Heroist
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Harold Skufinson
Barely stepping over the threshold of the dingy roadside tavern, I involuntarily winced at the stale stench of burnt food mixed with human sweat. Evening was falling; the main hall was packed with the bulky bodies of local villagers and a few foreigners, who tried to keep their distance from the former. Wiping the mud from my heel on someone's cloak spread out on the floor, I headed to the counter and ordered the cheapest drink. Muttering something in response to the fleshy, stout tavern keeper of indeterminate age, I surveyed the room with a practiced eye, looking for today's victim. A suitable opportunity didn't take long to present itself.
—Ha-ha, you'll regret it, you fools! —a stocky barbarian roared with laughter as his companion slid off his stool, dropping his half-finished mug. —No newcomer can outdrink the son of the glorious Skufin!
Leaning his foot on the table, he triumphantly blew a blast on his war horn, filling the entire tavern with a long, booming roar.
—It's not often we have guests from Volder. —I seized the opportunity to take the empty seat in front of the bearded ape. —And what brings you to our backwater?
Before answering, the savage drained his own mug and that of his former companion.
—To gain glory in great deeds and acquire untold riches under the leadership of Thane Merfert! —he belched loudly, then thumped his chest with his fist. —So that every northern warrior knows of the great Harold of the mighty Skufin clan!
—A worthy goal. —I feigned an admiring smile, beckoning the waiter to refill my intellectually unburdened neighbor's drink. —And how do you like it in the south?
Lulling the native's vigilance, I pulled a deck of cards from my pocket. The latter didn't refuse.
—Complete crap! —he retorted to my question. —The men have become like girls, all hiding under the skirts of goddesses, ugh!
Someone in the room turned towards our table and shook their head in disapproval. Deciding not to comment on the thick-headed northerner's statement, I continued dealing the cards.
—There's nothing good here except women, and even they have forgotten their place; it will be shameful to take them home without training. —my opponent continued, wiping pieces of meat off his beard. —And besides, where have you ever seen people born from these... kennels! They're like cockroaches! Worse than that are those... tailed ones. We don't approve of bestiality, you know. Well, never mind, soon the glorious Brynn will sound the great northern horn, and then we will quickly put an end to this heresy!
Allowing the dull brute to win a couple of times, I soon warmed up and, with a guilty look, announced my departure.
—How about you, -hic-, this... —the son of Skufin mumbled, counting the cards. —You thought you could cheat me, you bastard?! —he suddenly raged.
Apparently, the added alcohol played a role here, both for and against me.
—Listen, friend... —I said guiltily, but then I received a fist in the face. For a moment, my mind was filled with cosmic emptiness.
Having emptied the rest of the liquor, the Viking brushed crumbs off his cuirass, stepped over two unconscious bodies, and went outside. Continuing to hum familiar northern melodies to himself, he relieved himself against the wall of the tavern, picked up a large axe, and then continued on his way to the decaying capital of Celia-Mir.
1. Name: Harold Skufinson
2. Gender: M
3. Race: Northerner
4. Religion: - (Atheism)
5. Origin: - (Volder)
6. Organization: Mercenaries of the Merfert clan
7. Professions: Blacksmith, Duelist
8. Talents: Musician
9. Skills: Two-handed weapons, Armor proficiency
10. Choice: +2 levels at the start
11. Characteristics: +6 strength, +6 endurance, +3 will
Barely stepping over the threshold of the dingy roadside tavern, I involuntarily winced at the stale stench of burnt food mixed with human sweat. Evening was falling; the main hall was packed with the bulky bodies of local villagers and a few foreigners, who tried to keep their distance from the former. Wiping the mud from my heel on someone's cloak spread out on the floor, I headed to the counter and ordered the cheapest drink. Muttering something in response to the fleshy, stout tavern keeper of indeterminate age, I surveyed the room with a practiced eye, looking for today's victim. A suitable opportunity didn't take long to present itself.
—Ha-ha, you'll regret it, you fools! —a stocky barbarian roared with laughter as his companion slid off his stool, dropping his half-finished mug. —No newcomer can outdrink the son of the glorious Skufin!
Leaning his foot on the table, he triumphantly blew a blast on his war horn, filling the entire tavern with a long, booming roar.
—It's not often we have guests from Volder. —I seized the opportunity to take the empty seat in front of the bearded ape. —And what brings you to our backwater?
Before answering, the savage drained his own mug and that of his former companion.
—To gain glory in great deeds and acquire untold riches under the leadership of Thane Merfert! —he belched loudly, then thumped his chest with his fist. —So that every northern warrior knows of the great Harold of the mighty Skufin clan!
—A worthy goal. —I feigned an admiring smile, beckoning the waiter to refill my intellectually unburdened neighbor's drink. —And how do you like it in the south?
Lulling the native's vigilance, I pulled a deck of cards from my pocket. The latter didn't refuse.
—Complete crap! —he retorted to my question. —The men have become like girls, all hiding under the skirts of goddesses, ugh!
Someone in the room turned towards our table and shook their head in disapproval. Deciding not to comment on the thick-headed northerner's statement, I continued dealing the cards.
—There's nothing good here except women, and even they have forgotten their place; it will be shameful to take them home without training. —my opponent continued, wiping pieces of meat off his beard. —And besides, where have you ever seen people born from these... kennels! They're like cockroaches! Worse than that are those... tailed ones. We don't approve of bestiality, you know. Well, never mind, soon the glorious Brynn will sound the great northern horn, and then we will quickly put an end to this heresy!
Allowing the dull brute to win a couple of times, I soon warmed up and, with a guilty look, announced my departure.
—How about you, -hic-, this... —the son of Skufin mumbled, counting the cards. —You thought you could cheat me, you bastard?! —he suddenly raged.
Apparently, the added alcohol played a role here, both for and against me.
—Listen, friend... —I said guiltily, but then I received a fist in the face. For a moment, my mind was filled with cosmic emptiness.
Having emptied the rest of the liquor, the Viking brushed crumbs off his cuirass, stepped over two unconscious bodies, and went outside. Continuing to hum familiar northern melodies to himself, he relieved himself against the wall of the tavern, picked up a large axe, and then continued on his way to the decaying capital of Celia-Mir.
1. Name: Harold Skufinson
2. Gender: M
3. Race: Northerner
4. Religion: - (Atheism)
5. Origin: - (Volder)
6. Organization: Mercenaries of the Merfert clan
7. Professions: Blacksmith, Duelist
8. Talents: Musician
9. Skills: Two-handed weapons, Armor proficiency
10. Choice: +2 levels at the start
11. Characteristics: +6 strength, +6 endurance, +3 will
Whatever