Lairds of Orren
IC
Centuries ago, an engine of evil, absolute in hatred and contempt, fell upon the peoples of the world. The evil, unsatisfied with a merciful execution, drew the life from the planet in slow ceremony. It scattered the realms of man, the nations, the cities and towns until the world was full of ruin and disease. Resistance was forgotten as well as hope, but an order of highlanders stayed their blades until the most opportune moment.
With ancient training, traditions older than any kingdom, and a divine ordinance, the laird Orren and his men of the hills laid into the evil with unspeakable fury. The men fought the evil for weeks without rest until all but Orren were consumed by the fury. He alone ended the evil. And he did not rest. He scoured the world of its presence until his natural death. In his final days, Orren restored his society of highlanders, founding the Lairds. However, Orren, as the final highlander, could only pass on a fraction of the ancient rites that granted him such miraculous power. It would take centuries for the Lairds of Orren to reclaim what was lost and revive the lost powers.
In the time between, the world would be safe from the evil, but not the evil of humanity. The world began to heal, but it would be a slow and painful restoration. I couldn’t think of many instances of post-apocalyptic fantasy, so here’s Lairds of Orren! I’m not planning anything super crazy with this one, just tabletop stuff. Gonna go with four players for this game.
Each one of you will be a laird—someone who seeks to restore humanity in a Brotherhood of Steel type way, but somewhere between the east and west coast chapters. For those who don’t Fallout, that just means that the Lairds follow some guy who might have certain ideas about how the organization should go about restoring the world. Right now, the leader prioritizes protecting humanity from itself first and recovering dangerous artifacts second. They don’t have the best reputation, but they are more organized than most and have a keen magical edge over pretty much everyone.
Recruitment is open to the talented and the well-equipped, though some are recruited for political reasons. And sometimes, the Lairds just need some fodder. They aren’t the legendary warriors they once were.
Well, like I said you’re a laird. You can think of yourself as part of the militant U.N. of a recovering world. You’re expected to work in a team to accomplish missions set by higher ranking lairds.
Tech level is about renaissance, but since the world eating evil happened things were put on hold. Magic is low-ish. Most magic is done through rituals and curses, so there won’t be any fireballs. No divine magic either, gods are implied around here.
Build the character like you would build a DnD character. The Lairds are an organization of heroes, regardless of what many think.
Statistics: Keep these three stats above zero or the character will be killed. Distribute 20 points among them, 1 being the minimum.
Might: Strength, fortitude, vigor. You know, the warrior stat.
Skill: It’s the one that makes you fast on your feet and with your hands.
Mind: Knowledge is power. But not literally, since spells are slow and ritualistic.
Name: Yes.
Appearance: Only humans around these parts, the other races are long gone or near extinct.
Class: Generally, what would someone call you? Maybe a bit more if you’re especially unusual.
Bio: Yum, delicious lore. Add why/how you were recruited please.
Statistics:
Might: 5
Skill: 13
Mind: 2
Name: Tyr Loknar
Appearance: A small man, easily missed. He often wears a dark green cloak that conceals his knife-belt.
Class: Knife Juggler
Bio: Tyr has a bit of a nasty reputation, despite his puny appearance. Before recruitment, he was often hired to scare people into submission(also the occasional assassination, but very rarely). He was capable if this due to his extraordinary skill with knives. Throwing them, catching them, simply using them; if a knife was involved, he was choice number one.
One evening, a member of the Orren heard of his skills, and challenged him to a contest of skill. To prove his mastery, Tyr took him to a nearby archery range the next day, asking the archers to continue practicing. He then proceeded to split every arrow that was fired, Robin-hood style. He was offered a job on the spot.
Side note: Tyr carries a multitude of knives, both for throwing, and for up-close combat.
Might: 12
Skill: 4
Mind: 4
Name: Nix
Appearance: A large man, of sturdy limb and prodigious height. His face is like that of a hawk, harsh, unblinking, would be handsome if he actually took steps to maintain it. As it stands, it's covered in ragged black hair, adding a certain element of wildness to his otherwise steely visage. Like a stone castle hidden beneath wild vine.
