blunt stick, tossing it about without care for the striking edge. Eventually after getting sore enough hands and almost taking your own head off you begin to get the hang of it, not swinging the sword as if it were something you were holding, but rather as an extension of yourself, as another, longer, part of your arms. You cleave clean through a barrel when the tavern owner comes out and yells at you to… "Stop making such a fookin' mess!" Apologizing, you put everything back to where you found it, shirking the ire of the barman, who in return for you cleaning up after yourself "Won't charge ya double for tha cleanin' fee!"

> Large Weapon Handling 3/10

3. Packing up your items and leaving the tavern, you depart for the place where multiple people have directed you as the whereabouts of Lachlan the Old, deep within the market district. It takes the better part of a day to find the old shack, and when you do you almost miss it due to its sorry state.

"Truly no one could live here UgU " You say, grabbing ahold of the small doorknob, which is more a rusted flask lid then a knob, and turning a door with more holes in it then Heimish cheese. Turning it, it turns to dust in your hands, but the door opens all the same, or rather it falls from its rusted hinges. A knife flies past your face, scratching it underneath your eye and embedding itself to the hilt in the soft wood of the doorframe near your head. "Who are you, and why did you BREAK MY DOOR?!" a mountain of a man (and just as grey as stone) emerges from the shadows, in worn leather and sporting one blazing eye. He's easily 2 heads taller then you and 3 times as wide, and your sword in his hands would go from being massive to just "large". Breaking you from your observations with a pointed reminder of his previous question; "I said what the fuck da ye want? Are ya deaf, or did the flames that made you inta a half-jerky lass spares yer ears but rot ya mind?"

>>Stat sheet:

Name: Wolf-Breaker

Fluff: Wolf-Breaker is the Common name of Kop'r-Mur, a warrior from the savage tribes of the North, beyond civilization, where reindeer, seals, and sometimes small whales make up the majority of the average person's diet. There, the Ra'akal people thrive. Barely human by some scholars' standards, the Ra'akal are short and stout, though not to the extent of the Dawi, and are universally hairy with heavy brows, powerful leg muscles, and keen eyes. Ra'akal society is based on the migratory extended family, or the Ra'ak, which is typically comprised of a patriarch, 3-8 other elders, as many as 30 adult males, their wives from other Ra'ak, and their children. Warriors are the highest class among the Ra'ak, after the patriarch and elders, and have lived as laborers, craftsmen, and hunters. The duty of the warrior is twofold: to protect the Ra'ak and its beasts from vicious animals and monsters like bears, wolves, lynxes, trolls, frost giants, and wyrms, and to make war with other Ra'ak, should the elders deem it necessary. Wolf-Breaker did not earn his adult name until his second year as a hunter, when he, his brother, and his father, Great Caribou Herd, were set upon by wolves out on the lake ice while they were hunting for seals. The wolves savaged his brother, tearing him to shreds before Wolf-Breaker's eyes. As the wolves turned on the remaining two men, a fight ensued. Wolf-Breaker's father killed two wolves with a spear, and Wolf-Breaker clubbed in a wolf's head with his seal-club. The fight took a turn for the worse when Great Caribou Herd was bitten on the arm, and cold no longer hold his spear, and Wolf-Breaker was knocked over, and his club knocked away, by a fifth wolf. Wolf-Breaker then fearlessly plunged his arm down his wolf's gullet, so that it could not close its mouth or breathe, and tore out its insides with his clutched fist. He then lunged for the wolf attacking his father, gripped it by the upper and lower jaws, and with tremendous effort, snapped the beast's maw. The wolf fled, and Wolf-Breaker and Great Caribou Herd returned to the Ra'ak, carrying four dead wolves and a dead hunter. Wolf-Breaker was given honor, a name, and status as a warrior for his deeds. In the seven years after that, Wolf-Breaker defended his Ra'ak against the worst that the Forever Winter had to throw at them, including two she-bears at once, two packs of wolves, five enemy raids, and a troll attack. He ]also participated in ten raids on other Ra'ak, some of which earned him spoils and slaves. On one cold night, he laid by the fire in his tent, his wife and children huddled close to him, and the sound of the slaves quietly tending the camp, and he felt a great urge to explore the world. The Ra'ak was doing very well, and many other warriors had been promoted since he earned his name, so they could afford to lose one warrior.The next day, he packed his essentials, met with patriarch Elk-Sledge and the seven elders, obtained their blessing to go, as long as he brought glory to the tribe, left his family in the care of his slaves and his brothers, and journeyed until he found a road. From there, he went out to find his destiny. It has been two years since then, and in that time, he has mastered the common tongue, earned a reputation as a brutally efficient sellsword (the term being used loosely, as he usually carries a spear), and even learned how to read from some monks in exchange for protection from bandits. Now, he arrives in Eidolon, determined to find his fortune, and bring honor to his people.

