Petros the Bear-Slayer's page

A loud roar of anger echos from the front hall as a massive Aasimar Barbarian struggles to wedge his huge shape past the expensive looking carriage at the front door.

AHHHGH! Who has left sissy wagon in front of Petros!

Petros would like to spread tales of his sexual prowess...or tales of his combat prowess.

Or Both.

Hmm, this is a tough decision for Petros.

It is dinner time at the Grand Lodge. The cooks bring out tonight’s meal for the hungry members of the lodge. It is not a vast, endless feast, just a regular meal for hungry adventurers. There is no holiday and much of the bounty of Absalom is still in the fields and pastures and not on the plate. Dinner is merely a few helpings of potato stew, a little smoked ham, some rolls, and a few helpings of various baked vegetables. It is small but filling and hearty.

At the end of the large front table, a few of the young Pathfinder trainees are talking about all of the mighty battles they’re going to fight in the future and all of the evil men they’re going to smite. They’re talking loudly and being very disruptive.

At your table, where the experienced lodge members sit, you and the other grunts roll your eyes. Children, all of them. You are content to ignore them but a few of the more rowdy boys shout at each of the older members at your table: “How many did you kill to day?” Or “Bet you’ve slain quite a few evil beasts!” Most of the Pathfinders wave these fools away but then they shout to Petros, which you think is perhaps unwise, Barbarians are not known for taking a joke lying down. But Petros seems to take the ribbing in stride and laughs at the trainees.

He then turns back to your table and begins to tell a tale in a voice just loudly enough for the Trainees to hear…

The Orphan's Sword
(Inspired by the work of Robert E. Howard)

In his first year as a Pathfinder, Petros trained with Ventrue-Lieutenant Cassius Ren, a mighty Taldoran knight who had been with the Society for many years.

It was not a friendly relationship.

Master Ren had a very poor opinion of the Kellid peoples and believed them to be little more than violent savages.

“Little better than orcs, the lot of them.” He was often heard to say, “There is no culture lower, except the Shoanti.” Petros’ mere presence in the Pathfinders was an affront to the Taldoran’s very senses and it became his mission in life to see Petros removed from the Pathfinder Society in disgrace.

The two of them fought together on several missions, bickering and arguing like small children as they performed their duties to the letter. Though Ventrue-Captain Valsin saw that the neither man was happy with their chosen training partner, they were a very effective team. Petros’ sense of honor meant that he could not openly disobey his new master and Ren’s sense of duty forbad him from directly mistreating those under his care. They performed their duties with razor like precision and then glared at one another in steely silence after every mission. They would never be friends but they were Pathfinders and that was enough.

On their final mission together, Valsin sent them to collect a prisoner, a woman who was infected with Lycanthropy. She was supposedly from Ustalav and it was believed that she had some knowledge of the Whispering Tyrant’s next attack on Lastwall. She was to be taken, by wagon, across the forests of Nirmathas to the border where Crusaders would take her into custody.

The journey was meant to only take one day but a heavy rain storm blew up from the west and slowed their progress. It was a terrible storm, full of thunder and driving rain. A few of the Nirmathan Militia Men who travelled with the party decided to turn back rather than face the rest of the storm.

“Besides,” Said the lead ranger, “When night falls that thing will be much harder to keep captive.”

The Lycanthrope Girl, to her credit, said nothing and did not taunt or harass her captors as they pushed on, now with only half their original number.

They made good time and by mid-day the storm broke and they knew that they were a mere thirty miles from the border. If the Gods had been on their side, they would’ve made the journey long before night fall.

But it was not to be. One rear left wagon wheel, which had been in some disrepair before the start of the journey, finally gave way to rot and age and it collapsed under it’s own weight. There was no way to repair the wheel and the Night was drawing closer. A thirty miles to the border and the mission appeared to be a total loss.

Cassius Ren sent the last of the rangers away, telling them that the Pathfinder society was not paying for them to die. So they men saddled up their horses and rode away, leaving only Petros and Ren together in the woods.

“Now,” Ren snarled as he turned to Petros, “I don’t suppose I can convince you to go and never come back?”

