Doomed Hero's page

I was laughing at this whole exchange and my wife made me explain this game and the characters.

She described Clyde as "if Sweeney Todd was Jason Vorhees."

Elliara is "Alita Battle Angel running Terminator software"

Meph is "Wait, like from Cats? Magical Mister Mistoffelees? Does he sing and dance? He needs to sing and dance."

Mallack is "Like Arthas but on purpose."

I just had to pass that along.

I love the byplay between Cole's impulsiveness and Sterling's patience. That was a fun little character moment.

Welcome to the tour, please keep up with the group.

The canopy around the Horn was thinner where the jutting spire of rock shoved the trees away, so the overhead sun didn't struggle as much to reach the ground. It made the lower-dwelling plants particularly lush. A swampy pool stretched most of the distance between the two sets of stairs that led to the first and second floors of the Horn. It overflowed into a small river that ran down the mountain to merge with the flood basin around Farholde.

The marsh was thick with algae, looking more like a carpet of moss than water. All around the green pool were heavily overgrown, colorful flowers budding from the thick brambles that gave Caer Bryr it's name. Mostly they were purple and green, with occasional clusters of red and yellow thrown in, the rich colors of a fresh bruise.

A small island rose in the center of the marsh, directly in front of the mouth of the cave. On it stood a single, odd looking tree. Two trunks rose and joined into a single thicker one, creating an archway of wood. It was scorched and showed the wounds of powerful gouges on it's bark, and it bore not a single leaf. It slumped and leaned like a sad snag waiting to fall. It's trunk looked remarkably like an old, tired face.

A dead Treant. Once a powerful guardian, now a monument to failure, rooted in place in it's last moments, in death still trying in vain to keep the forces of darkness at bay. Behind it the fanged maw of the Horn loomed. Sharp stalactites and stalagmites formed needle like teeth around a wide mouth that vomited green poison into the jungle.

Deeper into the throat of the cave was black, but reflected small glints of light that occasionally blinked. The frog-like natives of the Horn watched the Ninth Knot from the darkness, their heads only barely rising out of the waters.

Grumblejack stomped into the green water without concern, sending algae sloshing about, uncaring as his clothes became soaked. The water rose nearly to his waist. He trudged between the stone teeth, gave the Boggard guards a small nod of acknowledgement, and headed deeper into the throat of the caves.

Hope you brought your waders. I have some stuff to do, so I'll pick this up tomorrow unless Shadow jumps us forward.

...In my defense I'm a dumb ogre. Not sure what Shadow's excuse is.

Shadow, you want to repost that last bit, or should we just move on?

The robotic animal started rattling awkwardly and pecking at the ground, tried to walk into a nearby wall and didn't stop when she failed, and generally looked like she was a few seconds from collapsing into a heap of parts.

Like HeiHei from Moana was a murderbot

Proto preened under the attention and praise, crackling as the brush discharged her static buildup and purring like a small lumber mill.

Don't worry, I approve. That's awesome.

Are Broulnindre's speech patterns based on the Jagermonsters from Girl Genius?

The metal creature moved oddly. It seemed to have a hard time staying still. It was quiet, but twitched constantly. It's head snapped towards movement, it's tail swung, armored plates tilted and flattened like feathers. Electricity arced and crackled beneath the plating, and puffs of steam randomly released from exhaust ports along it's torso. Every movement was precise, but strung together in a way that made it seem jerky, like a zoetrope reel.

Proto looks vaguely like a robotic deinonychus.

Horrid Wilting for clearing mold? I love it.

There's no kill like overkill. Too much is never enough.

I'm going to write out a general description of the architecture of the Horn to set the tone before we get into specific rooms.

1) The exterior is covered in vegetation. It's lush and colorful. Mostly green, with a lot of red, purple, and green flowers all over the place. The stone is covered in moss. The entrance to the Boggard's caverns is a natural pool covered in algae, with spiky rock growths protruding out of it. A creek flows out from the pool, and down into the surrounding rainforest. The Horn itself is one of the water sources that feeds the delta around Farholde.

2) The whole place is limestone. The Horn is a Karst formation, just like all the other weird rocky spires that are common throughout Caer Bryr. The Sons of the Apocalypse carved the whole place right out of the stone. There's very little brickwork. It's all natural rock in various stages of finish. Important areas have been smoothed with Stoneshape or by hand. Unimportant areas are still covered in pick and chisel marks. It seems like the Sons of the Apocalypse were wiped out before they could finish what they were working on.