>>Don’t Fill this in

Health: 10/10

Gear: All of your shit, confers bonuses to rolls and other mechanical benefits

Inventory: Everything of note that you are carrying

Bonus: Based on Fluff

Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items

>>52539

1. All of that map drawing does bring to you a basic understanding of city planning in the Eidolish style. Square plots that seemed to be based on proximity to certain industries and marketplaces, and care taken to clearly demarcate the borders between economically disparse populations in the city. The city was clearly planned with regions for both the poor and the rich in mind, and a wide margin of middleclass craftsmen between them. Its all quite dull, but you learn and notice it all the same.

>City Planing 2/5

2. You order an extra portion of all the staple foods and sit at the largest table in the tavern, cajoling with the awakened patrons and inviting them to join a brother of the Imperishable like yourself. Some take you up on this offer, and soon 4 individuals aside from yourself are seated at your table, eating and intently listening to your lessons on the Imperishable. Another brother enters the tavern, and offers to take your new converts to the Temple the Church has in the Patriarchate district. He also puts his hands on your shoulder as he leaves and directs your attention towards a strangely dressed elf who is whistling a happy tune to himself. "Watch out for that one, damn knife-ears and their poisonous religion. We'll try to take care of him, but if he persists then you may be called to a higher purpose brother."

+ 1 [Favor with the Temple of the Imperishable] - Grants a +15 to rolls interacting with your peers and superiors in the Church. 1 favor per dice, and per action

3. You depart from the tavern and head to the Temple of the Imperishable to pray. The sun is setting in the sky, and the whole world takes a amber hue as you pass between the umber obsidian doors to the Church, one of the larger Temples in the district, but still dwarfed by the massive Imperial Solarian Church, dedicated to the Supreme being of the Eidolish Pantheon, Solus, who created the heavens and the earth and the others gods to shepard his creation. You pass into the church, taking the handful of ceremonial dust and sand composed of a mixture of burned bodies of the dead of the church, and sand from the holy land that is the old Umli heartlands. With the handful you place it into your mouth, swallowing it while exclaiming the holy prayer of entrance; "That which is Deathless may never Die, but in Eternal Slumber may the Imperishable rise." You are one of many doing such rite, and you take your place among fellow brothers and initiates. All of you in the characteristic white robes, all men in the room bearing the shaven heads characteristic of the order as well. Raising your hoods to your heads in unison as the choir starts up in language of Old Nurdolian, your chants filling the temple as you praise the aspects of the Imperishable. The Chants begins:

" Gy'thoh gthun, Seroset w'yght

Yrggr yyrmit hyygath Hyuhun.

F'uthut Fyth't, yqit'h w'yghh

Yyth'y yth'n, Ethwygh Quyon! "

And with that all the light in the room dies. A single dull orb appears in the middle of the room, its color ever changing but always muted tone of black, brown, red or orange. A deep throbbing seems to originate from the Orb, a resonance that shakes the very walls of the room and reverberates deeply inside you and everyone else. This was it, your favorite part of the prayer sessions, and only occurring once every season. THE SELECTION! A acolyte starts to glow and slowly rises aobve the congregation, the women; terrified at first and begging to stop the ceremony, but the chanting continues on and her screams are drowned out by chorus of you and your fellow brothers. Her eyes start to glow, before bright rays of light shoot out of them. Her mouth opens as well, and tendrils of the same light pour out and fill the room, wandering around until they reach the orb, which once smooth surface is now a jagged and undulating mass. The orb suddenly shines bright, as if enriched by the light flowing out of the women, who begins to disappear and fade to a luminant gold dust that swirls around the room. The resonance of the orb reaches a crescendo, drowning out the chants of your brothers and shaking dust from the roof of the temple. Suddenly the Orb shrinks to the size of a pinhead, then illuminates the whole room as it expands rapidly, bathing all of you in yellow light.

As quickly as it began it ends. It would appear that you are not the blessed one today, but maybe next time champ!

>>52988

3. Huffing and puffing and regaining your senses, you decide that what you really need is a drink, a right and proper drink, not any of that hog-swill that the Teutons called "Ale". What you needed was a real pint of Dwarven Mead, something to take the edge off and help with this concussion you seem to have gotten. Luckily for you you had just come into possession of a map of everything that a very well informed locale knew about Loune, and perhaps there was a note somewhere on this map of a Dwarven Ale house or some sort of Dwarven Guild hall or even an embassy from one of the Dwarven realms. Luckily for you there was all three, and you got your pick of them. Deciding first on a good pint you head towards "Deepbrew's Bakraz Gorog" Which according to these notes has the strongest Ale in the city.