Class: Paladin. Not a name that Nix himself enjoys, due to the noble connotations implied in the name, but he doesn't particularly care.
Bio: A murderer, and a son of murderers. In the time of evil, Nix's clan were robbers, brigands, and slavers, the worst of man. When he was but a small child, Nix had already taken a life, and had begun his training in the arts of cruelty. As the influence of evil waned, his family was wiped out by the likes of Orren and his followers.
As his clan lay butchered, Nix fought to the last, knowing nothing else. A child against numerous experienced warriors was not a fair match, and Nix found himself after waking from unconsciousness in a church, having been dropped off like donated goods. The earliest years were the worst. Endless punishments from the monks, tedious education, constant preaching. And still fire burned in him.
It wasn't until he approached adolescence that he realised it had been years since he had been made to kill, to raid, and despoil. Life had settled into an almost pleasant routine. Work, pray ( the sincerity of which depended on Nix's feelings day to day ), and study. On the cusp of manhood, he was given the choice to leave. Realising just how much he would miss this place, and the harsh kindness of the monks, he wept. His surrogate fathers, seeing redemption at last dawn on their charge, gave him their blessing, and gave him directions to the group of warriors who had earlier abducted, and indeed saved, him.
Re-entering the world with a newfound appreciation for its sanctity, Nix still knew he was a killer. An enlightened brute, still capable of great destruction. If he was to destroy, let those who menaced and preyed on others be his enemies. Joining the lairds, Nix knew his humble work had just begun.
Statistics:
Might: 14
Skill: 5
Mind: 1
Name: Rathgar
Appearance: A tall man, broad of shoulder and muscular. His tanned skin has a tough and leathery texture, and his hands are heavily calloused. He has bright green eyes and messy, dark brown hair that looks roughly cut and ends at the back of his neck.
Class: Berserker
Bio: Rothgar was born to a woodsman and his wife who lived quite a bit away from civilization, providing for themselves off the land. When he was old enough, around 4 or 5, Rothgar began to help his father in any way he could. The years of physical labor made Rothgar physically strong, but did not leave much time for him to develop his mind. When he reached 18, he set off to make his own way in the world, or at least to find somewhere to live where his 8 younger siblings were not underfoot.
After a day of working odd jobs, he decided to relax at a tavern. Normally a quiet person, he was content to drink in silence at the packed bar. He was having a good night until another man, incredibly drunk, decided that he wanted Rothgar's seat.
After increasing amounts of insults hurled at Rothgar, the man tried to physically remove Rothgar from his seat. Something snapped in the gentle giant at that point, and all he saw was red. When he finally regained awareness, he was being restrained by two large Lairds, and his harasser was lying on the ground, bloody and broken bones sticking out of some of his limbs. The Lairds, having witnessed the incident, offered him a choice. Either go to answer for the assault, or join their organization to make sure his rage was aimed at something that deserved it.
Statistics: Keep these three stats above zero or the character will be killed. Distribute 20 points among them, 1 being the minimum.
Might: 4
Skill: 8
Mind: 8
Name: Kat
Appearance: A short, slight girl with a decent enough look to her, messy brown hair, and usually a charming smile-she's quite young, hardly 20 yet. She has healthy skin only slightly marked by mutation-skin blotches and blemishes scar her at certain points, though the use of skillful dark blue ink tattoos all over her body, seem to have been made in an effort to incorporate them in an artistic style. These tattoo's are typical of tribals, depicting various images-the most important being a a small circle with the old letters 'RR' stamped in the middle on her left shoulder, a skinny fish on her left hip, the sun on her upper right shoulder, the moon on her lower left shoulder, a pair of fangs biting down on two human figures over her heart, and a crab with a knife in its claw on the top of her right foot-of course, she a stylistic representation of her guitar on the small of her back. These are held to together by long blue lines running the length of her body down to the bottom of the feet, representing a river.
