GM Bigrin's Giantslayer (Inactive)

Game Master bigrin42

"My name? Who wants to know? If this is about Mik, I won fair and square. It's not my fault he wasn't smart enough to find the loophole. . .No? Forget I said anything. What do you want? . . . Name's Jake. . .Sure, I'll take some of that Dwarven Ale. Have a seat."

"The scar? Which one? This one?" Jake points to the burn on his face "This one?" He points to an 8 inch scar on his forearm. "Or this one?" He lifts up his shirt revealing an 18 inch scar from his sternum to his right hip.

"This little guy on my face? My brother, Torrag, gave that to me. We were fooling around and he conjured some acid that got me right there. I got him back though. Got him with a bolt to the shoulder. Heh. I wonder what he's up to now. Haven't seen him in a few years. Not everyday you see a dwarf with that much magic potential. . . Yes, I said he's my brother and no I'm not a dwarf. My parents were killed when I was but 5 years old. I'll never forget the one-eyed beast that mercilessly slaughtered them. We lived in a small logging community not too far from here. I don't remember too much, but I do remember the sound of the cabin door smashing in. I looked over just in time to see the beast slay them both with one swing of his axe. The tattoo of a lightning bolt through his massive green eye will forever be ingrained in my memory." Jake pauses. Almost inaudably says,"I've got a bolt that will find that eye of his before I die" He seems to reflect for a moment longer before regrouping his thoughts. "That's how I got this scar, by the way." He lifts up his shirt one more time revealing the scar on his torso. "He took out a knife and made his way over to me. With one quick move he cut me. Everything went black. When I woke up I was somewhere else. I opened my eyes to the woman I would call mom from then on. A lovely Dwarven woman. I was an inch from death when they carried me out of the cabin. From that day forward I grew up in the neighboring mining community of Jyord raised by dwarves. It was a grim upbringing." With the last comment Jake roars with laughter, barely getting the last words out. "Get it!?! Grim!?! . . . . . Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention, my family clan name is Grimm. So I inherited my dwarven family's sense of humor.

"The scar on my arm? I got that in a battle with the orc tribe that tries every couple years to raid the mine, but fails miserably. One orc got lucky and his falchion got me good. They're really no match, but those vermin keep trying.

With that Jake stands up, and drinks the last sip of ale.

"Thanks for the drink, but it's time for me to turn in. If you hear of any work or adventure let me know. I could really use a change of pace to break up the monotony. Something that'll really challenge my skills. See you around."

And Jake walks up to his room

1. Senza's goals are to find his sister and hopefully rescue her from whatever darkness resides in her soul. To return her to the king loving sister he once knew.
2. Senza wishes to recover the book given to him. He hopes to find it still sealed.
3. If Senza recovers the book, he hopes to find a way to unlock the magic seal on the book and discover it's contents.

Lastly, Senza wants to bring a meaning to his life before the madness in his blood consumes him.

PersonalityI intended Senza's rage ability to be played out as something he does not activate, or lead himself into. It is instead a touch of the madness that will come during his life. While it is only a touch, he is terrified at losing even a piece of his mind. Senza only studies magic and the arcane not because he hopes he can find a cure for his madness before it is too late.

She pauses for only the briefest moment as memories flash through her mind, her smile disappearing for a moment. She nods her head slowly before responding "Well the people of Trunua saved my life. I was captured by orcs and went through some less than pleasing ordeals at their hands. When I was finally able to escape a band of merchants, much like you, brought me here to Trunau. I found friends here who helped me move on and have now made this my home."

She lets out a brief sigh before smiling once more "But that is all in the past now and I would rather not dwell on it. Let's take a look at your wares and work out a mutually beneficial deal." She gently takes his hand and leads him back to his goods where they can further negotiate.

This is a heavy RP character and not very combat effective but my goal is to be able to support/heal and do some control with enchantment magic. I'm really excited to try out a heavier mental stats character as my other current PbP game I am really heavy on the physical stats.