“In Petros’ tribe, we are taught to never leave doddering old men alone in the woods.”

And then they waited, bickering like little boys as sun down approached. Their prisoner, the Lycanthrope, pleaded with them to save their own lives. “Please, I cannot control myself! When the moon rises you will be dead men.”

They ignored her and focused themselves to the task of writing wills on small pieces of parchment and stuffing them in their boots. For Petros it was a long and arduous affair because determining which family member owns your possessions is a complex matter in Kellid society. In the end he wrote his sister’s name and assumed she would know who to give his belongings to.

For Cassius Ren, the will was a simple one: “When I die, my son gets my sword.”

Petros laughed, “Petros does not belive that a woman was so drunk that she-“

“This is serious,” The Old Knight shouted, “My sword has been in my family for centuries, it is the only thing I own that matters. Swear to me that if I die you will see it in the hands of my son.”

Ren held it up for Petros to examine, it was an old blade that had been built by a master. The symbol of the Dead God Aroden was on it’s hilt and the names of some forgotten king or hero was written on the blade in Azlanti. It was the greatest sword that Petros had ever seen. “Swear to me, you smelly oaf.” He said again.

“Petros swears to this.”

And then they turned back to the lycanthrope and waited. The girl did not stay quiet during this wait, she moaned and begged the two men to leave, to save their own lives. But her pleas fell on deaf ears. They were Pathfinders, they had a mission.

But the shadows grew longer and the air grew heavy. There was a terrible stillness in the air and the only sound was the Girl’s voice as it begged for them to run. Soon the voice that pleaded for their lives grew deeper and they could hear a great cracking sound as bones shifted beneath her skin. She cried out in pain and screamed as the moon rose up over the hills. In moments, the girl was gone from this world and what stood in her place…was a true horror.

With one motion of its arms, it snapped the iron chains that held it to the wagon and then tipped the wagon over as it leapt to the ground. The horses squealed and ran off into the night and then Cassius and Petros were alone with the unspeakable thing. The beast set itself upon Petros first, grabbing him by the waist with arms that could crack oak trees. Petros struggled, smashing the beast across the forehead with his club. It had no effect and there was no question that the monster intended to take his life.

So it was rather strange that Cassius Ren decided to intervene in the manner that he did. If he had merely attacked the beast, Petros would be dead but Cassius would’ve survived the encounter and the werewolf would be slain. Instead, Cassius actually tackled the monster, grabbing at its arms and giving his partner a small chance to survive.

Petros struggled to freedom and pulled himself loose just in time to watch as the Beast turned its attention to Cassius Ren.

And it tore him limb from limb.

Weakened from his ordeal, Petros could only watch in horror as the Beast savaged the old knight and ate the poor man’s organs while he still screamed for dear life. It took ten whole minutes for Cassius Ren to die but to both Cassius and Petros it felt like a thousand years.

When it was done, when it had eaten it’s fill, the Beast ran off into the underbrush, leaving a trail of blood and gore behind it. Alone and exhausted, Petros could do nothing but pass into the land of sleep and hope that the monster did not return to savage him in the dead of night.

When he finally returned to consciousness, Petros’ entire body felt like it was on fire. But there was a feeling of rage that boiled in the pit of his stomach, a furnace that would only quenched with blood.

Picking himself up from the ground, he limped down to the nearby creek and washed his tired body.

Then he set himself to work. He buried his colleague, saying a few prayers for the dead over his corpse as it was laid into the ground. Then he collected Cassius’s sword and placed it back into it’s decorative sheath. He strapped the mighty blade to his own belt. Then he collected some of the old man’s blood from the ground and mixed the blood with the creek bed’s natural white mud. Using the mixture he painted his face and body in the traditional war colors of the Kellid people and prayed the old chant to Gorum, entreating the mountain god to protect him in battle. Among the Kellids, this is called the “Fool’s Prayer”, for Gorum never answers it.

Then he set out on the hunt, taking only what he could carry with him. Suddenly Petros felt strength return to his body and he felt his head clear, Perhaps it was due to the nature of his Aasimar physiology or perhaps Gorum truly does answer prayers. Regardless, Petros began to run into the woods in the direction of his quarry.