Class: Apocalypse Bard, Professionally 'The Bard of Rad River'
Bio: The Rad River Tribe is like many tribes in the 'after'-they gather in villages around sources of water, which is life. The Rad Rivers maintained not only a source of food from their river, but a good deal of scrap-even so long after the end, many of the old peoples malicious junk and garbage is still washing up. Most of this is burned or buried as heresy, such as the round-hards that carried the old peoples carriages, or the empty boxes that lulled men to sleep. Young Kat (no second name) was born into this clan, and noticed from a young age for her speed, wit, and reflexes when she came of age, even if she was small and scrawny. It was fortunate she lived, truly-in a leaner year, such a babe as she might have been left at the altar of the Gods in the black stones, to spare them and the clan the burden. The clan had plenty to eat that year, however-perhaps that why she turned out to be healthy and robust young woman, a rare beauty, and a sure fertile blessing for a parched world-a hope for a brighter future for her clan.
One day of no particular importance, Kat found something quite interesting washed up by the riverside-a skillful construction of wood and taut wires. It was so tightly sealed in a metal box that a trapped spirit escaped with a hiss, when it was finally opened-she was unable to puzzle the mysterious device holding it shut, and eventually resorted to convincing her older brother (her only living family) to strike it with a heavy rock. To her surprise she discovered this was actually an instrument used for music, not a weapon-which, lacking any idea of what it was called, became it's title, the 'Not-a-Weapon'. Her passionate argument of having found it, so having claimed it, it couldn't be taken from her, because that's how the old world was destroyed by people taking other peoples things they had found and claimed, was eventually accepted by the clan. She became her tribes most skilled entertainer in time, learning music by her own ear-years later, all claimed the Gods were surely pleased, and no doubt they had sent the not-weapon to her to make up for the sad disappearance of her brother, who was lost in the wastes looking for treasure. She noted the discrepancy, since her brother vanished after she found the not-weapon, and figured the Gods were surely cruel and mad to do such a thing.
Time moved on. She was not without her charms, of course, and her popularity attracted attention from outsiders as she came of age. The neighboring tribe of the Bunker Kings, who lived upriver, desired to prove their own clan motto-'We have it our way'. Due to some friction among clan members and herself (mostly jealousy), she found herself with a for sale sign around her neck. They first attempted an honest trade of livestock, for her hand in marriage to their clan chief. The livestock were not of very good quality, however, and Kat was hot tempered, stubborn, and unwilling to settle down against her will-a bad trade all around. They eventually resorted to the traditional bloodless Clan kidnapping, carrying her (and the not-weapon) off in the middle of the night. Ironically, without any living male family members she had no one to defend her-due to the rules of combat, no other man could even intervene without triggering a bloody clan war. She managed to escape the following day, though, mostly by luck and courage. The Bunker King Warrior who captured her tied very poor knots.
She didn't return to her clan, and then spent her formative years wandering the wastes after, living off her music, her reflexes, and her wits. She had no home but the roof she was under every night, no bed but the ground beneath her as she slept. Her long exile was not without purpose-for a time, and perhaps to this day, she has searched for clues to her brothers ultimate fate, till now to no definite end. She is only sure that he still live, for no trace of him was ever found...
Eventually Kat came upon a Laird encampment, and wintered there for a few seasons, plying her skills for room and board-while she found it hard to grasp the Lairds conviction as her own, it was made clear there was a place for her in their order. They needed clever men and women like her to spread the word of their accomplishments and beliefs, knowing that a catchy song would stick in peoples minds, long after the good deed had all but been forgotten. She agreed to become a banner woman and bard for the Lairds of Orren in exchange for steady meals (more or less), and her music is now filling once empty halls, with the sweet sounds of the civilization that the Lairds hope to restore.
1. Tack
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Topic: [OOC] Lairds of Orren (4/4) (Read 3007 times)