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The Tale of Petros, Bear Slayer
Petros was the fifth child and the oldest son of Highspear, a local chief for a small Western tribe that was allied to the Bearpelt Following, the strongest of all the Kellid nations. His mother, Neska, was the third of Highspear’s six wives and she was only 15 when she gave birth to her son. True to his nature, Petros faced conflict before he ever left the womb.
There was a tradition among Highspear’s tribe to pass the mantle of leadership only from father to son, so if Neska or her sister wives did not produce a male child before her husband’s death, than Highspear’s family would lose their status after his death. This meant that every time Highspear left camp to lead a hunt or to trade with outsiders, his family feared not just for his safety but for their own personal security. If he had died without an heir, Highspear’s many rivals could take out their personal grudges on his children and widows without fear of reprisal from a future chieftain.
Neska finally did become pregnant in the summer of third year of the wolf and the medicine woman claimed that Gorum had smiled upon the Highspear clan and would grant them a boy, which was a great relief to the whole family. But there was a catch: the child was destined to be born in midwinter, when food would be scare and tempers would be high. Few children would could survive the freezing winter winds in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords, fewer still could survive the Varisian raiders, Worldwound Orcs, and Ulfen bandits who traveled over the southern borders to attack Kellid Lands. So Highspear ultimately decided to bivouac his tribe in a small river valley just before the first snow fall so they could use the natural caves as shelter during the harsh northern winter.
There, in a small cavern, Petros came into the world. Because they were sheltered in a cave, Petros was not born outside but “under stone” and many in the tribe believed this to be a good omen. Gorum was a mountain god and Petros was born inside the earth, closer to the mighty god of war than any other in the tribe. This was considered a fine start in life for a future chief and so the elders named the boy “Petros”, which literally meant “born from stones” in the Kellid language.
Petros’ Aasimar heritage appeared almost immediately. After his second day of life, his skin turned into mellow golden hue and his eyes took on a glowing yellow color. At first his heritage was mistaken for sickness, since it had been many years since the Bearpelt Nation had seen an Aasimar born inside their bloodline. But one of the elders from a visiting tribe recognized the boy’s heritage right away and set the chieftain’s mind at ease.
“One of your ancestors f$#@ed an angel.” The Old man had said with a laugh, “It means your boy has the god blood in him.” This revelation brought relief but little comfort to Highspear, who now wondered about the sanctity of his grandparent’s marriage.
Ultimately Petros’ mother bore Highspear another two sons and the family legacy remained secure. Petros and his family could afford to live a comfortable and luxurious life (comfortable and luxurious for barbarians that is) alongside the neighboring nomadic tribes of their homeland. Petros was given the opportunity to be educated. He became the first member of his tribe to learn how to read both Common and Hallit, the Kellid language, and how to think the thoughts of Varisian and Ulfen philosophers. Under these ideal conditions, Petros’ Aasimar heritage began to flourish: when he was six years old, without any teaching or instruction, Petros began speaking fluent Celestial, something which unnerved the various tribe’s shaman.
But Petros’ childhood was not always an easy one. The most trying period moment of his life came when he was very young.
For many years, Petros’ tribe lived in a place the Ulfens called the Hoarwood Forest, a vast green expanse that stretched over the border between the Realm of the Mammoth Lords and a terrible place known as Irrisen, where monsters roam free. In those days, there was no peace treaty between the two nations so when Irrisen decided they wanted to expand the borders of their nation four miles, there was little that Petros’ tribe could do to stop them.
Armored hobgoblins and bloodthirsty bugbears came over the border in the dead of night and pillaged their summer settlement. Tents were burned, food was stolen, and those that tried to resist were struck down where their stood. Some of the women and young girls were taken as prizes by the soldiers, including Petros’ favorite aunt and one of his older sisters. These raiders also tried to steal Petros’ mother so Petros, who was only nine years old at the time, grabbed a knife and stabbed the nearest hobgoblin in the chest like a true barbarian.
The aftermath of this raid was bittersweet for Highspear and his family. On the one hand, the future chieftain, Petros, had fought a battle before he was even old enough to grow a beard and had slain his first foe, which filled the tribe with pride.
But the cost of this pride was high, lives had been lost and relatives had been stolen. It was clear that the soldiers of Irrisen would not stop coming over the border until the forest belonged entirely to them.
With a heavy heart, the tribe left their ancestral home and traveled across the Tusk Mountains to a new hunting ground as far from the Irrisen conflicts as possible. It was a humiliation that no member of Petros’ tribe ever forgot: the day they ran from a battle to save their lives. Many in the tribe faced shame from the elders of the Bearpelt Following. Some even called Highspear “coward” behind the mighty chief’s back and spit when they said his name. It was a sad time for all in Petros’ tribe.
Many years later, it was the weight of this shame that set in motion a series of events that made Petros the man he is today.
When he was 25, twenty members of the Pathfinder Society came into the Realm of the Mammoth Lords with terrible news: Grem the Bearmaster had raised a rampaging horde and was traveling across the northern lands of Varisia and Belkzen so he and his tribe could journey across the lands of the Worldwound and found a mighty Orc kingdom.
It was an insane and impossible goal to be sure but these Orcs had already raped and pillaged their way across the north of Avistan for months and they would soon be at the doorstep of the Tusk Mountains. If left unchecked they could travel East to Mendev or even Brevoy. Thousands of lives rested on the shoulders of the mighty Kellid tribes.