A short time later you arrive at the distinctly dwarven building, the familiar site of the polished rock, hewn with care and set with bronze and marble warms your heart, and the heat from the roaring fires inside as you enter warms your soul. A familiar guttural call from the dwarf working behind the bar greets you as you sit down. " 'Ello cousin, what cannae do fer ye? Perhaps a pint of me special Deepbrew Kol-Grizdal will steel your soul in these trying times?" Gladly accepting the delicious ale, you began chatting with the barman and the other Dawi in the room. It turned out this tavern was run by a member of Clan Varaggorm, a sister clan to Clan Aurumhold. The owner himself comes to talk to you, and hearing your tale nods his head solemnly. "Aye, the Elder races are losing not only their people, but their history as well. If no one writes down 'oll the great deeds that we've accomplished, then when tha last Dawi dies, how can we be sure that any will remember us?" The Dwarf becomes slightly misty-eyed, before looking at you and speaking once more; "I tell you what cousin, so long as I see ya making progress on that there book o'yours, yer welcome to stay 'ere… if ye dunnae mind runnin' tha occasional errand fer me that is."

>>52565

1. You depart from the tavern in the early morning with your tools and everything you own, looking for a local smith who would even have the customer base to support enchanted items (themselves being extremely expensive ) This takes up most of your morning, and far away from the tavern in the port district. You are halfway across town before you find a smith that seems well-off enough to be selling to high-class customers. You wander inside and see immediately that the shop is packed with adventurers, some sensibly dressed in practical armor with practical weapons, and others wearing little to no armor, or armor that is just as likely to kill them as it is to protect them, with weapons either to unwieldy, flashy, or just plain stupid to be used effectively. You move past the gaggle of various races, all looking over the myriad armor and weapons set about the shop and head to the counter, asking to speak to the smith that runs this shop. The man at the counter replies that he is the smith and is very busy, and would like to know what it is that you want. You inform him that you are a runesmith, and are interested in exchanging your skill in enchanting for some of his excess supplies. The man seems unimpressed, and leaves the counter to go to his back room through some fabric that makes a makeshift door. Saddened and slightly offended, you are prepared to leave before a sword comes flying out from the same way the Blacksmith left and almost stabs you in the face if not in a sheath. Picking up the sword, you turn to the Blacksmith, who has reemerged from the back of the shop; "Jus' what tha hell do ye think yer doing Teuton!?!" You yell at the man, infuriated and insulted. "I've been tricked before, I won't be again. A customer of mine wants this sword enchanted with Lighting magic, a level 3 spell. Should be easy for you. Do that and we'll continue to work together, steal the sword and I'll break all the bones in your tiny body. You have 2 days (turns)."

+ [Iron Sword w/Sheath] - A basic sword, you aren't supposed to use it as a weapon.

> Gustav's Enchantment Quest - You've been tasked to enchant a sword with a lighting effect to prove your worth to a blacksmith of some renown. You have 2 turns to complete the enchantment.

2. You leave the blacksmith shop and decide to cool off by venturing to a nearby library and seeing if they have any books on the Teutons newly made machines of war and agriculture. They are nowhere near as advanced as Dawi designs, but there may be some novel ideas that haven't been considered by the stubborn and close-minded dwarves. You've also (though you won't admit it) read into the study of engineering as much as your other kin has, and definitely have some catch-up to do as well. Asking around for a local library open to the public, you are guided towards the more wealthy part of the city near the Military part of the city, specifically a large stone tower called the Monolith. It is imposing, easily the tallest building in the city, and also doubling as a light house. You are almost at the monolith when suddenly a building in the distance, near the slums infront of the citadel, explodes violently. It is nearing the night, but suddenly the streets are alive as the black sky is lit up bright orange, and small patches of fiery fabric comes raining down and setting smaller fires in places. The streets suddenly are filled, and you cannot help but be carried along with the crowd. For and hour you go along with them, until you finally end up outside of the city at the gate closest to the citadel on the north side of the city. By the Gods old and new, this is a disaster!

3. As the moon starts to rise in the sky, and with you far from a bed and anything else you wanted to do, you pull out your dowsing rod and pray. Walking around the edge of the city for the entire night, you start to wonder into some ruins on the Eastern plains of the city. Suddenly the dowsing rod points straight down, and as it does you begin to fall. The ground gives way beneath your feet and you tumble into darkness…

You come to some time later, not understanding where you are or how much time had been out. The Rod is beside you, perfect balanced, or rather perfectly positioned, on the bottom of its Y shaped form. You are either directly over a magical site, or your craft is terrible and you've just killed yourself. Rising and dusting yourself off, you bring out a small stick that you have "Illuminate" bound to, and shine a bright if small light in the room you are currently in. Its a tunnel, and at the end of it a cool breeze blows. You head into the wind, hoping to find a way out, but unfortunately only find yourself deeper in whatever underground complex that you seemed to have stumbled into. The Dowsing rod still points down, and as is your luck, you happen to find a stairwell…