Fun facts about limestone: It's a sponge, and it melts! That's how most stalactites form. Water soaks into the limestone, carries away minerals as it flows on and through the stone, and deposits them wherever the water drips (forming stalagmites on the ground). So over time limestone in wet areas takes on a smooth, melted looking appearance, or a spikey appearance, depending on how the water flows. Lime is highly corrosive, so water that's soaked into limestone will corrode metals and softer stones quickly, and poison any plant life that hasn't evolved to survive in highly toxic environments. Natural limestone caves are really interesting looking. Definitely worth a google search if you want an idea of what the Boggard caverns look like.

3) There's art everywhere. The Sons of the Apocalypse were apparently a commune of sculptors. They were really good. Like renaissance masters who were obsessed with hell and apocalyptic imagery. All their art is big and lifelike. Permanent iconography and passages from their holy texts are carved everywhere. Massive reliefs are carved right into the walls all over the areas that got the most foot traffic. Most of it focuses on how awesome daemons are. On the second floor there's a whole hall just for carved murals, and the pillars and ceilings of the throne rooms are decorated similarly. A bunch of them depict a thin figure with six arms (which I think is Vetra-Kali). Daggers, Chalices, Water, and Skulls are other common themes.

4) The Horn is damp and stuffy. Limestone soaks up water really well, the area is a tropical rainforest, and the Boggard caverns have a massive natural spring. There's a waterfall down there, and there's a fountain on each floor of the horn, which indicates that there's a water source somewhere above the second floor (which makes zero sense from a geologic standpoint, but this is fantasy so there might be an unnatural explanation). So nothing ever dries out. The walls are damp to the touch. The uneven spots on the floors and walls have trickles of water flowing through them. Water drips from the ceiling where stalactites are starting to form. There's 50 years of darkness, perpetual damp, decomposing corpses, and rotting furniture all over the place, and this is the stronghold of the Daemon Prince of Virulence. Slime molds and fungi have had a long time to spread. It's gross.

There's one room that's an exception to this. I call it the Larder. It's dry, and nothing in the room spoils. There's a minotaur corpse there that's still pretty fresh, and there was a bunch of dried goods that would still be edible if it hadn't been gotten into by animals.

5) It's dark. There's no windows, and only one place with a permanent light source. (it's one of the fountains, I don't remember if it's the first floor or second floor). There are braziers and wall sconces everywhere. None of them are still working, but the rusty hardware is still there. During our initial exploration we put up a few torches, but mostly we just carried our light sources around with us. Coming up with a lighting solution that doesn't involve burning through barrels of lamp oil and a hundred torches a day is definitely on the agenda.

6) Between the murals and the dark, the place is creepy as hell. Imagine you're walking along with your torch and a monstrous face appears at the edge of the light. Turns out it's just the light reflecting of of a shiny, damp mural of a bunch of daemons throwing an apocalypse party.

That's the whole place. Dark, smelly, damp, with walls that look like demons are walking out of them.

Home sweet home.

Sir Balin cut his finger on the end of the ruby blade and scrawled out GrUMBLJAK on the paper in barely legible smear, like he was finger painting.

When the topic of Aurex came up he shrugged. "Not much to tell. He's been wanting a fight since the day he met my better half. They both agreed whoever lost would serve the winner. Aurex lost. He's watching the Horn with Havelyn right now."

" Oh, hey," he said, suddenly thinking of something important and turning back to the newcomers. "Do any of you... uh... Hell, I don't even know how to ask this. Do any of you have extra people in your heads? Other personalities that are going to take over? Anything like that?"

With that bonus feat, now I can make magitech gizmos for the whole party!

I have enough gizmo capacity to make one for everyone. Think of them like a minor science fiction themed magic item.

The most straightforward examples that wouldn't require rolls to operate are things like skill bonuses, temporary HP, adding energy effects to weapons, and ray guns.

If you want a motorcycle or second head, I can do that, but it'll be more expensive and might require you to make rolls every time you use it.

There's a lot of options, and the rules are complicated, so just let me know what kind of thing you want, and I'll come up with something.

Gauntlet of Sharn wrote:

I don't think we are. The GM gave us a bonus 1st level feat when we made these characters...

