Eberron Giantslayer (Inactive)

Game Master mittean

With the arrival of humans and elves and such, some Halflings integrated themselves into those societies, characterized by the Houses Jorasco and Ghallanda. Many different traditions grew with the mingling of races, and Tuk Nimbleguts was born into one of those. Some centuries ago, an enterprising Halfling by the name of Tuk Nimbleguts ( First of his name ) was employed as a caravan guard within House Ghallanda. An attack near Droaam by giants and orcs led to a flash of inspiration! Fighting a giant, instead of trying to keep space between himself and the giant, Tuk stepped closer....right under the giant's feet. There he found the giant was compromised in it's reactions to others and in another, perhaps suicidal, flash of inspiration, Tuk began to climb up the giant, sticking his blade in it whenever it felt appropriate.

Tuk , the First, survived that attack....and not just with his life. He had a plan. He told other Halflings of his experience, and found enough that were crazy enough to settle with him in a fertile valley on the edge of the Breland side of the Greywall Mountains. There they founded a settlement devoted to training intrepid young Halfling in the art of 'Getting-up-close-and-Sticking-The-Bigguns-Where-It-Hurt'. Over the years many Halfings left the village to seek their fortune, or to be engaged as guards for the two Halfling Dragonhouses, utilizing their special set of skills against those not so vertically challenged as they. A quirk arose within the village: all who came with Tuk, the First , so honored this visionary, that they took to naming each male after Tuk. To prevent confusion, each Tuk Nimbleguts born was eventually given a moniker or nickname to differentiate him from all of the others. The women-folk of the village were much more sensible, naming their daughters from a pool of four or five names.

It was into this tradition that Tuk Nimbleguts ( 273rd of that Name ) was born. From an early age, learning the history of previous and still-living Tuk Nimbleguts, and training the mind and body for the trials that were yet to come.

Tuk looked up at the automaton, a large machine in the shape of a giant, various glowing holes piercing it's metal frame. He looked over a the Training Master and nodded. With a groan of gears and a hum of magical energy, the automaton came to life and raised a foot to stomp Tuk into jelly. His training taking over from the firs thrill of fear, Tuk rolled to one side coming up onto a knee , safe for the time being. Again and again, for hours it seemed, Tuk dodged and spun and flipped out of the way of the huge metal feet. Finally the test was over and the Training Master pressed a lever on his control panel to stop the machine. There was a sizzle and Tuk was showered by a curtain of multicolored sparks, and hand to fling himself to the side to avoid the machine's club! Something had happened, it was acting on a much higher difficulty. No longer in training mode, Tuk was suddenly in survival mode! A glancing blow hurled him through the air onto the ground, turning he could see the shadow of the club traversing the ground towards him. Then another shape leapt into the training area....The Training Master. In an incredible feat of acrobatics, the older and more experienced Tuk ran and actually grabbed the club as it passed, allowing it to toss him up into the air....where he landed, improbably, on the automaton's shoulder. A quick thrust of his dagger into the hole located there and the machine's glow and hum and hiss stopped...rendering it inert.

From his back, Tuk looked up at his older namesake, thinking "There's now way I'll ever get that good..."

Tying the straps of his sandals, weary beyond measure from the training session he'd just endured,, Tuk noticed a small mark on his calf. Reaching down he ran a finger over it. It was smooth, but also raised. His attention was diverted by a number of Tuks leaving the village with a group from House Ghallanda, walking by and shouting farewells. The mark forgotten, Tuk trotted over to says his own goodbyes.

Thinking he might have an aberrant dragonmark...or may be it's just an interesting mole :)

Tuk stood in the large training ground, stretching his tall, for a Halfling, frame this way and that. He enjoyed the feel of his muscles moving his flexible body to and fro; his many years of training had paid off. Still , there was a disquiet in him. As he walked across the yard on his hands, he couldn't help but feel doubt. The name he bore, Tuk Nimbleguts lay hard on his shoulders.

Trying to distract himself, he threw himself into a series of acrobatic postures and maneuvers, pantomiming a battle against a variety of foes. Seeing a figure nearby, he stopped, sweaty and breathing hard. It was none other than Tuk, The Elder, himself.