As far as character progression I plan to go two levels sorc and then into mystic theurge. This plays heavily into her background of faith with Nethys and her strong interest in magic. Sorcerer bloodline I plan to take Fey to match her Azata-blooded racial heritage. I also plan to take the eldricth heritage feat for serpentine bloodline in order to make enchanting more widely viable. After mystic theurge I will likely return to sorcerer progression.

Torren could remember the elders telling him that he had a destiny. He had gone with the eldest to the frosted peak of the mountain his clan currently resided on. The old one had place his hand on the shoulder of the then young Torren as they looked out across the great valley and stood against the wind. ”Look at the windswept cliffs young one. No matter how the wind howls, the mountain can not bow to it.” he took a large breath of the freezing thin air, Torren did the same. ”We are of the mountain Torren, but you, you son, are the mountain. Destined to be a Wildspeaker, the greatest of our shamans. The soul of a Titan is within you and the heart of a dire bear.”

When Torren was eighteen his Druidic training was coming to an end, the elders and shamans were pleased with his progress and his growing physical and spiritual power. He had communed with shamans of peaceful giant tribes and successfully lived alone in the wild for two years. During his two year pilgrimage he had traveled to the southernmost area of the mountains and found a wet and ancient valley. Here he met Garm a juvenile mega lizard with powerful legs and a massive bite. Befriending the animal, it traveled with him and hunted with him. Torren had called forth a powerful ally, and kindred spirit. Garm was a beast of primal strength and cunning as was Torren. His ability to tame such a monster proved him a Wildspeaker and he returned to his clan victorious.

For the last two years he has been with his clan, leading it with the elders. Orcs, evil giants and poachers always pose a threat to the way of life of the mountain folk. But Torren had faith in his people. He had heard rumors of Orcs attacking the mountain village of Trunau, the gods smiled on him, for it was only several days trek from where his nomadic clan was currently encamped.

Torren took the drink and held it to his nose smelling it. Bitter, hint of nut. He set it down. "Mountain folk." he corrected.

"Mountain folk, yea mountain folk, that was it." the old man stammered into his own drink. "How ya liking Trunau?" he asked.

Torren felt the air, listened to the wind, he answered honestly. "This village smells of fear and desperation. There is little hope here. Buildings, new, the smell of ash in the air. There have been fires recently. I hope to help." Torren could feel the slightest of vibrations in the ground. Garm, circling the village in the woods, he hadn't wanted to scare these simple folk.

The old man took another drink. "Yep, damned orcs burning things when they attack. You got a keen nose there fella. I don't know how you could help, we just keep soldiering on, same as always." the man seemed consigned to the terrible state of the world.

Torren sighed. "Things must be balanced." he stood and left, his cup undrank.

His goals in Trunau are to find people willing to go with him into the surrounding mountains and hunt giants and dragons.

People say that dragons are a force of nature themselves but Slate wants to prove that wrong by showing people what a true force of nature looks like. His elemental background pushes him to accomplish this task.

Slate took a long drink and a long moment to think over Agrit's question. He looked up from his drink at Agrit. "No." It was a simple response but one that held a lot of feeling. After a moment of silence Slate spoke again. "I miss family... My adopted family but I do not miss Janderhoff. I have grown past what it can offer me for now."

Agrit looked over to Sara and then back to Slate. "You are an interesting person Slate, not many people are as accepting of our marriage as you have been."

Slate's mouth split into a big grin. "Agrit... do you really think I, a Suli, raised by Dwarves have any room to talk about who you want to be with. I can only hope that I am as lucky as you to find true love one day." This brought a smile and a laugh from both Agrit and Sara.

They all sat quietly for a minute. Slate took on pensive look. I wonder if my axe is ready yet...

Slate opened his mouth to ask Sara just that when a commotion caught all three of their attentions. From the bar came a shouting match between two drunk adventurers that had just come in from the road.

Slate looked over to Sara knowing Agrit would want nothing to do with what he knew was coming. "You want to help me break this up?"

Sara's face split into a big grin. "Always!"

Just as she responded the two adventurers broke into a fist fight and the tavern started to get rowdy. Slate and Sara both got up from their chairs and headed over to the bar. Agrit could only smile knowing that Sara and her were blessed to find such a good friend in such a harsh environment.