Correct.

Say what now? How'd I miss that?

Oh, it's like Christmas!

Monkey! This game just keeps getting better and better!

At least we still have 4, I suppose.

4 is a good number as long as we all stay committed and reliable. We have plenty of party role flexibility, so if we just agree to let whoever is available first take over the pointman duties we should be able to move along pretty fast.

Just don't let Ratchet be the party Face. It'll be a trainwreck.

The group will consist of just a 4 man team,

Extremely loose definitions of "4" and "man"

One of Rachet's class abilities is "Unethical Science" so I think bad things done with magic will be graded rather than judged.

Brennus and Ratchet are going to have some fun conversations, I'm sure. :D While he may be most focused on his universal theory of magic research, Brennus is very much a renaissance raven who wants to learn about everything. :D

I'm looking forward to that roleplay. Ratchet has a very love/hate relationship with magic.

Oh, I almost forgot-

The dinosaur can pilot the mech suit and fire the cannon.

I don't think I'm going to have it do that, but it's explicitly allowed by the class abilities.

"Glad to meet you, Mott. I'll come to your place at noon. That should give you plenty of time to organize your crew. A meal would be great, Baron. I'll never turn down a free meal.

Writing Sir Balin is fun. He's basically Grumble's impression of Lord Havelyn, but he's still Grumble so everything comes out blunt and only barely polite enough.

I've been in 5 different WotW games, and I've GM'd it through this arc, and it wasn't until I was running it that I finally "got" Farholde. Through 5 games as a player, I missed a bunch of important details about the area that would have been obvious to anyone coming into the town.

I'll break it down into the kind of "For Dummies" description that I wish I'd had.

Farholde is a floodplain. The whole area is built on a massive river delta. Think like the Nile delta, except it's a tropical jungle region.

That's why the city is built on hills. The lowlands never really dry out. The ground is always soggy. Every year the whole area floods. The tops of the hills are the only areas that stay above the high water line.

That's also why the poor district is called Drownington. It's in the flood zone, and has to be rebuilt every year. The whole place is made out of salvage and flotsam.

In Farholde, the difference between the Haves and the Have Nots is extremely obvious. One of the big signs of social status is whether someone has mud on their clothes. Wearing shoes instead of boots or waders means you're rich enough not to have to go down to the wetlands or the docks.

Farholde is built right at the edge of the Caer Bryr jungle (pronounced care briar). It's some of the most inhospitable terrain imaginable. The trees are enormous, the undergrowth is spiky, and the terrain itself is a Karst.

Here's a picture of what Caer Bryr probably looks like from Farholde, across the surrounding farmlands.

Here's a picture of the kind of topographical bullshit explorers have to navigate inside Caer Bryr.

Just search "karst jungle" for more pictures. The visuals are incredible.

The King's Road heading south out of Farholde is the only way in and out other than boats. It cuts right through a valley with the jungle on both sides. So that's what all of you have been looking at for weeks. Take a look at the map and check out how big Caer Bryr is. It takes up most of the western edge of the kingdom, separated from the heartland by a giant mountain range. The land route sucks.

The only reason Farholde exists at all is because it's the bridge between the ocean, and the inland river trade route. Along that river is where all the border fortresses are. The river is how the border fortresses get most of their supplies. So Farholde is a nowhere backwater with enormous strategic importance.

That's why there's a castle across the bay from the town. It's one of the border forts. Hammerhold is the logistics hub of the entire fortress line.

Farholde is a lot like one of those little towns outside a military base. They only exist to support (or profit from) the fort. There's a lot of storefronts that cater to solders, like pawn shops, secondhand supply stores, short term loan sharks, brothels, bars, and confectioners.

Most of the traffic that comes through Farhold is boats. Cargo from larger sea ships gets transferred onto smaller river ships, and vice versa. The docks are the heart of the whole area. Everything here exists to support them.

Hope that helps you envision the area and how it fits into the setting a bit better.

Some thoughts about introductions-

Jack has had plenty of time to establish his Vigilante guise in Farholde.

With the way the abilities work, Grumble should be a local legend at this point, treated like a cross between a cryptid and a serial killer.

It's also well known that Sir Balin is in town hunting him. If you'd like to include that info in the new group's initial Knowledge Local and Diplomacy roles as they head into town, feel free.

