Kharghurln Akn'trar the Bespectacled Bitch, Empress of Thera

Role

Chapter 7

"Yuh, him nice-looking boy. Get me nudder Kidana brew!" shouted the
obese fire giant, turning back to watch the lava-spawned fire spewing
from a crack in the cavern floor. Dumb woman, he muttered to himself,
gnawing on a fresh gnome arm (still attached to the whimpering gnome),
"Need get nudder woman not care kid so much."

His eyes quickly glazed over and a fresh flow of drool began once again
as he stared mesmerized into the flames.

"You good boy, Khar, no listen lout," whispered (well, bellowed softly)
the subject of the previous diatribe, lovingly smacking her child across
the face with each word as he gurgled happily. "Me need get nudder man
who care kid more."

--- Interlude ---

The charred wooden mace impacted the fire giant trainers head with a
bone-crunching *THUD*, sending him sprawling into the chained storm
giant who was the intended victim of said charred wooden mace. The
trainer got to his feet slowly, spitting blood and adjusting his freshly
broken nose.

"Khar! Idiot! Word mean same thing in all language! Why hit me, not
practice dummy? Idiot! That third time today!" the trainer bellowed at
the young fire giant, who quickly swung around towards the sound of the
voice. "Was good shot, though, think nose look better now that you
break it second time."

"Sorry, master, thought...you were...over there," the young fire giant
vaguely indicated a spot behind him while speaking to a point in the air
five feet to the left of the trainers elbow. "Not happen again."

"You bet not happen again! Get out! Go! Idiot! Go train make magic,
you too smart be strong fighter, too dumb be powerful mage. Least not
be able break nose from two levels down!" roared the trainer, pausing to
admire his amazingly ugly visage reflected in the polished blade of his
sword.

"Dumb fire giant needs a serious pair of glasses," whispered an upside-
down hanging armless elf to the practice dummy of a storm giant who
stood dully beneath and to his right. Khar stiffened as he heard the
softly spoken words, but continued out the arched cavern entrance.

"Cant see. Hear good enough, dumb elf. Come back make you scream
later," he muttered to himself as he wandered down toward Tohr Kidana-
Rahs mystic sanctum, narrowly avoiding running into a bellowing fire
ogre, a hellhound puppy and a party of screaming elves being happily
chewed on by a crimson dragon.

Role

Chapter 6

"What this, Master Tohr?" Khar asked slowly, adjusting his glasses on
his face as he poked with one thick finger at a slender wooden stick
lying on the table. "It twig? Twig to burn, make fire?"

"Dont touch what not understand, Idiot!" Tohr said, not unkindly,
snapping his whip across Khars back where it drew a stinging line of
blood on the raw flesh (apparently the nickname had stuck). "Make
fireball, burn rest of felar!"

Khar turned from the very, very interesting stick, sighed, and
concentrated on the spell. Screwing up his face, he uttered the
mystical words he had easily memorized and sent a massive ball of fire
screaming through the air towards a singed and smoking felar chained to
the wall of the cavern. With a sizzling pop, the left side of the
felars body exploded, spattering the cavern wall with blood, gore and
charred fur. Tohr smiled and nodded in appreciation.

"Make good fireball. Felar thank you for granting good death, swift,
painful." He thought a moment, then nodded to himself. "You smart
mage, I show you stick trick." A pause. "Stick trick. You get? Ha!
Tohr make funny." Chuckling to himself, the master Anti-Paladin of the
Volcano grabbed the stick from the table and shoved it into Khars hand.

"You focus on stick, on magic inside. Point stick, focus, bring magic
out. No say words, focus. Focus! FOCUS!" Tohr shouted and Khar
screwed his face up tighter and tighter, engaging his considerable
mental energies upon the slender stick in his hand. At first, nothing
happened. Then smoke and sparks sputtered weakly from the end of the
wand.

"FOCUS IDIOT!" Tohr shouted in Khars ear.

With a final burst of mental energy, Khar felt the wand buckle in his
hand. Three blasts of pure mana streaked from the tip of the wand, one
at a time. The first soared across the cavern, impacting a plate of
Krons rare dwarf spareribs that disappeared in a flash of light, much
to Tohrs chagrin. The second blast bounced off the ceiling, the floor,
the southern wall and finally impacted the wall where the remains of the
felar dangled from two chains, completely cleaning the blood and gore
from its surface. The third blast streaked directly out the cavern
entrance, took a sharp left at the opposite wall, and disappeared down
the corridor.