>>52571

1. As this is a city and in fact the capital of the largest Teuton (human) empire in the the world, there are plenty of blacksmiths in the city, plenty of shitty ones and a few great ones, but your statue draws you towards the men of skill, who no doubt will be more of use to you then the local chump making nails and horseshoes. There is one in particular that you see one of your fellow compatriots from the tavern heading towards. While his experience is… interesting at best, your is much more smooth and involves less throwing of weapons and cursing. The smith is intrigued by you, "A half-breed Vinod you say? I always wondered how that would work out… Never mind, don't explain it. I would have a use for you, but before I let you anywhere near my forge, I'll need you to do a favor for me first. There's a very good customer of mine, ordered a massive greatsword all specially enchanted for whatever giant monster or person he wants to kill or whatnot. I forged the blade here, almost as tall as you are, but I had to send it off to Buzundush for the Dwarves to enchant it. Its due for pickup in their Capital of Agrum, but they don't allow any old human in their cities, let alone Elves or any other races. Giants they can stand, see them almost as a "Big Brother" if you will, and while you aren't a giant, you can pass for a really young one easily enough if you shave that gangly beard o' yours. Go and pick up my sword, bring it back here, and you can work here, I'll pay you handsomely and I'll sweeten the deal by giving you a weapon, unenchanted, from my shop on the house. What do you say, Giant ?"

2. Contemplating the Blacksmith's offer, you feign impairment when he hands you a contract that you cannot read, citing that you had "…lost my glasses when I arrived here…" as opposed to the truth of the matter being that you never were taught to read. The Blacksmith simply states that "There's a glass-maker just across the way that can make you a pair of those spectacles that yer talking about, but as many knocks as your likely to take maybe a single monocle or a reading stone is more your speed. Tell ya what, you take this here bag of coin and go get some, maybe it'll make ye look smarter to the Dwarves."

+ [Insert preferred Reading Utensil here] - Allows you to read fine print.

3. Departing from the blacksmith's abode, you head out and return to the tavern to ask around about any local mining guild that is hiring. The land around Loune is mostly flat unfortunately, but there is a small set of hills less then a day's travel away that is host to a series of iron and ore mines. There's a local rep for them in the market area, and he takes one look at you and quickly determines that while you'd be much much too big for the mines, you'd be invaluable as muscle in pulling ore loads and loading carriages, maybe even pulling them! He begins to offer you a contract for payment, but you cut him off and ask instead for raw ore and fuel for a smithy. The man looks confused for a second, before quickly doing some work on his scroll and rolling it shut, shaking your hand…

"Sounds like a deal Big Man , We'll 'ave ya by the Pit sometime this week I imagine."

>>52576

1. As luck would have, or rather not have it, there is one caravan heading to the southern wastes. Its easy to find, the only caravan heading south from the Iron Gate and towards Ryarquh. It is filled with burly and swarthy men, and the occasional women who looks rougher then most. Along with them is a strange beast of burden uncommon to the northern lands of Eidolon, but entirely at home in the desert. Walking upon eight spindly legs and having a body made of a solid black organic material, hard as rock and slick as an oiled elf's ass. Most noticeable is its giant claws, large as a horse each, and the massive tail ending with a sickly sharp point. It is known as a Sikorifori, and upon its back is the bulk of the caravan, and accompanying it is several other giant insectoids, upon which the rest of caravan is packing onto. Asking one of the people who seem to be tending to the beast, feeding them bits of Uruk, when the caravan is leaving, he turns sharply, accidentally splashing you with with a small bit of discharge from the Uruk intestines he was holding. As you are so short, he does not notice you at first, and when he finally does he turns and begins tending to his charge again before answering you.

"The Caravan is leaving at midnight, the we can only travel the desert at night and leaving in the daytime will put us in the dunes right at midday. We don't wait up for anyone, so if you're not back you'll have to wait another 2 weeks before we return."

2. After buying passage to the south with the last few teeth you have (now being broke) you return to your room in the tavern to provision yourself for your voyage (stealing some extra food that people seemed to be not looking at) and studying your book of spells. A cursory glance in the chapters concerning earth magic reveals a spell that would allow you to form small mounds of earth into little obedient servants. Intrigued, you kick some of the dirt off of your feet and form them into several little mounds, then turning to the page you begin the incantation, and suddenly they begin to grow, and harden, until 4 little golems are standing before you. Amazed you read on, before dropping the book in horror as you realize that you hadn't read the entire spell, and the lines you forgot to speak where the ones that anchored the golems to your will. Instead now they're roughish monstrosities unbound and only serving a will that is utterly unknown and unknowable. They will seek to grow and increase their strength, or so the book says. They must be wiped out, it further declares, before something utterly horrible happens. You look up from the book and your creations are gone.

