Characters Stories

[OGRE MAGE]

Vhing awoke with a fitful jerk, the cold water shocking his face. An extra kick in the ribs from a deputies' hobnailed boot brought him to his senses soon enough.

"Okay rascal, the mayor put a call out for those with a degree of 'civic pride' and your green arse just fits the bill nicely. Your extortion racket was brought down but now you're going into the 'protection' business on this side of the law, or god help me, the sheriff will judge you down and you'll join the press-ganged labourers until the next blue moon. And with that lot boy, just don't drop the soap in the shower..." and with those words ringing in his ear and many other curses, Vhing was thrust out of the jail gates. A moment later, the door opened again and an arm threw a stained sooty cloak at him, along with a rather large chopping axe and a satchel of rusty tools and a leaking skin of wine. Fingers pointed up the road to a distant meeting point and then the gates shut. Vhing could hear from behind the gates, voices gambling on his return to the jail, surviving the Salts or just plain absconding altogether.

So much for loyalty, Vhing had been promised a 'bail' would be paid for him but it proved someone needed to be a scapegoat and who better than this skinny 'greenarse'. It had all started so well. He traced in the dust a silhouette of a bird with wings spread.

The 'Firebirds' were a' Flame Retardance' protection racket. Households and businesses bought a small raven which carried a numbered tag. In the event of a fire, the bird was released which flew back to the roost. Subsequently a cart was despatched with the 'Firebird' team who would go in and put the fire out, rescue damsels in distress and of course liberate a few extra 'gucci' items specifically targeted, from the property before it was burned to ashes in the ground. It was all a scam of course. But who would miss them when you're fleeing like a burning stick being snatched from the fire. That's what you pay the insurance for ain't it? That was until woefully that antique vase or gilded necklace pops up going cheap on the local bazaar and questions get begun to be asked.

As an half-orc, Vhing and his kin were still not widely accepted. Tolerated but not entertained. The racket seemed a good thing going for a while. Heroic ventures forth into the flame and out, clutching babes, pups and portraits, elevated him to a previous status in the community foreign to him. He had enjoyed all the 'fringe' benefits too. A nice uniform, the appreciative nodding of heads, the occasional twinkling of a maidens' eye. Ditched by the defunct racketeers, scorned by the folk, ignored by bro's, Vhing looked up the street and saw a chance to redeem himself. Vhing is kitted out in a soot covered, camel skin cloak. A fiery red bird is embroided within a white circle on the back. Some motto, mostly unstitched, hems the garment. His axe, useful for knocking down doors or hacking through walls is blunt but functional. His tools of the trade are basic, small hammer and pitons, penknife, crowbar, wire cutters and skeleton keys. In a hidden cleft of his boot heel , he has a meagre stash of copper pieces.

Vhing Cranepool, disgraced Half-Orc fireman, reports for duty, knocking hesitantly upon the administrators door...

[Mant72]

Keilif helped his uncle haul the small dingy onto shore as the surf leapt up to spray the two fisherman. Even though this was his third season out on the seas as an apprentice, he still took pleasure in the little things, the taste of salt that would linger in his mouth, the scent of the brine that would remain in his clothes long after he and Uncle Darn would haul in the last of their crab traps.

Twilight had fallen suddenly upon the beach as the two steadily worked. All the other trappers had put in for the evening. Uncle Darn always attested to the belief that they should remain out until after sunset, for that, he argued, was when the Sea Mother offered up her most generous bounty; however, the blunt, angry heads of storm clouds protruding out of the east ended their excursion early tonight."Hurry up and get those traps unloaded, boy. That storm is coming on fast, and I don't care to ride back home in waterlogged misery," Darn grumbled. Darn was tough on the lad, sometimes maybe a little too tough, but he loved the boy dearly, taking him in when his brother, Lorn, the boy's father, was called to answer the Sea Mother's song three winters hence.

Turning away from the boat to go retrieve the cart and mule they used unload their catch, Darn suddenly halted. "Keilif, stop...look...down the beach. What do you see?" Keilif set the trap down and let his gaze follow where his uncle's index finger directed. In the distance, about 50 yards away, was a dark, indistinguishable shape, a mass that seemed to writhe and flail in the sand. "Grab one of the crab-mallets and stay close," Darn directed. Keilif obeyed, picked up one of the wooden hammers from the boat, and reluctantly followed his uncle down the shoreline.