Feel free to make up names for the locals to call him. Sir Balin calls him the Devil of Branderscar, but Grumble isn't exactly good at PR, so the locals are going to call him whatever they want. I'm leaving towards the Fifth Horseman as a "superhero name."

The foe's eyes widen at this threat and it turns its gaze at him, it whispers a word, "Dilisnya", and turns its gaze away once more.

The doctor's sword retreated back and hovered still in front of Sergei like a fencer recovering from a lunge.

As the terrifying spirit spoke, the air in front of Sergei flickered, revealing another ghost partially superimposed with him. Sergei continued his earlier path around the wraith's flank. The newly appeared spirit did not.

It was a man, transparent and monochrome. Straight-backed, tall and thin, with a perfectly manicured handlebar mustache and shoulder length dark hair. His clothes were wealthy, and styled in a fashion similar to old Lastwall, like he'd stepped straight out of an ancestral portrait in some noble's manor.

The aristocratic spectre held the doctor's saber like an expert fencer, his arm straight, his other arm tucked behind his back.

"Do not call up what you cannot put down, wretch," the new ghost sneered.

Then he lunged. His movement flickered, vanishing entirely as the saber leapt forth again, then reappearing as the blade closed on the wraith.

Acrobatics to avoid AoO: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Loose the Bonds again to deal damage with the weapon instead of the blast

TK Blast Ranged Attack w/ ghost touch, bless, firing into melee: 1d20 + 5 + 1 - 4 ⇒ (19) + 5 + 1 - 4 = 21
Ghost Touch Slashing Damage, Lesser Undead Bane: 1d6 + 5 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 5 + (2) = 10

Just in case wraiths can be crit with ghost touch weapons-
Crit Confirm: 1d20 + 5 + 1 - 4 ⇒ (2) + 5 + 1 - 4 = 4
Bonus Damage: 1d6 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

As the new ghost recovered from it's lunge, it flickered and stepped back to Sergei's new position, holding the doctor's saber protectively in front of them both.

All the stuff with the extra ghost is just fluff. It's just a normal attack, not some new ability.

You really nailed that last question, Lorant. Nice work.

"How much experience have you had with vampire lords ser'? I have yet to meet one. That I am aware of."

Sergei paused for a long moment, considering how to answer. "Unfortunately, quite a bit. At the time, I did not realize that is what I was dealing with. In retrospect, it could not be clearer. My family... they were all killed... at my wedding." He sounded calm as he spoke. There was emotion there, but very distant and subdued. "It was a long time ago, in a different life."

Ev̮͍͍̫̺̗͚e̫͓ͅn͉͔̜̻͈͘ ͇̪d̠̳͓̦̝͚͞ͅe͇̻a̞̞̖͜t̛̤̯̘̺̻h̫̦̗̱ ̙̮̝̥͍̗͎m͔̩̫͎a͇y ̳̳d͇̤i̻e̠̙̗̼̼ͅ the creature whispered in Judah's mind. I̹̘͜f͞ ̬͕̭y̭͈̩̖̳o̙̻̘̹̭̮̻͜u̙̯̫̰͙͓ ͇̹̬̙͙̣͉s̻̥̣̼̦ha̺̭̮͈̼̠̜p͏̹̮͎̯͔̻e̢ m̺̙͙̗̞̯̟ę̫̫̖͖̝͖ ̻̠͈͍̼t̻͈̟̠o͙̰̱͈̱̥͟ ̩̺̬̝ͅt̞̠̗͝h͈͖a̢̼̠͇̝͙t̯͚ ͈̦̹̻̭p̘̕u̻̗̜͉͍̱r͙̺͢p͕͎͎̝ǫ͔͓͔̣̱̰̰s̴͖̻̝e̗̬̳̥.͍̭

Judah had been jerkily reaching for one of the full haunt siphons he carried on his bandoleer, but when the doctor's bomb passed right through the spectre he second guessed himself.

Instead of wasting ammo, he busied himself throwing rocks at the spectre, trying to distract it so his allies had a better shot at taking it down.

Can you kill a ghost? he asked his subteranian companion.

Aid Another: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21 Trying to give Lorant a +2 hit bonus

I'm kinda useless against incorpoeal creatures right now

Grey's masked face followed the big, angry warrior as he paced like a cat in front of their captives.