Many would be fearful of an unknown power growing within them, but he has been taught from birth that it was a great gift and, even amidst his desire for understanding, he embraces it. He fosters the power and aspires to grow it to its fullest potential. (Anything that promises to expand that power, or increase his knowledge of it or control over it, would be very appealing to him).

One thing he was thoroughly educated on growing up was artifacts. The cult leader spent hours telling him tales about all manner of artifacts and their wielders, and even quizing him on them. He was never told why this knowledge was so important for him to have but he suspects it was because the old man thought it was his destiny to possess one, or more. He would not admit it, even to himself, but secretly he very much desires to do just that. (and would definitely try to follow up on any possibility of finding/obtaining one)

(The cult itself can be a plot hook too... he wants to distance himself from them, but they would be a lot less keen on that.)

Zagathoth turns away from the blubberous old drunk for a moment, fully intending to give his offer no more consideration, but the idea of there being another person in the world who knows his story proves more tempting than he could have guessed.

He's too drunk to remember much, and from the look and smell of him he must have a reputation as a lush... I doubt anyone would take him seriously even if he did repeat anything...

"Well..." he begins in a hushed voice, turning back to the stranger, "I was born in a commune in the River Kingdoms, into a cult that worships forgotten gods dwelling on the outskirts of reality."

As the drunkard's eyes go wide, he takes a swallow from the promised ale and continues, "I was conceived in a ritual designed to call one of these forgotten gods back to us, and raised by their Leader who always said I was the embodiment of their hopes... he never did explain what he meant by that though... anyways, a few months ago he and I set out on a journey around Lake Encarthan. We traveled through parts of Numeria, Ustalav, and Lastwall meeting with eccentric nobles and esoteric scholars. In Vigil the old man failed to wake up one morning. I sent a courrier back to the commune to alert them to his death and joined a carvan headed up here."

The melancholic sot orders himself another ale, and a plate of sausages for them to split, then asks, "Why in'a nine hells... outta all'a places ya coulda gone... ya come up'a Trunau?!?"

Taking a bite of sausage, Zagathoth thoughtfully responds "Two reasons: one, nobody will think to look for me up here; and two, I've heard rumors that before the rise of mankind, cyclopses used to dwell in the mountains up here... I'd like to find some opportunity to examine the ancient writings and artwork they left behind for any clues about these 'forgotten ones'..."

Perhaps I've said too much... I better make sure nobody will believe him...

"Thank you," he adds finishing his ale and sausage, and looking into the stranger's sad, bloodshot eyes he overwhelms the old lush with a glimpse of what dwells beyond. using gift of madness. When the old man begins drooling and babbling incoherrently he calls the barkeep over, "I think my friend here is well past his limit." As one of the locals begins walking him home, Zagathoth quietly retires to his room.

Through his divine connection to Apsu, Sqyz'l quickly developed an aptitude for magic and an affinity for fire. His fiery eyes only gained in intensity as he grew older. The other kobolds of his tribe respected his powers, but feared him in equal measure. He also began to espouse virtues of respect, law and generosity, which were not well received by his kin, and further divided him from the tribe. Considered an embarrassment by family, and shunned by other tribe mates, Sqyz'l gained no friends and more than a few foes. As soon as he was confident enough, Sqyz'l left.

He arrived in Trunau about a week before the adventure kicks off. He has been living day-to-day in the street, surviving on stolen scraps and the rare handout. Though an outcast and outsider, he is desperate to make a friendly connection. So far, none have given the diminutive kobold a chance.

Sqyz'l is lonely. More than anything, he desires connection. For as long as he remembers, he has never had anything close to a trusted friend. This desire brought him to Trunau, the nearest town to his tribal home.

Sqyz'l is resentful. Although a kind soul, he carries a deep resentment from the severe isolation of his youth. Unable to interact with others, he is largely unaware of this trait.