It took a whole day to find the beast, now a skinny girl, but eventually he found her naked and crying in an old farmhouse. She was covered in blood and surrounded by the remains of an old farmer and his wife. When she saw Petros step through the front door, she sobbed heavy tears. “I told you to leave! You didn’t listen, no one ever listens!” She cried.

For a moment, a small feeling of pity grew inside the cold heart of the barbarian. If he had not made a vow, he would have let her live. “Petros knows.” He said simply, “Petros thanks you for your warning.”

“What of the other?” She moaned, “Is he…”

“His journey is over.”

She wailed and Petros knew that her tears were real. She hated herself, hated what she was.

He placed a large burly hand on the girl’s shoulder, both to comfort her and to keep her from running. “Petros has no anger for you child. Petros knows you cannot help yourself.” He said as he unsheathed the Taldoran blade, “But Petros cannot help being Petros, either.” And with that, he slew her.

Two days later, Petros finally made his way to border of Lastwall, where shining knights were waiting for him at a crossroads.

“You’re overdue,” Their commander said, “Did you encounter any trouble?”

“Yes.” Was Petros’ answer.

He then handed the Crusaders a box, containing the head of his prisoner and when the Crusader Commander angrily demanded to know why the prisoner had been killed against his strict instructions, Petros dismissed him with a wave of his large hand.

“Only a truly evil man would demand that creature be taken alive.” The Barbarian muttered, “Speak no more of this or Petros shall find a box for your head, south man.”

And that was the end of the matter, the adventure was over and Petros was alive to tell the tale. He headed south to Absalom as quickly as his Kellid legs would carry him.

But his journey was delayed when he passed through Taldor, because he stopped to return a dead man’s sword to it’s rightful owner.

When the tale is done, Petros looks the young men in the eyes and grins.

“Petros wonders, as he looks at these young whelps, which of them will deliver swords to orphans….and which will be the owners of those swords? “

The novice Pathfinders say nothing and Petros finishes his dinner in peace.

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.

It is late in the evening in the Lodge, most have gone home for the night to their beds or have passed out in the lodge's chairs and back room cots. Dinner is long past over and the cook has finished the evening dishes. The fire, which once roared in the hall's fireplace, is little more than a few crackling logs. Petros sits near the back of the room, tying a few shiny beads into his braided beard. For no reason at at all, unprompted, he begins to tell his life story to the few remaining Pathfinders still awake at this hour.

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….

The embers are nearly cold when the tale finishes and as the firelight dies down, the Barbarian's tale finishes. When he is done, the big man yawns and decides his night is over.

Petros is walking past at that exact moment
What did Petros ever do to you? Bah! City people are all so rude.

"So...is it normal for Pathfinders to have a barbecue in the front hall? I'm personally not very knowledgeable of Absolam customs, but as I've come a long way from my tribal home, I suppose it would be likely that there are differences."

Large room, close to door, and comfortable chairs. If city people do not cook here then you are fools,

"Compliments to the chef." She immediately regretted this, wondering if the Kellid would perceive this as an insult.

Smile, friend, eat your fill and sing songs, for Petros takes no insults from those he has sworn to protect,

"Some barbarian with no sense of culture dropped this food here and it all went downhill from there."

Petros frowns at that comment.

Petros has culture. Kellids have music, art, poetry. We tell tales, sing songs of sadness and glory and beauty. The the philosophies of Kellid kings and poets are still read by men to this day and they discuss hope, beauty, and the hard truth of survival.

Petros is not civilized, this is true. For civilization makes men weak and turns women into slaves. Cities are coffins and laws are funeral rites read to corpses. Petros is proud he is not civilized.

But he has much culture.

Petros smiles.

We Kellids also like our food fresh because the preservation methods used by civilized people poison the food with too much sugar and salt. Your market places are filthy. Petros would never dare eat such dirty food.

Petros caught this deer, Petros slew this deer, he cleaned this deer, he honored the spirit of this deer as it left to run with it's ancestors. Also, Petros cleaned the carcass before bringing it because Petros is a Barbarian, not a fool.