Wait, I know that guy. Dustin? No that's not right... Dylan! From that warehouse job. That I botched. He had to fight off the watch while the rest of us ran. Not a great first impression. Hopefully he won't remember me. What's he doing in this hell hole? How are we supposed to get out of here with two prisoners and that big bastard? Dammit what else could go wrong on this job?

He did a double take as he noticed the limp body of the woman in Mister Pink's arms.

Sonofab*~+$.

Mister Grey took a shakey breath and focused on how to get them all out of here without drawing every eye on the block.

"Alright. We still need a horse to haul the cart. Pink, that's your job. Black, find the new guy something to hide his face. I don't care if you have to wrap his whole head in bandages, just make sure nobody outside might recognize him later. Same with the girl. She's... alive, right? Nevermind, doesn't matter. With these two a&@+!!$s we're going to look like kidnappers no matter what we do. Maybe put her in a sack, or one of those body bags we found earlier. The rest of us will finish loading the cart and keeping an eye on these two."

Judah officially best character. No contest.

Also, Happy Halloween!

Aw, shucks. :)

Judah got off his horse awkwardly, and patted it's neck. "Good, uh, horse."

He didn't know what kind it was, and he hadn't named it. It was grey with white markings. Lorant probably knew what that meant, but Judah definitely didn't. He was pretty sure it already had a name when they'd been given the horses, but he hadn't listened. He didn't want to get attached. He tried to pretend it was a cold hearted tough-guy thing, but it was actually because he didn't like it when animals died.

He still hadn't forgotten what his eldritch protectors had done to the stray cat he'd befriended in Magnamar. It felt worse now that he knew all he needed to have done was tell them not to eat anything. There were still so many things he didn't know. It wasn't a stretch to think something like that might happen again.

He didn't expect the horse to survive, but he really didn't want it to feel like his fault again.

He hitched the horse just like he'd been shown, got out a feed bucket, made sure there was plenty of water, eased and moved the saddle straps, checked for burrs and ticks, and cleaned the horse's shoes with a stick. He did it all quietly with a knot in his chest, feeling anxious and preemptively guilty.

He'd never had a horse before, and he was already attached.

"Sausage Effigy," Judah snorted, chuckling under his breath.

Jack couldn't stop himself from picturing it. The frog on the dragon. He snorted, and then it was over. A few moments later he was nearly crying with laughter.

Sorry for your loss, Al. Take your time.

"I'm Jack. I..." the big man said, losing a bit of his confidence a moment later, when he realized he had no idea who was actually the leader of their group. Cardinal Thorn was the real leader, but Jack knew he shouldn't say that.

Who was their leader? Alice was smart, but not very leadery. Nate couldn't even lead himself. Havelyn was too new, and seemed like he wasn't interested in being in charge of anything anymore. Errisigh was the Baron's man, and not really one of them. Jack had always sort of thought of Soren as the leader, but she was gone now. A lot of people were gone now.

He blinked as he realized he was the only one left from the original Knot that had escaped Branderscar. Did that mean he was the leader? A few months ago, that idea would have thrilled him. Now though, he was worried. After Ballentyne he knew wasn't smart enough to make good plans like a leader was supposed to.

No one was the leader, but someone had to be. Who made the plans? Who did the group follow automatically? Who did everyone listen to?

"Raaven's our leader," Jack told the frogs. "Take us to this Here's Your Father guy."

Xanos pulled out the small clay seal which would summon Tiadora when broken. He set it on the table.

"They die, of course. Fist though, the Cardinal should be made aware of the treachery of the allies he provided us."

Not taking anything on the loot list.

Done leveling.

Besides the basic number stuff, she's picked up 2nd level spells, including Make Whole so she can heal our warforged friends.

Also, she has an animal companion now too. Hers is a lion. I'll have stats soon.

Did I really read that the game has added robot porn and the cow is going to be riding a chicken?

There's an old video game called Evil Genius where you play as a pastiche James Bond villain, and create a mountain base full of elaborate death traps.

It's one of my all time favorites. :)

9th level... yessssss....

Not Athiest. Antithiest. :)

"Eh, I just reverse engineer the wizardy stuff. There's a lot of arcane nonsense that ain't useful tae me. Alchemy is physical. So when a scroll says tae "evoke the aether at point nine of Avedaro's Constant" or some such garbage, I gotta figure out what that means in terms of ingredients. It's an awful lot like makin' a recipe out of someone else's book when they use different measurements and different words for ingredients. It's a giant pain in the arse, but once I figure it out I can do it by the numbers an crank 'em out quick."

