Post by Nova Eona on Mar 18, 2008 22:04:50 GMT -5
Name: Amlo Stonehand Mathagol
Race: Goliath
Class: Fighter/Scout
*****
Amlo Mathagol grew up with his tribe in the mountain ranges north of the city of Crossroads. Raised and taught to always remember the clan's best interests first, he never strayed from his people for many years as the nomadic people traveled the treacherous peaks, until one fateful day.
Amlo's clan was fleeing from an oncoming blizzard, one of the high altitude storms which had a nasty tendency to last for days, with winds strong enough to blister exposed flesh on the bare stone of the tallest mountains. As they navigated through one of the winding canyons, a small rock slide came down on top of them. They were a tough people though, and few were injured severely, with all of the goliaths walking away, some nursing minor injuries; among these was Amlo. In a matter of hours, the clan was facing a nearly sheer cliff, the only way to move forward and away from the storm.
As fate had it though, Amlo's hand had been crushed by one of the falling stones earlier and had now swollen to several times its rightful size, completely immobile. As the rest of the clan climbed upwards, he struggled to make his hand work, again and again failing to make any progress upwards. After a few minutes, the tribe's chieftan climbed back down to Amlo. He stopped in front of him, looking him in the eye, before speaking softly: "Stonehand". The chieftain placed a hand on Amlo's shoulder for a moment, nodded respectfully, and turned, climbing away quickly to catch up with the rest of the tribe. Amlo Mathagar, now Stonehand, had been exiled.
*****
Three months later found Amlo in another predicament. Having somehow survived the mountain storm, he had no choice but to make his own way out of the mountains; he could not follow his clan, and he could not survive on his own. He eventually made his way to the outlying civilization around the city of Crossroads, and was soon arrested under charges of highway robbery. The local magistrate had neither the interest nor the compassion to listen to the story of an innocent, exiled goliath, and so quickly sentenced him to death.
Mere minutes later, Amlo keeled with his neck on the chopping block; his executioner was the very same sheriff who had arrested him on false charges. The massive sword was raised in the air just as irony struck; the very same brigands whose crimes Amlo had been charged with broke into the courthouse, intent on wreaking havoc and thieving from the very office which was dedicated to their defeat. Though surprised, the executioner's sword still dropped, only off-target; it cleft through only a third of Amlo's neck, severing major arteries and causing him to black out almost instantly.
Amlo awoke several hours later, much to his surprise. The brigands had taken him with them when they fled the courthouse, and he was fortunate enough that they had a cleric of moderate skill with them who was able to mend his wound, if only barely enough to save his life. An obvious, wedge shaped scar on the right side of his neck would remain testament to how close the end had come. The brigands had intended to capture both the magistrate and the sheriff for ransoming, but the magistrate put up a fight and died, while the sheriff fled in the confusion. He had left his unusual sword behind though, and the men saw no reason why Amlo couldn't have the weapon which had nearly claimed his life.
Amlo spent several months with the brigands; they were an honorable sort, stealing for sport more than profit, and their methods appealed to the goliath's sensibilities. Living in the mountains, Amlo had been used to frequently living on the edge of starvation in bad seasons, and so did not consider it a true injustice when their victims were divested of what wealth they carried with them; he thought they were simply poor sports for making such a big fuss about it.
Eventually Amlo's time with the brigands came to an end; he returned to camp after an extended trip to a nearby village to find that his friends had been slaughtered to a man, and the wounds on the chief's body told the tale. The heavy slashes matched the sword Amlo himself carried; the sheriff had returned in force and wiped out the brigands once and for all. Grief-stricken, Amlo set out from his second home, seeking company, vengeance, or both.
Race: Goliath
Class: Fighter/Scout
*****
Amlo Mathagol grew up with his tribe in the mountain ranges north of the city of Crossroads. Raised and taught to always remember the clan's best interests first, he never strayed from his people for many years as the nomadic people traveled the treacherous peaks, until one fateful day.
Amlo's clan was fleeing from an oncoming blizzard, one of the high altitude storms which had a nasty tendency to last for days, with winds strong enough to blister exposed flesh on the bare stone of the tallest mountains. As they navigated through one of the winding canyons, a small rock slide came down on top of them. They were a tough people though, and few were injured severely, with all of the goliaths walking away, some nursing minor injuries; among these was Amlo. In a matter of hours, the clan was facing a nearly sheer cliff, the only way to move forward and away from the storm.
As fate had it though, Amlo's hand had been crushed by one of the falling stones earlier and had now swollen to several times its rightful size, completely immobile. As the rest of the clan climbed upwards, he struggled to make his hand work, again and again failing to make any progress upwards. After a few minutes, the tribe's chieftan climbed back down to Amlo. He stopped in front of him, looking him in the eye, before speaking softly: "Stonehand". The chieftain placed a hand on Amlo's shoulder for a moment, nodded respectfully, and turned, climbing away quickly to catch up with the rest of the tribe. Amlo Mathagar, now Stonehand, had been exiled.
*****
Three months later found Amlo in another predicament. Having somehow survived the mountain storm, he had no choice but to make his own way out of the mountains; he could not follow his clan, and he could not survive on his own. He eventually made his way to the outlying civilization around the city of Crossroads, and was soon arrested under charges of highway robbery. The local magistrate had neither the interest nor the compassion to listen to the story of an innocent, exiled goliath, and so quickly sentenced him to death.
Mere minutes later, Amlo keeled with his neck on the chopping block; his executioner was the very same sheriff who had arrested him on false charges. The massive sword was raised in the air just as irony struck; the very same brigands whose crimes Amlo had been charged with broke into the courthouse, intent on wreaking havoc and thieving from the very office which was dedicated to their defeat. Though surprised, the executioner's sword still dropped, only off-target; it cleft through only a third of Amlo's neck, severing major arteries and causing him to black out almost instantly.
Amlo awoke several hours later, much to his surprise. The brigands had taken him with them when they fled the courthouse, and he was fortunate enough that they had a cleric of moderate skill with them who was able to mend his wound, if only barely enough to save his life. An obvious, wedge shaped scar on the right side of his neck would remain testament to how close the end had come. The brigands had intended to capture both the magistrate and the sheriff for ransoming, but the magistrate put up a fight and died, while the sheriff fled in the confusion. He had left his unusual sword behind though, and the men saw no reason why Amlo couldn't have the weapon which had nearly claimed his life.
Amlo spent several months with the brigands; they were an honorable sort, stealing for sport more than profit, and their methods appealed to the goliath's sensibilities. Living in the mountains, Amlo had been used to frequently living on the edge of starvation in bad seasons, and so did not consider it a true injustice when their victims were divested of what wealth they carried with them; he thought they were simply poor sports for making such a big fuss about it.
Eventually Amlo's time with the brigands came to an end; he returned to camp after an extended trip to a nearby village to find that his friends had been slaughtered to a man, and the wounds on the chief's body told the tale. The heavy slashes matched the sword Amlo himself carried; the sheriff had returned in force and wiped out the brigands once and for all. Grief-stricken, Amlo set out from his second home, seeking company, vengeance, or both.