Heroist
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Dorian
Dorian's last memory flickered faintly in the dim light of the campfire. Hungry flames greedily licked the hewn granite walls, which disappeared into the monolithic darkness of the vast vault. For a moment, it seemed that far above him, in the darkness, an endless starry expanse stretched out, but it was only the sparks from the hearth swirling in the darkness of the eternal night. He had never known what the sky and stars were, or at least, he didn't remember. However, he had no desire to admire the surrounding everyday life.
The ringing silence was broken by a growing echo of a voice and the sound of footsteps, quickly traversing the spacious cave vaults. Shaking off small pebbles from his boots, Dorian slowly put on his shoes and stood up, silently nodding to his faceless companions. At first, the reflections of light in the distant cave flickered modestly, but with each moment, they became more confident. There were four acquaintances; Dorian led a group of six.
—Y-you? What are you doing here? —the pointed-eared one exclaimed instead of a greeting; his voice was filled with wary hostility.
—What a meeting, Randatar, you old rogue. —Dorian grinned. —I see, you've had a rough time on your last expedition?
—What the hell, Dor? —the dark-skinned man cursed, glancing at his tired companions. —We don't have time for human foolishness.
—How busy! Collectors of knowledge and relics of all colors and shades. —the bald man chuckled, looking at the motley group of adventurers. —Except for human ones. Don't you respect our brethren?
—Robbery and chaos are written in your blood. —the elf spat. —You came to spoil everything around you, taking advantage of the Ivilai's mercy.
—Oh, where are your manners, Randatar? You can't treat everyone the same. Or do they say, "comb them all with the same comb," hmm? Didn't our mother Onsha say to give each suffering newcomer what he needs? And our humble human desires are so simple... —Dorian's gaze greedily swept over the hidden chest behind the procession.
—Fool! What do you need it for? All the wealth of knowledge is useless in our world. Your frail family will not be able to comprehend it, let alone sell it. —the pointed-eared one asked sincerely.
—Oh, you're right. But when we get to the surface, the people will find a worthy use for your treasures. —the human smiled carelessly. —Don't you want to help us leave sooner?
—Kof was right. Get out to your overground freaks. —the elf commanded his companions.
—I can't do without your help. —his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade.
An arrow that emerged from the darkness pierced the throat of the fat Sord, and the chest fell from his large hands, crashing onto the stone floor. Hidden in the shadows like a launched projectile, Dorian tripped the hesitant Randatar and plunged the blade between his eyes. At that moment, one of the furies extinguished the weak fire. The people reached for torches, and the darkness was pierced by curses, cries of despair, and pain. The Mirdarian and the furry one quickly got rid of three bandits who were not adapted to cave life.
Dorian blindly felt for the chest, and his hands quickly tore open the lid, but they only descended into emptiness. Before him stood the miraculously surviving Randatar.
—How dare you lay your hands on the weapon of my great ancestor?!
In the next moment, the legendary hammer flew into the head of the bald man. The light helmet was dented into the steel plate, and a terrible, unnatural crunch echoed around, and a sharp bell rang in his mind. Coughing up blood, Dorian reached for his face, managing to feel an empty eye socket and an eye dangling on a thread. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed face down into the extinguished fire, blinding him with the burning heat that remained of his shattered skull.
Dorian's last memory was a roar that sounded like an explosion of immense power. He woke up in Ikazkan, mutilated, disfigured, and having lost everything he had. But there was also a good side to this: Randatar's group remained missing, and the wonderful hammer that was found with the human was added to his own loot.
All that the remaining decaying shell of this man wanted was to get to the surface as soon as possible and forever bury this accursed, forgotten underground world in his memory.
People of Tezot
No memories of life on the surface, the ability to use the ladder of fate, the choice of one of the communities, 21 units of characteristics for free distribution, but no more than 7 in 1.
Characteristics:
Mind - 10+7=17
Body - 10-4+5=11
Perception - 10+5+5=20
Resilience - 10-1=9
Energy - 10+4=14
Aesthetics - 10-5=5
Diseases:
[Ugliness] Charm is always zero.
Communities:
Dungeon Warriors. Bonus: enhancement of certain skills.
Skills:
Weapon Master+
Accurate Attack+
Second Wind
Cautious Attack+
Stealth
Equipment:
Right hand: ???? (Hammer)
Left hand: Shield (with bias if possible)
Head:
Body: Leather armor
Shoulders: Stealth cloak
Hands: Leather gloves
Shoes: Hiking boots
Misc 1: Clear chain
Misc 2:
Misc 3:
Misc 4:
Misc 5:
Inventory: food, human money (if possible), dagger, lockpicks
Dorian's last memory flickered faintly in the dim light of the campfire. Hungry flames greedily licked the hewn granite walls, which disappeared into the monolithic darkness of the vast vault. For a moment, it seemed that far above him, in the darkness, an endless starry expanse stretched out, but it was only the sparks from the hearth swirling in the darkness of the eternal night. He had never known what the sky and stars were, or at least, he didn't remember. However, he had no desire to admire the surrounding everyday life.