"An' don't even get me started on Sorcerer scrolls. They don't ever know what the eff they're talkin' 'bout."

Boomer smiles are the scrolls and alchemical supplies.

"Adu, lemme hang ontae those scrolls. I'll work 'em out and make potions from 'em," he said, adding his own list of scrolls to the purchase.

I can add those to my formulae book and make potions for the party on the cheap, Much better than only getting one use out of them.

Adding-
1x Scroll Alarm @ 25gp
1x Scroll Summon Instrument @ 12.5gp
1x Scroll Animate Rope @ 25gp
1x Scroll Detect Metal @ 25gp
1x Scroll Grease @ 25gp

Xanos rarely came out of his laboratory. He was punctual, meeting with the members of the Knot who were present each night for their debriefing.

His presence was felt almost constantly. Severed hands ran throughout the horn delivering messages and checking guard positions and entry points. His undead horde watched passersby carefully from behind the arrow slits. The haunting melody played by one of the hands never stopped. Instead it simply moved around. One skeleton carried the lyre tirelessly, played by a severed hand that scuttled across the surface of the instrument like a musical spider. Where the song went, the Horn changed. Walls smoothed and thickened. Doorways damaged by the Victor's attack a lifetime ago repaired themselves. Traps and tunnels dug themselves in the catacombs. New walls and rooms formed. The entire mountain soon bore the subtle mark of the ancient necromancer.

Boomer stuffed a rag into his cask, lit it off of his cigar, and tossed it, looking pained at the waste of good liquor.

Thunderbottle Express, ranged touch, point blank: 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 4 + 1 = 17
Damage, point blank, focused blast: 1d6 + 3 + 1 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 + 1 + 3 = 9

The tall wizard looked vaguely amused. "Competition by nature requires rules, and that the competitors be at least somewhat evenly matched. I have no interest in such things."

Oh, right. Our tavern, where the barkeep is a torturer. Wretched hive of scum and villainy, and all that jazz.

Boomer has Explosive Bombs. His splash radius is 10 feet.

"Hmm. These wilds have a reputation for being extremely dangerous. I expected more," the tall man said, a tad disappointed.

"The Asmodean temple is on the second floor. There is also an unclaimed room you may take as your own."

"We have a planning meeting each night in the Tavern with our evening meal. Join us then, after you have settled in."

The tall man seemed to have said as much as he was going to for now. Without segue or preamble, he walked out of the room.

It just occurred to me that none of us besides Urmurn actually introduced ourselves. We are such a&*+!%%s.

The tall man looked exasperated and a bit disgusted at the vampire's zealous ranting. He changed the subject.

"We have done little in the way of exploring the wilds of Caer Bryr. You have been surviving in them for some time now. What can you tell us?"

"An excellent point," Xanos nodded. "We should keep his presence secret from the Seventh, and the Baron. They know the most about us, and I do not trust them."

"Let us make our introductions."

The necromancer drifted to the teleportation circle, spoke the command word and a moment later appeared in the first floor throne room.

For the sake of movign things along, I'll assume Haruk and Molsabar follow me.

Urmurn and the pair of vampires made their way through the receiving room into a massive chamber lines on all sides with carvings lionizing daemonic rule. The four horsemen were venerated here, but the room itself was barren. It was clean, but everything had been removed. All that remained were the carvings on the walls and the six massive stone pillars supporting the chamber.

The last time Urmurn had been in this chamber it had been the site of an battle nearly a hundred years old, full of broken pews, brittle bones, and a cracked alter. All that was gone now.

The only things in the chamber were three men, two human, one half-orc.

I'll let Haruk and Molsabar describe themselves.

One of the human men was quite tall. His height matched the hulking vampire behemoth, but without the bulk of armor and muscles. This man's skin was dark, but his eyes were icy, pale blue. His head was bald. In fact, he appeared to have no body hair at all.

He wore simple but finely made dark grey robes and what appeared to be a butcher's smock. It was tied around his waist, but not his neck, so it hung folded in half from his belt.

The other thing that hung from his belt were chains attached to spiked gauntlets. The disembodied hands each stood on their finger tips arrayed around the tall man like small pets on leashes.