Shutting the book and leaving the tavern, you seek to put as much distance between yourself and it.

+ 4 [Travel Rations] - Good for 5 turns, must be eaten on the road to maintain health, 1 used per day of travel (1 turn being a day, etc.)

3. Your predictions were right, and you are now broke. As you leave the tavern you try to find some local bounty board or job list, but quickly realizing that you only have a few hours to do anything you take a simple extermination job for some giant rats in the city sewers. Its dirty, disgusting work, but with spell book in hand you descend into the depths. A minor issue is that its took dark to read the book, and you have yet to memorize any spells, so tucking it away into your bag of holding you resort to more… innate tools. With talon, fang and claw you tear into the rats you can find, and eventually reach their warren, killing a bloated queen and her brood. All in all you collect 25 rat tails, worth a hefty 5 Gold coins, and whats more you find a small golden ring in the nest as well.

+ 5 [Gold Coins]

+ [Golden Ring]

>>52587

1. Heading to the Patriarchate district, you soon find yourself surrounded by massive temples to the various gods of the world. The largest and by far most numerous ones being the God of the Eidolish People, that of Sol Invictus, God of the Sun, War and Victory, who is said to have once been a man, and in fact the first king of the Ancient Kingdom of Eidolon in the dark ages of man. He lead his people from unknown lands to the very ground you now stand upon, forming the city of Loune. In time he came to conqueror and expand his kingdom to roughly a 1/8 of the size it is today, and it is said he ascended to the heavens after killing the Father of Dragons and the Keeper of Shadows in the far northern reaches of the world. There are no less then 15 temples here to the Eidolish Gods, and another 35 major temples to various others. Numerous smaller temples and buildings dot the Patriarchate as well, but you feel oddly drawn to one in particular. While many of the buildings here are made from polished marble or at the very least a pleasant carved stone, the building before you is black as coal and slick, in a manner similar to the heart, but you can tell just by looking at it that this is a pale imitation. Several men stand outside of it, in dusty cream white robes and with heads as bare as a babe's ass. They are talking amongst themselves as you unconsciously approach the entrance, before each of them turn in turn and greet you as one…

"Hello Brother, what brings you to the Temple of the Imperishable?"

The in-concert question would throw off most men, but you already know what to say before you can think about it.

"I come to see what this temple is, an umber shade against a gleaming white facade of Gods and men."

Strange in that you didn't think of saying that, rather something said it for you. The conversation continues, and you talk, though more of a passenger then a participant. The men invite you inside, but you decline, and insist that you would return in several days time when the discussed ritual known as the "Harrowing" would occur. Walking out of the Patriarchate district you finally regain your will as you step onto the first cobblestone outside of the holy site. Kneeling over you vomit profusely, as it would seem the loss of control of your body and sudden regaining of said control was extremely disorientating. What's more you have several sores that weren't there before, and some of them are even weeping blood.

>Health: 13/15

2. Walking down the street and away from the Patriarchate district, you take several scraps of cloth hanging around and bind or cover your sores, and once that is out of the way and after washing the blood from your shirt and drying it, you aim to find either a sword (not so hard) or a spell book (much harder) lying around just waiting to be claimed. You walk past a tavern, where two loud and burly warriors who have had to much to drink are screaming at each other in their guttural tongue, primitive and barbaric as it is loud and obnoxious.

"Du Hurensohn! Ich werde dich für diese Beleidigung töten!" Barks one as he draws a large axe from his hip. "Probier es du fettes Schwein! Ich werde deine Augen früh genug essen." replies the other, drawing his own sword. The fight is brief, and the axeman returns to his drink inside the bar as the swordsman grabs at a gaping wound in his chest, the axeman keeping his promise as he is short one eye. He sees you as he struggles to plug the wound. Muttering in the Eidolish tongue, he pleads to you…

"P-pl-please hilf mir" he says, slipping into his old tongue. You approach the man, intent on helping him, grabbing the back of his head and reaching with your other hand. "I will…" You say, you fingers wrapping around the sword's hilt "…I'll help you." Lifting the blade, the man tries to speak, but before he can you bury the sword into his chest, and he goes limp. The sword is yours, and the man has been helped, with a minimal amount of effort on your part.

+ [Longsword] - The basic blade.Grants a +10/+25/+10 to small/similar/large sized targets.