As they approached the indeterminate shape, it slowly became more and more visible, and it seemed to be emitting a guttural cough-like sound. Keilif stopped about ten yards from the object and stood in horror as his mind slowly caught up to comprehended what his eyes were seeing.

Before him was the shape of a man, or rather what used to be a man. It was mostly buried in the sand; only the upper part of its torso and one arm was visible. Its arthritic hand clawed at the beach, leaving deep gouges in the wet sand before Darn's feet as the grizzled fisherman stood above the ghastly thing. Sea foam and black, putrescent spittle flew from the creature's mouth as it gurgled and hacked. What remained of its rotten teeth clacked audibly as its jaw snapped open and shut upon the empty air. "Uncle...w-what is it?" Keilif stammered. "Hand me the mallet, son," Darn responded. Keilif handed over the tool to his uncle, suddenly feeling even more frightened without the comfort of the worn, wooden handle in his hand. Darn spoke in a tone that was even more stern than usual, "Do not come any closer, Keilif. This is a thing of utter darkness and hate, a creature of unrest, one of the undead. Tell no one in Saltmarsh what you have seen here until I have spoken with the Councilmen."

Keilif turned his head and winced at the sound of each wet, sickening blow as his uncle went to work helping the wretched creature depart from this world and into the next.

[OGRE MAGE]

Those are both totally frickin awesome!!!

Just the kind of stuff I was looking for.

Thanks for putting in the extra effort!

[Spectreman17]

Ermulf was a hard worker, not the sharpest tool, more like a sledgehammer, but he was true and honest. This helped him a lot when time came for him to start working to help his family. He was always around the stables, looking at the pretty horses, just like the ones from his grandfather had told of knights and princesses. They all had magnificent war horses, the great knights in the stories, and Ermulf dreamed of being one of them, a great knight. He also needed a princess to rescue, and according to his grandpa, princesses were always the most beautiful girls in the kingdom. So Cily, the Feed and Seed store owner's daughter must be a princess. She was always nice to him too, so he got a job from her father as well. All the hard work made him strong like great warrior, but he never handled anything like a sword, the best he ever used was a pitchfork, but it wouldn't dampen his spirits, he would one day be greatest knight in of this land.

Then one day he heard the town crier,

Calling all Saltmartians!!!

The Town Council of Saltmarsh needs a group of common folk to step up and do their part as respectable citizens. The rumors of the old haunted mansion on the cliffs are running rampant again and the frightened townspeople want the alleged scary flashing lights and loud eerie noises investigated. The Council has heard numerous reports of everything from demi-human activity to undead armies amassing for a future attack on our poor seaside town.

We seek a large group of townspeople that aren't afraid to go out to the haunted mansion. You will need to investigate the area and find out what is really causing all the alarm. It may be dangerous, and there will be no reward or pay for the job, but you will be allowed to keep anything valuable that you find, tax free. The towns militia is far too busy for such matters and have far better things to do with their time.

So........What say you commoner? Are you our next Saltmartian hero?

And this was his chance! Ermulf decided he couldn't wait any longer. He ran all the way home, gathered his pitchfork and put on his nicest clothes. he fudged his paperwork, lied that he was 19, and ran off on his grand quest to win his princess's heart.

[wolfpack]

“10 that’s how many it took, no no 15. 15 brigands to subdue me” Jervis mumbled to himself as he gingerly touched the knot on his forehead.

He pulled the few copper pieces he had left from his pocket
“Glad they didn’t check my boots”.

Putting the coins away he patted the head of his trusty hewing axe TRU TEMPER.
“Brigands so stupid they passed up the chance to have a true knight quality weapon, they will rue that in the end.”

With daydreams of sweeping strikes of his axe and the wail of defeat from his past robbers Jervis stopped as the buildings of Saltmarsh entered his sight.

To Jervis they appeared as majestic sweeping buildings and great towers, the place where he would finally begin his destiny to become a knight, a hero, nay a savior of lesser folks.

Puffing out his chest and jutting his jaw forward Jervis marched intently towards the village.

[hedgeknight]

Calling all Saltmartians!!!
The Town Council of Saltmarsh needs a group of common folk to step up and do their part as respectable citizens. The rumors of the old haunted mansion on the cliffs are running rampant again and the frightened townspeople want the alleged scary flashing lights and loud eerie noises investigated. The Council has heard numerous reports of everything from demi-human activity to undead armies amassing for a future attack on our poor seaside town.