Smiling, Tuk embraces the older halfling, for he was Tuk's great-grandfather. "How are you, Gramps?" Tuk asked of his great-grandfather. "Ah, a few aches and pains" the elder Tuk answered, returning the hug. The look on Tuk, the Elder's face caught Tuk's attention, and he silently waited for Gramp's to explain.

With a gesture , the elder Halfling indicated a pack and gear that lay nearby, "It's time, Tuk." he said, raising a hand to forestall the protest he expected from his youngest Tuk, "You've finished your training....all of the trainers agree, they can teach you no more. You must grow on your own, forge your skills through your own experiences. "

He begins to walk towards the pack, Tuk walking with him, "Tuk ,your doubts are your strength...always strive to exceed them. Your path is not with one of the Houses....that path requires more certainty. No, your path is much more free. Go....I know you'll make me proud..."

And with that, Tuk the Elder hugged his great-grandson again and the walked away.

Tuk grabbed the gear and hustled to catch up with a small caravan just leaving the village. He didn't look back, caught up in a conversation with one of the waggoneers.

Tuk sat in a dirty tavern Xandrar, nursing an ale he's bought with one of his few remaining coins. The caravanners of house Ghallanda frequented the place, so he found himself among friendly faces. An older caravanner came by and leaned down, a sad look on his face, "Sorry about the sad news..." "What sad new?" Tuk asked, perplexed. The caravanner straightened, alarmed that Tuk didn't know what he did, "Your village..." . Tuk frowned, getting up ...worried, "What about my village?". The man hemmed and hawed , obviously not wanting to be the one to tell Tuk. But, when Tuk half drew his weapon, the man relented, "It's gone, Tuk. Landslide, a big one, took it all away....I'm so sorry....". After that the man withdrew, leaving Tuk standing dumbfounded at the news...his home, gone.

In another Ghallanda tavern, up in Varna, Tuk ate his meal, provided by the caravan when another halfling sat down with him. Tuk recognized him as Renef, a Ghallandan factor. "Tuk...I'm not sure how to say this." he said. Tuk, around a mouthful of food, motioned him to continue, his own brow furrowed with newfound concern. "A number of your cousins....the ones sharing your name...have been killed...just them. I think you all might be in danger. You should go to ground somewhere...Here take this, " he said, pushing a oil-cloth package towards Tuk, "Take this to Sylbaran for me... and stay there! Give it to <insert name of Halfling Hotel>...it's a bit out of the way. And don't use your name...someone's got it out for you all..."

Renef stood quickly and departed, as if scared to be seen in Tuk's presence. Frowning, Tuk pondered....first his village, now the other Tuks....seems one of his namesakes may have pissed off someone powerful....and vengeful. With a sign, Tuk picked up the package, and saw Renef had also left him a small purse of coin. With a rueful twist of his mouth, he grabbed the coin and left, bound for Sylbaran ....

Matilde was a nurse. She was tall, but much curvier than an elf, with curled chestnut hair, skin the color of the bark of an olive tree. I was struck dumb the first time I saw her. She saw me as an enemy and occupier - as was her right.

I was flipped from my horse during the skirmish at Bell’s Hollow, my leg broken in three places. This was the time Matilde and I began to know each other; I was one of her charges. She was widowed, with two children. She read Harthorne, and Lily, and the romantics. I began reading Harthorne and Lily and the romantics. I saw that Matilde and her children got the best of the rations given to the conquered, and that they were left alone.

I was discharged from her care and was to be sent to the front. But the Cyrans had other plans: a push, our lines were breeched, and the town of Entile would fall within days. The order came to kill the conquered and burn the town. It was an easy choice for Matilde to desert with me – stay, the Valaes Tairn would kill her, and if somehow she survived that then so would the Cyrans, for she had served as our nurse. Total war does not allow for forgiveness.

We fled – Matilde and I, her children Iyvan and Seera – west, across the plains. Deserters were rare among the Valaes Tairn; I said she was the servant of an enemy general with important information, and my word was not questioned. We crossed into Q’barra, where we raised horses. Matilde did not love me until our daughter entered the world.