>>53136

3. Securing the sword to your belt, you then head to the slums, stopping along the way at a baker in order to procure 3 loaves of bread using the last bit of coin you had. Tucking the three loaves into your cloak, you head into the nearest slums and begin to search for your quarries. Several individuals catch your eye, and your ears, as they all appear to be talking not only to each other, but to themselves as well. Perfect, you think. Stumbling on over so as to not alarm them, you blend into the small crowd and pass around pieces of bread which are generously accepted by the stuttering and muttering madmen. The conversation takes the usual route of the poor and desperate, grumbling about the Emperor, about the Rich, about the Church and about the Gods' seeming abandonment of the collective masses that make up about 3/4th's of the population of Loune. Interspersed throughout are demented ramblings of giants beneath the earth plotting the doom of all life, a great void above the sky where strange beings play at the fate of beings on this world as if it were a mere game, and one strange fellow who persistently bemoans the number one, calling it a "natural enemy of man" and blaming it for all troubles in his life as of late, while a man who looks seemingly similar arguing that it was merely comeuppance for his compatriots chance stumbling upon one-hundred gold pieces. You follow the conversation and slip in small notions of a rebellion against the light of Sol Invictus, and the Emperor and the rule of Sun, praising the dark and challenging that the Age of Fire has ended, and the Age of Darkness is upon us.

> Support: Demented Poorfolk 2/10

>>Don’t Fill this in

Health: 20/20

Gear:

+ [Vinod Half-Plate] - While most of your armor was lost at Sea, you still possess your cuirass, a steel spaulder, and your greaves. Any single piece is large enough to be forged into a suit of armor for a human, and provide substantial protection. - 35 to attacks made against you

+ [Ultra Greatsword] - A massive slab of steel the has been honed with a edge. It won't finely slice cheese, but it will cleave clean through a entire rank of armored humans and wedge itself in a nearby hillside. - 35/+35 to targets smaller/similar/larger then you.

Inventory:

+ [The Chains of Élivágar] - Enchanted set of chains of ancient Vinod craftsmenship. Can either bind a target they are wrapped around in ice or can lash a target for ice damage.

Bonus:

+ [The Giant Giantslayer] - There are few Vinod who leave the homelands in search of adventure, and of those who do even fewer are Giantslayers. Your reputation proceeds you, and while you will hunt some of your prey, some will hunt you as well. Luckily for you you realize how to fight such beasts, having learned from your ancestors before you, but also learning of some prophecy of ill-portent as well. Gain a Bonus of +1/round of a fight against giant monsters, with every crit adding an additional +5 to the stacking bonus. Be wary however, as every roll ≤20 imparts the same bonus to the enemy, and every subcrit ( ≤5) grants them a +5 against you.

Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items

Arriving from the Vinod land of Solundia by means of one of the few ships able to transports Giants, you arrive after hearing tales of the wonderful beasts that have begun to emerge in the lands of the Teutons, the Humans, in recent years. You had planned on traveling the to Capital city of the Human nation you had arrived in, Loune, the capital of the Empire of Eidolon, but upon leaving the port city of Chambonnes, you discovered the telltale signs of the most hated foes of the Vinod, your close but degenerate cousins, the Aslardi. No less then 8 of the beasts were close by and heading south at a fast pace, and you as a Vinod Giantslayer were honor-bound to slay them. Finally catching up to the at the Imperial city of Tevilles, you arrived to late to stop the assault on the city, but just in time to stop what would be a full-scale massacre…

>>52661

1/2/3. It is a pleasant walk through the woods, like many of the ones you've taken before in your seclusion. The woods are quiet here in the south, abutting up against the southern wastes in the East and the Mikilaz Ægir in the West. You can smell the sea salt on the air, and the wind is cool with the mist from the ocean, which isn't far. The time spent traveling gives you much time to think, to consider what drove you from your seclusion in the woods and into the wider world. There was a peace in those woods, in your small shack with your daily routine. It was pleasant, it was serene and blissful. Sure you had ran out of money, but it wasn't like you need more of it then what you could earn being a local adventurer, slaying brigands and monsters that troubled the locals. There was something that drew you, a man of thirty-seven years, out from those woods that you had come to call home and out into the wider world. It was the same thing that now drew you within sight of the modest town of Tevilles, and your trance-like introspective musings were cut short by the sounds of screams and howls, and a great roar followed by crashing sounds. Something was wrong, and you began sprinting towards the town.

