3. Brakrum

Brakrum

  • B

    Account name: Baldrin84

    Character name: Brakrum
    Age: 21
    Class: Barbarian

    Brakrum hails from a barbarian tribe originally roaming the Glacier of the White Worm.

    He was in a hunting party that got ambushed by a huge Remorhaz. He survived, waking up in a great snowbank, presumably knocked out by the great worm. He came back to the village, cold, depressed and angry to find the remains of the tribe in council. The chieftan, getting old and weak, had decided that it was time to move south, since they had lost most of their warriors and hunters to the attack. Despite his chill Brakrum began to argue, saying that this was their home, and had been for generations untold. Some began to mutter in agreement, when suddenly the chieftain roared for silence. The southern lands, though scarce, was mild, and had opportunities for growing food. It was Brakrums turn to roar in outrage then, for was one the tribes of the great clacier going to turn into docile farmers?! He named the chieftain a craven, and challenged his rule. The chieftain accepted the challenge, and it would be decided in combat.

    They entered the ring drawn out in the snow. The chieftain was well past his prime, and arthiritis had begun to creep into his bones. Yet he was a survivor of countless battles and raids, and a cunning fighter. Brakrum, arguably the strongest and fastest in the tribe was weak from the time spent in the snow, and hardly experienced in combat. He lost in the matter of a minute, but the chieftain spared his life, thinking he would prove useful in the time to come. Brakrum, however, shamed by his lack of strength and the tribes weakness, packed a bag of food and skins, and ran off.

    He travelled east along the southern boundaries of the glacier, sheltering where he could, even chasing of a small tribe of goblins, though it nearly killed him. Weak from hunger and exhaustion, he collapsed by the wayside, propped up against a rock.

    He was found a few hours later by travellers. They warmed him by a fire and gave him some food, saying he was now in their debt. Brakrum could not disagree. The travellers were of course bandits. Using their guile backed by Brakrums intimidating size and strength to extort and rob other travellers on the road. One day they stepped to far. A coach carrying a minor noble -or so they deemed by the look of it- came by their ambush spot set for the day, and the bandits thought it a grand thing.

    Leaping into the road, roaring and waving spears and swords, they made the horses shie an run off the side of the road, tipping the coach over. They celebrated their easy victory with cheers and one of them slew the driver, whilst other tore open the door. They all gaped when his helmeted head came bak split to the neck by a great battleaxe. Out jumped a roaring battlepriest of Tempus likely seeking the opportunities of battle-ridden Damara. He did not seem dissapointed that an opportunity had come to find him instead. Praising Tempus at the top of his lungs he tore through the bandits. Not one to shie from combat, Brakrum fired up a mighty rage, and thinking no more of it than a battlecry common for his tribe, he bellowed the name of Tempus and charged. He ran straight into a mailed fist.

    Dazedly looking up at the grinning man standing over him, he reached for his sword. The man stepped on his wrist and bent over, still grinning. "Still fight left in ye, eh? It's yer lucky day i tell ye, 'cause i'm in a damned fine mood, and decided not to spill yer brains out on the dirt this day," the man said amiably. "I'd say ye got about half a day afore i reach the next guardpost and inform them of this attack, and another half afore they'll be out here looking for a man of yer description. I spot a fine spark of the Foehammer in yerself boy, see that ye hone it well, for next time we meet i'll do me best to cleave ye in twain! Until next time!" The man jumped on a horse and dragged the others along with him, grinning and waving his axe, before riding off.

    Sitting dumbfounded for a short while, his head still ringing from the blow, he shook off the daze and came to his senses. Looting what the bandits had of weapons and valuables, he took off as fast as his long barbarian legs could carry him, all the while swearing fervently to Tempus the Foehammer that he would become the strongest warrior there was.

    Coming upon a small village a few days later, he managed to get passage as a caravan guard heading for Narfell, where his story continues.

    ((There may be some minor inconsistencies in FR Lore in this story, but i think most of it should hold water. Do let me know of any glaring blemishes.))


  • reviewed, xp pending