The attack happened to have a twisted irony in that Tatsuo had always had a boyish fascination towards dragons. Sure, they were powerful and mighty creatures, but the tales of destruction he had never truly understood. As such, it seemed like fate was playing a twisted joke on him that a creature embodied by his own deity would end up stripping away everything that he held dear. Crying out in rage and anger he called upon Apsu, his own deity, pouring his own magic into the cry, determined to call something capable of righting this wrong. His magic shimmered and in its place appeared a quadruped creature, with a long tail, and nubs on his back that Tatsuo knew would eventually turn into wings. His first response was scorching hot anger, to think that his prayer would be answered by the creation of a creature that looked like the architect of his destroyed life! Eventually however, Tatsuo rationalised that there would be no better way of understanding his enemy than to look after a dragon of his own, and besides, there were certain advantages to be had, such as a way to traverse the high mountain peaks that the dragons make their home. Vowing that he would look after this creature, Tatsuo decided he would in the direction of his own remaining family, his uncle, a half orc shaman located in the village of Trunau, who had left the tribe of his own free will. If nothing else, he was sure his uncle could grant him direction after the ruin of his previous life.

O.k, so I think it’s important to separate both Tatsuo’s desires, aspirations and secret desires, with those of his Eidolon, Ancalagon. Tatsuo is determined to bring his dragon to maturity, and then use it to track down and fight this particular red dragon and bring it to justice. I'm not entirely sure if Tatsuo has aspirations beyond this, its likely that he is driven so much by this goal that its not possible for him to devote thoughts to alternative ways of living. Unfortunately, Ancalagon, (technically an outsider, but flavoured as a dragon), doesn't actually share this desire. Its loyal, and it looks up to Tatsuo, but it doesn't really want to go against a rampage against a creature that it potentially would consider a “cousin” of sorts. The end result is this push and pull situation between Tatsuo wanting things done this way, and Ancalagon wanting things done that way. From an “ooc” point of view, I’d really like for Tatsuo and Ancalagon to put aside differences and find common ground, but as written, the two of them are stuck at this impasse, and it’s a relationship I plan to explore and evolve over the course of the AP. It’s worth noting that Ancalagon is of the opinion that the Red Dragon was ‘forced” to some degree to attack, either it felt threatened or some other force was active. Tatsuo, his judgment rather clouded and/or biased at the moment, believes that it’s because said creature was simply “evil” even though he knows that truly, this isn't really a satisfactory motive.

I don't really want to put down something concrete or Tatsuo as in “this is what I am certain the character will do”, because this characters pretty much lost anything, and making claims about his future is pretty difficult. I can say that, speaking from his position, he wants to eventually pick up the pieces of his life and move on, but this is far in the future its difficult to find specifics.

As far as plot hooks go, there are plenty. His uncle is unnamed so if he wants to be a significant figure in the AP he can be, likewise the dragon is also unnamed in case there is a significant one in the AP. In his backstory, Tatsuo is aware that there was increased giant activity recently, and obviously, his fiancée and family members are “likely” dead but not officially confirmed in case the GM wants to yank his chain so to speak.

Tatsuo grunted (but only quietly), as he set his mug of ale down with a soft thump. The ale was far more bitter than he was used to, but his companion had offered it to him, so he felt it was best to be polite.

In truth, it wasn't so much the ale that had been provided to him, that was provoking his annoyance, it was that this blasted man had insisted on providing him with a drink on the condition that he provided his life story. To be fair, the man probably had no idea about the recent events but Tatsuo was damned if he was going to give this stranger his entire life story, besides, it would end up depressing this listener, and Tatsuo was certain the request had been more in the spirit of entertainment rather than an actual interest.

"O.k fine", he grunted, "You wanted to know a little bit about me, well here you are"

Tatsuo pauses for a moment, perhaps for dramatic effect, or perhaps to collect his thoughts while he decided on what he wanted to divulge.

"I'm what you might call an ex Shoanti, your typical nomad, living rough in the wilds, smoking from a pipe, the whole stereotype. Of course, being a bastard doesn't quite fit the norm by hey, there are differences in every story. My uncle is a local here, a Half Orc that left the tribe due to...frictions. I guess it didn't stick well with the others when they were hunting orc raiders and had a half orc in their own midst...thats another stereotype for you, in fact, you might as well start counting them off, because I have a few."