Your worst suspicions were confirmed when you crested the hill and saw the city. Flames leap from the rooftops at the edge of the town, and the Southern Gate has been smashed to pieces. The bodies of soldiers and citizens alike are strewn about, some smashed into the ground in a red paste, others half eaten, and some still smeared onto the walls. A man is propped up against a shack outside of the walls a mere 10 feet from you, a women tending to a large gash across his chest. She is pleading with the man, a militiaman from the look of his simple armor and the colored band around his arm, the same shade of teal as the primary color of the Tevilles Banner. You walk towards the two of them, but as you get closer you see the man is pale and unresponsive, and you notice two small heads poking of from the door to the shack. The women shakes the man, and stops, soft cries now emanating from her person. Just the true meaning of the scene dawns upon you the ground begins to shake in the rhythmic footsteps of a Giant. The Widow now runs inside, her late husband finally slumping over without his wife to support him in death as she did in life. The culprit of this attack shows his terrible visage, it is one of the lesser cousins of the Vinod, a Thurs, or as they are referred to by the Giants, an Aslardi. He is just as tall as most giants, but while they resemble massive humans in peak form, this specimen is fat, his portly stomach scarred along with the rest of his body. From his mouth jut massive fangs, rotten and yellowed, and around tattered loincloth hang the bones and "snacks" (carcasses and prisoners) of many a man and animal. With each step of his wart-covered, hairy feet the ground tremors, and he is indeed heading right for the shack sheltering the recently-reduced family…

"This shall not stand!" You exclaim, raising your sword to the beast in challenge. It fails to notice you, continuing on on its path to destruction, crushing several fleeing people underfoot. Taking his insolence as further insult, you charge the giant, grabbing onto his club that is swinging idly from his belt, and climbing up his massive form. Reaching the belt you pull out two small rib bones from a freshly cleaned ribcage changing from a small hold on his loincloth, and as a climber would scale a rockface, you bury the two sharp stakes into him and prepare to climb. The beast notices this, and begins to grab at you, slapping his big meaty hands in anger against the side of his ribcage you are currently scaling, but you duck and jump, dodging his slow and easy-to-read attacks…

(cont.)

>>53140

(cont.)

You're on the beast's back now, and even its long and gangly arms are having trouble reaching you, slapping ineffectively at its shoulders as it screams in the twisted tongue of the Aslardi, itself a deviation of the already gluttural and rumbling Vinish tongue. Its screams almost deafen you, but do not deter you ad you reach the back of its neck. The giant is suddenly distracted, as it could now easily reach you, but militiamen archers now harry it with arrows, some of which whiz past your helmet, alerting you of their presence. Taking this opportunity to deliver a decisive blow, you raise your sword in a piercing maneuver, the guard level with your shoulder, as you aimed to send the 3 & 1/2 foot blade clean through the behemoth's neck.

Striking down with all of your might you send your blade through the giant's neck and clean through the other side, eliciting a mighty roar from the beast, who momentarily turning his attention away from the militiamen archers, is met with a hail of arrows to his face. Your blow does not carry the intended effect however, as while the Giant is bleeding, it is no more a stream of blood then what would normally be incurred by any other stabbing wound. Surmising that you had missed a critical point in the beast's neck, you try to grab the blade, your other handhold on a patch of the Giant's matted hair tenuous as best, and what's more his attention is solidly transfixed upon you now. A giant hand soon reaches for you at alarming speed, and only by thrusting your pointed shield and wedging it under the monster's finernail, almost shearing it clean off, are you able to buy more time to fell the Giant.

Thinking quickly, and with both hands free, you grab the hilt, slick with blood, and try to push it so as you cut more of the flesh the sword is already immersed in. This solicits another howl from the Giant, who once again reaches for you. Cutting a wider and wider swath, the blade moving close to the creature's spine. Just as you are about to tear the blade out, the unexpected happens as the Giants far arm grabs you and starts to pull. The pain is immense as the creature squeezes you, but your armor holds for now. You realize if you hadn't been wearing it you'd be nothing more then a pulply mess in the Aslardi's hands, but even though you can hear the joints stressing under the pressure, the steel holds. The beats pulls harder and harder, squeezing you all the while, but you still hold onto the blade, which is now caught on the Giant's spine. With one final pull he tugs on you, and you feel as though you might be torn in two, but the giant's spine gives first, and it is sheer muscle inertia that pulls on you still as the blade slices clean through the rest of the giants neck on the other side of his spine, his head now dangling for a moment from the loose tatters of flesh, but the weight of his massive cranium compounded with the chains he had around his neck soon pull it free from the last vestments of his torso. The Body stands aloft for just a moment longer, before collapsing to its knees, you still in the vice-like grip of the now dead beast, who's arms fall limp, and soon along with the rest of its body lies on the ground.

>>53143

(cont.)

