Class: Strongman Tank
Name: Gromble
Race: Human
Health: 44/70
Attack power: 5 (6)
Speed: 4
Defense: 0 (2)
Intellect: 4
Combat Style: Defensive
Inventory:
-Blunt stick + 1 ATK (e)
-Elven Battle Armor + 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!
Companions:
Class: Facebiter
Name: Hund
Race: Doggo
Health: 15/15
Attack power: 3
Speed: 5
Defense: 0
Intellect: 2
Combat style: Balanced
Inventory:
-Bork x2
-Arf
Skills: Attack
You wake up. Action cancelled...
-26 hp!
You're covered in injuries. You must have shifted last night. You fear the worst...
[[ I do agree though, maybe a brief recounting of certain things. Not to mention there are a fair few NPCs to keep track of as well. As time goes on, I can see this becoming somewhat more hectic. Perhaps an edit in the OP, a short 'status' spoiler of all active PCs? Just a thought.]]The bathing warmth of the grand celestial star encapsulates a form, haunched in mud. It is that of a large man, slumped by a small brook of clean water. He sputters a coughing fit and is shocked awake, from which he, as always, wildly looks about. The setting is calm, but certainly not his campsite.
With that realization, his abdomen stings, excruciating pain erupts through his body. He nearly moans in agony, but manages to stifle it. Feebly bringing himself to those giant feet, his similarly immense hands raise to eye level. A single hope that the crimson coating is his blood, and his alone.
Staggering to the running stream, Grom does what he can to clean himself, not only the wounds, but also the caked red covering his exposed flesh. He need not question, nor despair. For indeed Gromble was well aware of what had occurred, still he prayed, especially for his little friend.
The large man stumbles forth, in hopes to return to camp. Too exhausted to imagine the gravity of his situation.