Tatsuo broods for a moment, before continuing, "Anyway, I said ex Shoanti because when your tribe gets wiped out in a dragon attack, I don't think you can really technically call yourself a Shoanti...maybe a clanless Shoanti...does that even count?"

"Dragons are mean bastards, but this particular dragon was a brute of a creature, so I've decided to track this thing down and give it a solid taste of steel and then, I don't know, sit down and have a party or something I suppose. This task is slightly more annoying now that im taking care of some dragonic newborn that this god decided I should take care of. All I can say in response to that is that someone must be getting his or her jollies off upstairs, laughing all over this. I never planned on having kids, not really, and now I've got this blasted thing following me around harping on about every decision I make. Its like my blasted conscience thats what it is".

Fuming slightly, Tatsuo forgets his earlier dislike of the ale and drinks deeply, remembering the taste a fraction of a second before it flows down his throat as he grunts again. "Anyway, I'm here to catch up with my Uncle, and sort this dragon problem,..both of them it seems. I'm sure hes got some crazy idea about to handle this, because I suspect fighting an overgrown lizard isn't as easy as it sounds."

Prerequisite: You must have a close family member or other loved one slain by a specific challenging foe or that foe's minions, or have the Raiders or Vengeance background.

Benefit: You gain a +1 bonus on saving throws, attack rolls, and weapon damage rolls against your chosen foe and known minions of that foe.

Goal: Thwart your chosen foe.

Completion Benefit: You gain a +1 bonus on all saving throws. This bonus stacks with this feats's bonus against your foe and its minions, should they survive.

Crag ran his fingers along the spidery lines of greenish ore that threaded through the rock’s core. "This stone does not surrender her secrets easily…" he sighed.

Craggok traced his fingers through a few well known gestures. A moment later the small fissure closed, sealing the injury they had done to the canyon floor. Crag nodded as he watched his elder. Protect the stone, as she protects us… Nurture her, as she nurtures us… As he silently recited the ages old mantra, he hefted the core sample around for his father’s perusal.

“Hmph. Thin,” Craggok grunted. “A wasted effort.”

"Thin here, at the surface. But, see how it bands here, and here… here as well." Crag indicated several spots on the sample. "It will grow as we pursue it deeper."

“What of it? This stone is stubborn. Ye said yourself, she’ll nay surrender easily.”

"Twenty feet?" Crag asked.

“Hmph. No more. And I mean it this time, ye stubborn, boar-headed fool! I’ll nay have ye digging up half the world fer this worthless ore! I dunna care if the mother’s whole load o’ mithril lies below it!” Craggok bellowed his warnings, but the anger did not reach his eyes. “Now, go summon the others.”

........

The hand that tore apart the barricade was bigger than Crag’s torso. A face like misshapen rock appeared behind the breach as Crag lashed out with his sledge. A crack like thunder sounded, and the stone giant fell back from the opening. Four more hands grabbed the edges of the barricade and pulled, shattering the last vestiges of the dwarven defenses.

The fight had been going for hours. The tribe of stone giants had been methodical and relentless in their attacks and pursuit of Crag and his clan. Too many lay dead, broken, and wounded. To run further meant leaving the others behind. Crag and his brothers would never leave their family behind.

As the barricade collapsed, the boulders began raining down.

There was no valiant battle.

Crag’s family was pulped in seconds. Another wave of boulders. Then a third. It was almost a blessing, a relief from pain and grief, when one clipped his forehead and the world went black…

........

The dozens of piled cairns paid mute testament to the fallen dwarves. Crag wept as he piled the loose rocks around the bodies of his kin. "From the stone are we shaped, and to the stone we shall return…"

Crag looked at the sun, the movement and his wounded head causing him to swoon and nearly faint. There was a human town nearby. He did not know its name. He had little to do with humans, or any non-dwarf, for that matter.

But, he could not avenge his clan on his own…

The sentry practically stamped in his impatience. Finally, he shouted in a slow staccato, “What- do- you- want-, here?”

