Campaign of the Month: April 2012
Troll Shaman, Worshiper of Bast
Complete character sheet is Here.
Grignak is an imposing brute of a Troll. His height is only one part of his menace. The kind smile that is never far from his lips and the joy dancing in his eyes as he cleaves his foes asunder with his huge blades, which are also rarely far from his side.
He is well built and has smooth grey skin and red eyes. His hair is stringy, but whether this is a fashion statement or natural is not clearly known. He was never allowed to wear anything more than a loincloth, even in the depths of winter, so he has of necessity grown accustomed to wearing next to nothing. His skin is a visible collection of scars both old and new that crisscross his body in random knife edged patterns. There is very little open unscarred skin left on his torso.
Picture from AZ_Rune.
A transcript of a conversation had on the floor of the gladiatorial arena:
“Ah, friends. Well met. Before we get down to the business of rending each other limb from limb, and attempting to deprive one another of the very essence of life, I would deign to speak to you for a moment.
“Not to worry, I will be the vicious troll that the crowd so adores, but before that…
“I am called Grignak. If I ever had another name, I have long since forgotten in amidst the blood and pain that these arenas inflict upon the mind, body and soul. When I was a strapping lad of eight and twenty years I thought myself above the warnings that my parents had impressed upon me and went out of a morning to throw rocks at the soldiers of this empire while they worked.
“I doubt that the fortification still rises into the Yin Sloth these two and forty years hence, but then it was their desire to conquer even the wilds of my homeland. It was a test of my boyish might to throw the largest boulder that I could into the camp. I was never that accurate, but it was a game that young trolls played…one moment.”
The Troll swings his left sword through the air and takes off the legs of one of the gladiators who was facing him at the knees. “It isn’t very polite to attempt to interrupt someone while he is telling a story,” the troll says with a smile that is terrifying for how pleasant it is.
“Where was I, oh yes. I’d made a habit of sneaking into the camp at dawn and throwing my boulder at their most recent wall in an attempt to see how much of it I could knock down with a single blow. This morning, however, they were there, waiting for me. Before I could call for help I was laid down by a cloud of slumber cast by their mage.
“Oh how I cried for my family during the long trip back to their city. How I wailed and begged for them to release me so I could go home. At that time it never occurred to me to use my strength to attempt to break free, and I often wonder if I would have lived through this torture…” this time the right sword swings. This time the man slips back just out of reach of the sword. Seeing what he thinks is an opening another of the men charges forward only to be cleaved in two with the backswing. The troll continues as if nothing had happened. "had I attempted to break out during that journey. That is of little consequence now, but my young self would have been happy to learn the outcome.
‘’When I arrived, an old Orc shaman took me under his wing and taught me the ways of the chant, and the duty that a Shaman holds before his charges. I know that you are all itching to fight, and put forth a good showing before my goddess on her festival day. I salute you, my brethren, and commend you to the afterlife. Terminus Est .’’
With that he begins to sing one of the songs of praise to Bast that is two bawdy to relay here and charges into the opponents with his swords flying.