Class: Heavyweight Tank
Name: Gromble
Race: Human
Health: 70
Attack power: 5 (6)
Speed: 4
Defense: 0 (2)
Intellect: 4
Combat Style: Defensive
Inventory:
Blunt stick, + 1 ATK (e)
Elven Battle Armour + 2 DEF (e)
Skills: Attack, parry
BIO: He was banished here, to these dark wilds, for crimes that he can't even remember. The petty baron who ruled his town wanted to sell him as an expensive slave, but a rebellion in the capital city of Kanthaa toppled his rule. Without a ruler, a mob of people decided to bring Grom here, to live forever among creatures of the night. They hated him for what he did, but it wasn't something he could stop...'
Appearance: Quite a large man, not necessarily fat, but certainly a bit bulbous. He is bald all about the head, save for the thick curly mustache that rests upon his upper-lip. Aside from this, he appears most-often with a smile on the face.
Personality: Extroverted and boisterous, Gromble makes sure at every opportunity to let out a bellowous laugh, 'Even in dark times we can still find hilarity, no?' Aside from that, the large man is warm and inviting, don't let his stature fool you, he's a gentle sort.
Acquaintances: Fu Qyu, the Tiny
Enemies: None!
You leave Fu Qyu to his devices after he leads you to a murky swamp. Although foreboding, the area looks promising to those looking for supplies. The peat-filled bog smells terrible, and it's littered with dead creatures of all sorts. To your disgust, some of the corpses are those of sentient beings. Many are Elven. You see a number of Elven battle standards, and conclude that a war is underway. Despite your distaste for scavenging, you manage to strip one of the Elves of his armor. It's a bit small on you, but it fits.
You get
Elven Battle Armor, +2 defense
Before you can get anything else, you hear a great clamor, and the clash of steel on steel. You run towards the sound and see an Elven platoon under attack by a Goblin horde. The battle is taking place in the ruins of some sort of village. The Elves, outnumbered, eventually retreat, but not before killing a decent number of the Goblin pillagers. Your eye lands on a severely wounded Elf, left for dead. The Goblins indeed thought he was dead, but you know better. His chest moves slightly, and his fingers twitch. A short spear is lodged in his stomach. You leave, but not before rolling a small edible fruit over to the Elf. By the time the Elf notices the food he received, you're long gone.
Turn II Day IV
'
Best not involve myself. . .' The giant ponders to himself, getting lost in the thought for a moment. Though, wouldn't rolling food over to an injured side count as 'involvement?' He did not know, though, Grom was sure he would have done the same for a goblin just as well.
Retreating somewhat into the swamp, the large man calls out, looking about for the lilliputian, before realizing they seemed to vanish. Had they returned to the camp after scrounging sufficient supplies? Gromble simply hoped that little one was alright. . . For the best perhaps.
With that, Grom decided to fit the elven-craft armor about himself, begging forgiveness that the spirit of its previous owner would not hold it against him all the while.
At last, the large man bounding back again for camp, if goblin hordes and elven parties strewn themselves around the ruins, it would not be the best place to stick around by any stretch. On his way, he'd of course
forage, and hopefully do what he can to
build that fire back at the small encampment.
Poll
4 (40%)
Author
Topic: Survival of the Meanest (Read 37664 times)