A "letter" arrives addressed to the Ventrue Captain Valsin, it's scrawled in Hallit, instead of a signature there's a pictogram of a bear.

Master,

I am ready to smite foes for you.

Petros the Bear Slayer

Petros sips some ale and grows a little grim.

So tomorrow Petros goes forth for his first act of duty with those who seek the ways. As with all missions of war Petros knows that such a duty can always be your last. I shall need all the luck and both my arms to make me strong in battle. I dare not pray to Gorum, lest the Mountain God mistakes my pleas for weakness.

Eat away friend Elf, I sense one who wanders the wilds is now among us.

Friend Petros, yer a much larger and stronger man than me, so ah can see how ye'd be great in a fight. Ah'm glad we're on th' same side.

Ah'm not one to be hittin' things with a sword. But if we e'er get sent on a mission together, ah'll ask Desna to bring a bit o' luck to yer sword arm, and help ye strike down th' Society's enemies faster n' easier than ye could on yer own. Dinnae un'erestimate th' value of good luck.

A thousand cups of wine to you and your luck lady then, friend Seamus.

Kyros Deun wrote:

A tall half elf man chuckles. "And you're CERTAIN you're luckiest? Because you look like a Pathfinder to me."

Aye! Ah've got a direct link to Lady Luck 'erself. That's Goddess Desna ta most folks. She came ta me in a dream, and she says to me, "Seamus," she says, "Ah want ya ta spread the luck around. Tell folks ta believe in the stars, and follow their dreams", she says.

Now, who am ah ta argue with a goddess, specially one dat's always been so good to me clan??? So naturally, ah agreed. And ah've been travelin' the world, spreadin' the luck around, and spreadin' faith in the stars and dreams ever since.

Petros barks a hard, happy laugh.

Petros needs no luck, small friend. Petros makes his luck with the speed of his leg and the strength of his arm so tell your luck lady to give my luck to friend Seamus and give glory in battle to Petros!

Now Petros smashes fist against nearest table, table wobbles a little from his thick fist. You are all Pertros' friends but who is BEST friend? Who has Kellid mead? Or Dwarven Ale? Or fine Elven liquors that taste like music and smell like summer? And who has tale of glory? One cannot eat meat without ale, songs, and tales!

And where are Kellids? Surely Petros is not the only member of his people who was stupid enough to walk south?

Respond (in Hallitt) the lord of fire and law. He who sealed the beast within the world. Igniting his venison tenderloin via flame bolt to add a bit more char.

Petros frowns when he hears the Hallit name of Asmodeus. He is clearly uneasy for a moment about taking MeriDoc's hand.

(In Hallitt) You speak my tongue and you are a Pathfinder, so I shall take your hand and call you friend but know this: I trust not the Fire Lord.

Petros does shake the extended hand.

(In Hallit) It is against the ways of my people to tell you who to worship, but I believe you honor that divinity at thine peril, friend.

Grumbles at the godtouched comment

Unfortunately godtouched. Fortunately earthspeaker.

The "rock" he was sitting on pokes its head out from where it was curled under his tail and bleets a little, then resumes its nap. He points to himself and then to the ankylosaurus

Pyrite. Nugget. Defend pathfinders. Kill aspis. Avenge mawangi.

Petros seems taken aback by the rock that is in fact a strange beast. He considers poking the rock to see if it is magic but he doesn't wish to anger Pyrite

Pyrite, you and your rock monster are friends of Petros the Bear-Slayer. Your enemies are now Petros' enemies, together we shall slay these...aspis...? Is dragon? Petros would welcome a change from killing Orc.

Petros is also sorry for your obvious troubles, to be one of our race is not so easy.

The lizard like... thing takes a giant CHOMP out of the meat and shakes his head to tear it, not minding the juices dripping down his chin

Sure.

Petros claps a thick hand across the back of the Lizard like Aasimar

Good. Friends are best. Petros has sworn a vow to call all Wayfinders and Pathmakers friends. You are Godtouched too? Good. Petros has Godblood in family like you. Are you earthspeaker or Wizard? Petros does not trust Wizards but if you are one then they are not all bad.