Many of the Kellids had no interest in fighting such a battle. Orcs came across the border all the time and it was obvious that these orcs were more concerned with lands on the other side of the Worldwound. Some, even those that ridiculed Highspear years before, decided to take their families and run North. This was not a fight for Kellids, they said, why risk our lives to save weak southerners from death. Many in the Bearpelt Following agreed and offered no aid to these Pathfinders and their silly war.
Highspear disagreed. He knew that a large army of Orcs would not see the difference between humans in Brevoy, Mendev, or The Mammoth Lands. He knew that these invaders would not stop unless someone dared to stop them. If these Orcs achieved victory in the East, what then? Perhaps they would rally others to their cause? Perhaps Irrisen would form an alliance and squeeze the Mammoth Lands between them. No, Highspear said, we will stop them now.
Of the thousands of mighty Kellids in the Bearpelt Nation, only a hundred and thirty brave souls dared answer Highspear’s call to war and only a hundred and twelve were in any condition to be useful in battle.
112 Kellids and 20 Pathfinder Agents against 1,500 Orcs.
The Shaman performed a funeral for the warriors before they left camp for it was almost certain that none would return alive. Highspear himself would lead this army of the damned, with Petros, his brothers, and Petros’ half-sister at his side. At dawn on the third day of the new moon, a Horde of Orcs walked onto the Sabertooth Plains where a small desperate army was ready to meet them.
The Kellids fought hard and faced the Orc Horde head on like the mighty Mammoth Kings of Old but they were failing under the sheer weight the enemy’s numbers. Gorum, it seemed, would not smile upon them. Then Highspear himself attempted to fight Grem the Bearmaster and issued a challenge across the battlefield for an honorable fight, but Orcs have little honor. Grem and his brothers flanked Highspear and attacked him from behind. Highspear fought valiantly but even he could not defeat three Orcs at once and so he fell, struck in the back by a cowardly blow.
When Petros saw his father fall, he felt a dam break within his heart and rage flooded his soul. Men who saw him say they saw the fury of Gorum himself. He became like a beast, a walking incarnation of death itself. With a sword in one hand and a club in the other, he charged across the field of battle and did not stop until he was within arm’s reach of his father’s killers.
Petros swung his club at the Orc nearest to him and killed the unlucky fool with just a single blow, then rushed the second with his sword drawn. The orc’s guts spilled at Petros feet and he turned to face Grem the Bearmaster. The two warriors fell into a mighty personal duel as the battle raged around them. Blows were struck by both sides and the snow ran red with blood of both the Orc Warlord and the young Kellid.
What happened next is a matter of legend.
Petros slew the Bearmaster, carving the Orc’s stinking head from his smelly neck. Then he raised the decapitated skull by it’s ponytail and screamed. Those who saw him on that day claimed that they saw his eyes glow and a halo burn around him. Some say they heard thunder coming from the sky, others claimed that an avalanche roared down a distant mountain. Whatever it was, that sound and the sight of their dead leader’s head shook the resolve of the mighty Orc army. Within ten minutes, the warriors broke ranks and fled.
1500 Orcs walked into that valley, only 530 walked out and those that survived spoke of an angry giant with gold skin and a rage that could cow the monster god Rovagug himself.
Few men remember this battle, there are no monuments, no kings have held a feast in it’s honor and none bother to tell the story around the campfire. But the Kellids did speak of it from time to time. They talk about Highspear and the Bearpelt men who stood with him that day. Some of them, the ones who were there, speak of Petros and they call him “The Bear-Slayer” for he is the one who killed the Bearmaster and brought honor to his tribe again.
After the battle ended, the Tribe gathered to bury their dead and so that the old medicine woman could distribute the belongings of their chieftain.
She granted Highspear’s magic spear to his oldest daughter, who had fought in the battle and deserved recognition for her many kills.
She gave Highspear’s fine mammoth boots and favorite dog to Petros’ youngest brother, who was still a teenager and had no patience for leadership.
She gave leadership of the tribe to Petros’ middle brother, a fine man and a good hunter who would make a great chief.
But when she came to Petros there was nothing left to give. “Then what of Petros?” The confused young warrior asked, “What does Petros gain?”
The Old Woman pointed her finger to the South, where the rest of Golarion was waiting, and said one word: “Glory.”
And then Petros understood. In the world outside were endless lands to conquer, wars to wage, legends to build. As a reward for his mighty deeds, the Old Woman was freeing Petros of his family obligations to the tribe so he could go forth and achieve greatness. Petros’ reward was the world itself.
So Petros traveled south with the Pathfinders….
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I say, Master Bear-Slayer, you have fought some fierce fights, and witnessed some wild wonders. It's serving along side Pathfinders such as yourself that keeps an old fellow from getting all white haired and dying of boredom, perish the thought. Sometimes it's a bit touch and go, making sure your limbs stay attached and your important bits remain inside your body, but it's never boring!
Come, Hope. We must abed so that Master Dreng will know where to find us when something inevitably goes arse over teakettle.
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Aye, Petros has others but a good tale is like a good ale, you must age them before before they can be shared. One day Petros shall tell another tale....perhaps the Tale of the Three Rings or the Troll's Bride. Ah! Perhaps Petros shall tell you of his first time coming South. Yes, in a fortnight I shall tell you that tale.