BlackWolf

BlackWolf is a Goliath Barbarian clad in little but a wolverine's hide and a tough but warm smile.

Description:

Ability Scores

22 Strength 16 Constitution 10 Dexterity 8 Intelligence 10 Wisdom 11 Charisma

Defenses

16 AC 19 Fort 12 Reflexes 12 Will

Movement 6 Squares

Hit Points Max HP Bloodied Surge Value Surges/Day 48 24 10 11

One Second Wind Per Encounter

Skills 5 Acrobatics 0 Arcana 8 Athletics 1 Bluff 1 Diplomacy 1 Dungeoneering 8 Endurance 1 Heal 0 History 1 Insight 8 Intimidate 3 Nature 1 Perception 0 Religion 0 Stealth 1 Streetwise 0 Thievery

Bio:

Originally from the craggy peaks of the Onyx Highlands, BlackWolf was originally destined to ascend to be leader of his tribe. The tribe’s elder, Nenthau sent him alone to contact a neighboring tribe. While he was breifly away, BlackWolf’s cousin, Anther, killed Nenthau and ascended to his leadership role. Upon returning, BlackWolf was shunned from the tribe, forced to eat table scraps by himself outside of the camp. His mother died of an illness, triggering him to abandon the tribe that abandoned him. Since leaving, he was wandered far, lived rough and managed to scrape by on what he can find and earn. In battle, he fuels his rage with memories of his betrayal.

BlackWolf, after traveling with the Brotherhood of Aqualine Mercy for some time, has rejoiced in spilling other’s blood, as well as taking the hits himself. After their success fighting off the Inquisition, he has begun to realize how much the hide he wears does for him, and how much more it can do when he bothers to tie it on correctly. Beyond that, the discovery of the Ragesian executioner’s axe, a heavy but swift blade, seems like something out of a dream to him. In fact, it often appears in his revenge fantasies. Held high above his cousin’s neck, to be brought down boldly with swift vengeance for his usurpation and betrayal. This fantasy drives him, becomes so real that when he smells blood, it triggers him to become more vicious and more enthused about his brutality. He yearns to strike again, and again, almost needing the help of his companions to hold him back.

Four days on the road. Two days unable to escape the fire. Barely a week amongst new friends. A year in the city. Two years since he has seen home. Today in the dank cave, among the rocks and boulders, chipped flint and underground streams, BlackWolf realized how much he misses home. Misses the ability to stalk around on the a cold mountain, free like the wolf, bounding between craggy outcrops overlooking green glens, and trudging through frosty fields up to peaks, just to breathe the air and and spy on creation. Knowing that those moments will never happen again, not in his homeland causes him to grip his axe tighter, in anticipation of swinging it harder and harder, spilling more blood and smearing it across his chest.

BlackWolf

War of Fire and Ice georgeurban