Crag nodded his understanding of the question, but was at a loss as to how to answer. He wanted to heal his wounds. He wanted to raise an army… or at least a posse. He wanted to lead an assault against the stone giants that had decimated his clan. But, that was hardly an answer that would get him past this particular warden.

“Me clan… miners o’ the Mindspin,” he said without rolling the ‘r’ too much. The sentry shrugged. “Can trade.”

“What’s that you got, there?” the sentry asked. “We don’t like outsiders brandishing weapons about.”

Crag gripped the haft of his sledgehammer even tighter. He had salvaged some odds and ends from the mining camp, but this was his most valued possession. With this sledge, he had beaten back more than one of the giants’ assaults. It was the embodiment of his clan’s mission, and it was to be the tool of his reciprocity.

“Sledge,” he responded. “Fer mining o’ course,” he pulled an iron spike from his pack to demonstrate.

“Okay, okay,” the sentry waved him off. “Just don’t swing it round too much, hear?”

Crag made his way through the gate and set off purposefully down the main street. Sooner or later he was bound to come across an inn or tavern. A heady stout would be a good start to the healing process, and if there were souls hearty enough to take on the giants, that would be the place to start.

“If it weren’t fer the fortune in emeralds, meself and me clan would’a ne’er been in that cursed place!” When in doubt, let greed whet the man’s interest.

“Emeralds? A fortune you say?” the man looked around nervously, as though afraid someone would overhear.

“Aye. The whole Father’s load,” Crag carried on. The harsh Dwarvish was making more people turn away than listen in. “It’s there fer the takin’, if someone were willin’ to take on them giants.”

“Ah, well as to that… how many did you say there was again?” Crag winced at the man’s mewling pronunciation of his native tongue.

“A whole tribe and more, no doubt.” Crag tried to keep his voice calm. He could see the faltering courage of this one. “We need a host o’ your strongest to brave them paths, and fetch it back here.” The greybeard blanched.

“If yer worried, ye needn’t be. There’s somethin’ else. Somethin’ I’d nay share with others.” Crag leaned in conspiratorially. “After the attack… after I woke… after I buried me kin…” the pain of that moment burned white-hot in Crags chest. “After that, I found somethin’… somethin’ that nay should’a been there.” Crag leaned in even closer, and pulled the leather thong around his neck. Hanging from the end was a glimmering black rock. The greybeard looked on expectantly.

“That there is obsidian. Igneous rock.” The old man shook his head, not understanding. “Volcanic glass,” Crag prompted. “Ain’t been a volcano in the Mindspin’s fer eons and more!” Crag erupted.

“Yer not knowin’ what this means! It means the All-Father is with us! Torag wants us to go after them giants!”

The greybeard drained the last of his cup. “Yes, well… thank you for the drink. I’ll be sure to ask around. There may be a few valiant souls we can recruit for such an undertaking.” The old man beat a hasty retreat. “I’ll find you here, shall I? If I can get the necessary funds and personnel?” He was almost out the door. “A worthy expedition! We shall embark upon it soon!” And he was gone…

Crag slumped back into his chair and drained the thin, watery contents of his tankard. He felt as weak and impotent as what these human’s passed off as ‘ale’. He looked around the room for another likely-looking target, and spotted a young woman twirling a sharp looking dagger. He waved over the tavern-keep for another round and went to try again…

A red leather jerkin frames his broad shoulders, and long brown boots and brown trousers cover his long legs. He wears a light brown cravate around his neck to protect his voice from the cold wind, though he sometimes indulges in fine tobacco.

His clear voice and fiddling carry through the streets of Trunau, and are known to all, especially militiamen, who smile and raise their head at the sound, their fingers itching for a spear and a fight.

ASPIRATIONS and DESIRES
Szacha is mainly driven by a desire to belong. He is young and feels a powerful need for community. Trunau is now his family, and he wants to protect it and see it prosper.

Underneath this is a slow burning desire for revenge, though he is clever enough to know that now is the time for survival, he secretly hopes that one day he will be a leader in the battle to push the Hold Line north of Trunau.