Using your sword to free yourself, you see it is soon ruined with the blood and fat of the giant, dulled beyond use and chipped on the Aslardi's dense bones. Paying your respects to the blade you leave it buried in the body of the monster it slew, and quickly search for your shield, still stuck under the nail you forced it under and mercifully undamaged, if but a little dirty. You search around for anything you can use as a weapon. Spotting an odd looking corpse on the giant's loincloth, you quickly surmise that this was probably the town's Wizard, a staple in all major Eidolish cities to consult the provincial governor on manners of Arcane and mysterious encounters that are abound in this world. What's more, he has a sword in his rigor-mortis stricken hands. Its blade is black, with glowing orangish runes carved into its blade. Freeing the blade from its prison and thanking the deceased man, you hold the blade infront of you and study it. The Runes are some sort of Dwarish, you can't read them to see what they say, but their glow tells you that this sword is enchanted, but with what you don't know. The blade is more valuable then most villages, and their occupants. As you study the blade more, entranced by its beauty, several of the militiamen who aided you come forth, one slapping you on the back…

"Coooooor Blimey, you killed that big fucker right proper!" He whistles before kicking the downed Giant. "Still about 7 of them I reckon, and we've recieved reports that another one is heading this way, though he's wearing actual armor, must be their leader." The surly militiamen reports, idly stabbing the corpse of the giant. "The man up against that shack over there, will he live?" You ask, the thought of the probable widow and her children still fresh on your mind. "Old Arthur, he's taken a nasty wound, but our 'ealer will do her best to ensure he's till around to take care of his missus and their little blighters!" He chortles, now using his spear to support himself as he wipes sweat from his brow. "Where are the rest of them, the Giants?" You ask. "There's about 4 of them in the city, and the other 3 are about destroying homes and eatin' people they catch, we're scattered thin, tryin' to distract them as best as we're able, but with the Captain of the guard dead…" He gestures to the Wizard's corpse "…along with ol' Master Amon, and the Governer doin' what he does best, hidin' in his Castle, we're a bit disorganized. The new one is coming close by way of Northgate, and coming fast. No idea what we'll do 'bout him."

>>53142

>>53146

114, 106, 122 vs 139, 48, 129 = Slight Victory

1/2/3. Though they are a decent bit taller then you, and most likely stronger just by nature of their brutish life and changes in physiology (something that most Vinod are hesitant to admit) You are honor-bound to kill every Aslardi you see, though honor itself does not compel you so much as pure hatred. To see an Aslardi in person for the first time, you begin to truly understand why such creatures as this, though your distant cousins, must be eradicated root and stem. You charge at the brute, sword raised in anticipation for the first strike. He is, after all, merely using a tree trunk as a weapon. The distance closes, and you leap in the air with your sword raised high, eager to kill this fool and move onto the next Aslardi scum. Your the price of your hubris is the resulting blow you receive when the Aslardi brings his mace from from the ground in a flowing motion, slamming it into your gut and throwing you back onto your backside. He then follows up on your downed form with another hammer blow to the chest, a small cough of blood escaping your lips. Luckily enough His mace then caught on a piece of your curiuss, giving you the chance to bring your sword up and cut off his hand griping the mace. The Aslardi fell back, screaming and grabbing the stump of his former hand as you fell upon him, cutting a large swath from his gut, the beast knelling over and clutching at the wound. Standing over the foe, you readied the killing blow, preparing to cleanly cut off the head of the fallen giant. In your moment of hesitation however, the giant lunges at your legs, taking them from underneath you and tackling the both of you into a house. A brawl then commences, with you struggling to beat the Aslardi off of you and he as well struggling to land any decisive blows while only possessing one fist. Eventually you break away, your sword a mere 50 feet away on the ground, and the Aslardi seeing it as well, lunges for it!

>TBR

>Fix your health

Health: 18/20

>Aslardi Raider

Health: 12/25

+ [Crippled] - You have by some means reduced this foe greatly from their fighting strength, and as such they suffer a - 15 to all rolls while in this state

+ [Bleeding out] - Great wounds have caused this foe to bleed greatly, and unless they fix this will surely perish. Lose 2 health per turn, and an additional -1 per turn (stacking)

>>52956

Health: 10/10

Gear:

+ [Short Spear] - Of the kind used by the individual warrior, quick and deadly while lacking the truly hampering nature of the longer spears, but still a hamper if the enemy gets in close. -10/+5/+20 to enemies smaller/similar/larger then you. Doubled against mounted troops, and the bonus entirely negated if an enemy passes your guard (which they'll have to roll to do, so you'll know when its in effect)

Inventory:

+ [Whale Ivory Pendant] - A symbol of your foreign gods, who have no temple here. Due to the rarity of easy-to-hunt whales on the south seas, its also quite valuable.

Bonus:

+[Northern Wildman] - You are from the harsh north, so wild and unknown that even the best maps of the world (such as the one in the top of the thread) don't have its reaches pictured. You are well suited to life in the wild, and require 1/4 of the travel rations needed by other adventurers (representative of your foraging and hunting) and additionally have critfails in the wilderness reduced by 1 range (excluding nat 1's).

Misc: A neat little spot for all your progression items

>>53171