The ringing silence was broken by a growing echo of a voice and the sound of footsteps, quickly traversing the spacious cave vaults. Shaking off small pebbles from his boots, Dorian slowly put on his shoes and stood up, silently nodding to his faceless companions. At first, the reflections of light in the distant cave flickered modestly, but with each moment, they became more confident. There were four acquaintances; Dorian led a group of six.
—Y-you? What are you doing here? —the pointed-eared one exclaimed instead of a greeting; his voice was filled with wary hostility.
—What a meeting, Randatar, you old rogue. —Dorian grinned. —I see, you've had a rough time on your last expedition?
—What the hell, Dor? —the dark-skinned man cursed, glancing at his tired companions. —We don't have time for human foolishness.
—How busy! Collectors of knowledge and relics of all colors and shades. —the bald man chuckled, looking at the motley group of adventurers. —Except for human ones. Don't you respect our brethren?
—Robbery and chaos are written in your blood. —the elf spat. —You came to spoil everything around you, taking advantage of the Ivilai's mercy.
—Oh, where are your manners, Randatar? You can't treat everyone the same. Or do they say, "comb them all with the same comb," hmm? Didn't our mother Onsha say to give each suffering newcomer what he needs? And our humble human desires are so simple... —Dorian's gaze greedily swept over the hidden chest behind the procession.
—Fool! What do you need it for? All the wealth of knowledge is useless in our world. Your frail family will not be able to comprehend it, let alone sell it. —the pointed-eared one asked sincerely.
—Oh, you're right. But when we get to the surface, the people will find a worthy use for your treasures. —the human smiled carelessly. —Don't you want to help us leave sooner?
—Kof was right. Get out to your overground freaks. —the elf commanded his companions.
—I can't do without your help. —his hand instinctively went to the hilt of his blade.
An arrow that emerged from the darkness pierced the throat of the fat Sord, and the chest fell from his large hands, crashing onto the stone floor. Hidden in the shadows like a launched projectile, Dorian tripped the hesitant Randatar and plunged the blade between his eyes. At that moment, one of the furies extinguished the weak fire. The people reached for torches, and the darkness was pierced by curses, cries of despair, and pain. The Mirdarian and the furry one quickly got rid of three bandits who were not adapted to cave life.
Dorian blindly felt for the chest, and his hands quickly tore open the lid, but they only descended into emptiness. Before him stood the miraculously surviving Randatar.
—How dare you lay your hands on the weapon of my great ancestor?!
In the next moment, the legendary hammer flew into the head of the bald man. The light helmet was dented into the steel plate, and a terrible, unnatural crunch echoed around, and a sharp bell rang in his mind. Coughing up blood, Dorian reached for his face, managing to feel an empty eye socket and an eye dangling on a thread. Then his knees buckled, and he collapsed face down into the extinguished fire, blinding him with the burning heat that remained of his shattered skull.
Dorian's last memory was a roar that sounded like an explosion of immense power. He woke up in Ikazkan, mutilated, disfigured, and having lost everything he had. But there was also a good side to this: Randatar's group remained missing, and the wonderful hammer that was found with the human was added to his own loot.
All that the remaining decaying shell of this man wanted was to get to the surface as soon as possible and forever bury this accursed, forgotten underground world in his memory.
People of Tezot
No memories of life on the surface, the ability to use the ladder of fate, the choice of one of the communities, 21 units of characteristics for free distribution, but no more than 7 in 1.
Characteristics:
Mind - 10+7=17
Body - 10-4+5=11
Perception - 10+5+5=20
Resilience - 10-1=9
Energy - 10+4=14
Aesthetics - 10-5=5
Diseases:
[Ugliness] Charm is always zero.
Communities:
Dungeon Warriors. Bonus: enhancement of certain skills.
Skills:
Weapon Master+
Accurate Attack+
Second Wind
Cautious Attack+
Stealth
Equipment:
Right hand: ???? (Hammer)
Left hand: Shield (with bias if possible)
Head:
Body: Leather armor
Shoulders: Stealth cloak
Hands: Leather gloves
Shoes: Hiking boots
Misc 1: Clear chain
Misc 2:
Misc 3:
Misc 4:
Misc 5:
Inventory: food, human money (if possible), dagger, lockpicks
Whatever