Szacha often wonders about his family. He is not certain they all died, and doubt is ever with him when he looks at the Mindspin Mountains. He hopes they survived, but he feels guilty for it, for he can guess what kind of suffering surviving would bring. His violin is his only link with his family and the tragedy. He often wonders why his dad’s words meant.

Finally, his encounter with a giant shook him profoundly, and focused his studies in that direction, collecting more tales of giants than other, especially about the giant Rezark.

BACKGROUND
Ten years ago, the Gaczi family of performing artists, minstrels, troubadours and acrobats, left Korvosan, fame and fortune to get on the road and bring their art to the remotest regions of Avistan. However, unbeknownst to most of the travelers, the family was in truth running for its life. As money went mysteriously missing, the Sczarni family, their former sponsor and business partners, were now actively looking for the head of the family, Szacha’s father Corso Gaczi.

The road took them north, then east through the Mindspin Mountains, for Gabziella so wanted to see the fierce denizens of Trunau, and hoped to bring them joy, and perhaps hope, through the Gaczi’s performing arts.

Szacha was twelve at the time, and he spent hours rapt in his mother’s stories of Trunau, the Hold of Belkzen, and in particular with the Hopeknife Festival and tradition.

But the crossing of the Mindspin Pass proved disastrous. The weather and the orcs turned the Gaczi’s voyage into a nightmare. For weeks, family members fought a war of attrition. Family members were kidnapped or killed in night raids. Szacha heard the scream of his younger sister Karla, when the orcs took her one night. Then it was his older brother Falko, when he followed them in the night to rescue Karla… His mother was ill and his father was but a shred of a man.

Yet, they were making progress, and the caravan, now down to three wagons, hoped to make it to Trunau. That’s when Szacha saw his first giant…

The absolute might of it shook him as it scrambled down the rocks, impervious to the arrows and the stones of the survivors, roaring in cosmic defiance his war name: Rezark! Nothing could stop it.

His father gave Szacha a horse and a canvas bag, saying: ”Run Szacha. Take this bag. It’s the sum of my sins, and the reason I brought death to our family. Run and don’t stop until Trunau!”

Szacha remembers hearing mighty magic being unleashed behind him as he barrelled down the slope and into the plains of the Hold of Belkzen. For two days he rode, until he was picked up by a patrol and back to Trunau.

In the bag was nothing but a violin…

Szacha made a living first as a fiddler, his violin bringing tears of joy or sadness in the city’s gathering. As he grew older, he was presented with his own hopeknife, and asked to make the Standing Vow and join the militia, alongside Patrol Captains Kurst and Rodrik Grath, the same men whom saved his life ten years ago!

A DISCUSSION WITH SZACHA

”Come and sit by the fire, stranger, and thanks for the drink. Trunau is my home, and the militia my family. Death and Despair are my father and mother. They brought me here through the Mindspin Pass, and took all my family with them.” offer Szacha as he extends his long legs on a stool and lights a pipe. His gaze trails up the mantle as memories wash over him. He turns to look at you, pain now replaced by fire: ”But Death and Despair have a name: Orcs! And Giants!” he says, the words spit with hatred, ”This is the Hold, and we are in ‘Manhome.’ We are not welcome. And we don’t give a damn! We will stay and stand. True to Trunau! Until the Line is pushed once more north.”

He relaxes a bit and takes a sip of beer: ”Nice warm beer. Thanks stranger. Here is to your health! May the Horde never catch you alive! Now where was I? Yes, you might have heard my fiddle as you rode in. It drives the Orcs crazy! They often beat their drums in defiance, and I’m happy to turn the tune on them! I am from Varisia, and music flows in my vein. I lost my family when crossing the Pass, all 25 of them… I was but a kid at the time. Made me grow fast. Too fast…” His eyes stare through the window, at the cloudy peaks of Mindspin, black against the red sky of dusk. He breathes in from his pipe and turns back to you, summoning his ever-disarming smile: ”But skalds don’t tell their stories. They collect and tell the tales of strangers. So tell me, stranger, what brought you to the end of the world?”