We seek a large group of townspeople that aren't afraid to go out to the haunted mansion. You will need to investigate the area and find out what is really causing all the alarm. It may be dangerous, and there will be no reward or pay for the job, but you will be allowed to keep anything valuable that you find, tax free. The towns militia is far too busy for such matters and have far better things to do with their time.

So........What say you commoner? Are you our next Saltmartian hero?

Burly stood in the crowd and listened to the town council send out a call for common folk to investigate the haunted mansion. He saw a lot of scared faces and more folk just rolling their eyes and walking away. But he also saw a handful of townsfolk who looked like they might be considering taking a chance on it. It made him think back on what brought him to Saltmarsh in the first place.

Born in the slums of Seaton, his family were bakers...pretty good ones too! And from the time he was old enough to carry bags of flour, he was helping in the family business. His given name was Burleson, but his family and friends called him Burly. As he grew up, his parents became more and more busy, their breads and rolls had made a name for them and the orders were coming. Burly would go on deliveries with his father, sometimes traveling for a couple days for a special order. And with the orders came coin...and his family were able to have a few things they had always wanted, like new clothes instead of hand-me-downs, and good food, and fuel for warmth in the winter.
As Burly grew older, he grew restless and was the first to volunteer to take deliveries. He just wanted to be out of the bakery and away from his parents, like most teenagers he knew. He and his friends dreamed and schemed about "making it in the world" and going on adventures and slaying pirates and dragons, but most of them never did anything more than drink and talk about it.
Those ideas were squelched when his father gathered he and three of his siblings together one night and told them about a dream he had. The dream was to have bakeries in several nearby towns and to do that, they would have to leave home and start fresh, making a living away from home.
While some of his siblings did not like this idea at all, Burly loved it! He already had a place in mind, a little coastal town named Saltmarsh. Those fishing folk love their bread and he could envision having his own bakery > Burlesons's Breads and Pies > and becoming a famous baker like his father.
He left the next day with nothing but the clothes on his back, two old family rolling pins, gifts of his grandmother, a good pair of walking boots, and a handful of silver in his pocket. Oh, and some nut rolls for the journey. He couldn't wait to get to Saltmarsh and begin his new life!
But...life in Saltmarsh wasn't as easy as he thought. He had gotten waylaid by road bandits on the way and they took all of his silver, except for a piece or two he kept sewn in his pants pocket, and his good boots, and beat him bloody with his grandmother's rolling pins.
He limped into Saltmarsh and used all his remaining coin to get a room and then begged for a job, any job, so that he could stay and carry out his father's dream. He barely made enough to eat. Some kind townsfolk had given him some old clothes and a pair of ill-fitting boots, but at least they were clean and didn't have too many holes. He lost weight, became depressed, didn't really talk to anyone, and wasn't sure what to do, but kept praying his luck would change.

Three months later he is standing listening to the town council and thinking to himself. "Something's gotta change or I'll never have a bakery of my own. Maybe I can find enough coin in the old house to start my own business. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Burleson's Breads and Pies...it will happen one day!"

So, with that, Burly offers to accompany a group to explore the haunted house of Saltmarsh.

[Urson]

Alec had drawn a day of scutwork: manning the bellows, cleaning ash from the forge, and the 3 S's: Stoke, Stack, Stock. For a young man of Alec's temperament, this meant he had way too much time to think while he went about his chores at the smithy. He mused about the council's announcement, which led him to memories of Great-Uncle Oren. Oren had been an Adventurer (you could always hear the capitol letter when Oren said the word), and had seen the continent from the Southern Plains to the ice sheet in the far North. He told stories about beasts he had seen- and fought- ancient ruins he'd helped explore, and the strange people he had met. Alec had sat at his feet, wide-eyed, sipping his Baby Beer as Oren told his tales.
Father said Oren had been a fool to run off on his so-called 'adventures', and that he'd been a bigger fool for investing his money in Gnomish gadgetry. That part, at least, might be true. Oren had lost everything, and been forced to return to the LynKahn Tunnels to take any work he could find mining and guarding trade caravans.

But Alec smiled as he remembered Oren's stories, and the gleam in the old Dwarf's eye as he told them. When he was done, he went to hios pallet in the storeroom, gathered the few posessions he thought he could use, and headed for the council's meeting place.