"You focus good! Much good!" Tohr beamed, smashing Khar over the head
with a stout wooden stick. "Destroy my dinner, not good, but good with
wand. You take and go practice. Go!"

Khar bowed to his master, adjusted his glasses, and happily strode out
of the cavern towards his favorite lava pool to practice stick magic. A
loud howl of pain suddenly echoed down from two levels above, followed
by the bellowing voice of his former weapons master, "My nose! How
blast come here? How break nose! Look pretty good, though. I like."

PK Gank-O-Meter

Role

Chapter 5

Khar is first and foremost a mage, which is surprising given his
cultural heritage. He knows weapons and physical fighting quite well,
due to his training in the fire giant guard, but manipulating the flow
of mana is something he is good at. He loves wands and scrolls, and
prefers to use those methods of molding magic whenever possible (though
hell still use his own learned spells when tactically appropriate). To
this end, he tries very hard to collect as many different wands and
scrolls as he can, and also makes every effort to obtain the funds to
purchase these objects.

Hes also a fire giant. This means he likes to inflict pain and
suffering on lesser beings. He doesnt do it out of malice, nor does he
experience any particular enjoyment from doing so its just how he was
brought up. This means that pain and death dont really bother him all
that much, either his own or others. He actually worships Death,
envisioning it as a cleansing of the body, mind and soul, and is proud
to bring it to those weaker than he is (though he believes that constant
or repeated cleansing is not good for body, mind or soul, so will avoid
it when possible). Hes intelligent enough (given his racial
restrictions), and quite cunning when it comes to fighting, but uses the
economy of words that is typical of all fire giants, so he will come
across to the more verbose races as being somewhat less than smart.
Overall, he's relatively good-natured and even keeled, and it takes a
lot to rile him up (though if you take his wands, watch out).

Role

Chapter 4

Because he has led such a structured life, he'll most likely seek to
join the Empire and further it's goals. He is very, very respectful of
strength (not position), so I'm not sure how long he'll last as a
subordinate, but if he becomes Anathema, so be it - that really won't
change things all that much for him.

He probably won't focus much on gathering souls or trying to create an
uber-powerful Unholy Weapon, though he will certainly recognize the
benefits and potential of having one. He associates non-Honorable
combat to be a display of weakness, and taking on tough odds to be a
display of strength. He'll always strive to display his own strength,
though he does recognize the tactical benefits of coordinated action and
certainly won't constantly subordinate his desire for victory to his
desire to show strength.

Because he worships Death, his patron God (should he choose to go the
religious route) is Muuloc. But in his mind, he strives to be like
Zulghinlour, whom he considers to be the pinnacle of both his guild, and
of fire giant society in general (being the most powerful fire giant in
the history of all Thera).

Role

Chapter 3

The slim, attractive half-elven woman crossed her smooth and
shapely legs as she settled into the proffered seat at the left
hand of the Imperial throne. Somehow producing a quill and scroll from
her tight-fitting dress, she smiled encouragingly at the glowering fire
giant that occupied the massive Imperial Throne, and began scribbling as
she spoke.

"Both I, and all of the readers of the Daily Galadonian Gossip, are very
glad you took the time to speak with us, Emperor Kharghurln...or may I
call you Khar?"

"Yar. Call what want, Khar not care, spread word, Empire, Civilization,
power, Death, Cleansing."

The half-elf bestowed her best, award-winning smile, upon the Emperor,
nodding slightly before continuing. "Tell our readers, Khar, if you
would, what you like to do in your spare time? Are you dating? What
nightlife spots around Thera does the Emperor like to frequent?"

"Yar? Khar not time nightlife. Khar either at Village or Fortress or
Tree, work get Codex back. Khar work make Empire Citizen show strength,
work make Sect show strength, work make Empire show strength, power."

Completely unfazed, the reporter jotted down, 'Likes to party with
barbarians, has a wrathful time at the Fortress, likes moonlit walks in
the woods at night. Currently single.'

"Mmm-hmmm. I see. And tell me about your formative years? Did your
parents play an influential role in your plans for world domination?"

"Why talk parents? Khar rather talk bring Udgaard, Arkham, Eastern
Road, Northern Road Empire. Make safe weak Therans, strong Empire."

Flashing him another smile, the beautiful half-elf quickly scribbled,
'Close to parents, mother cried at coronation, father Prince of Volcano,
went for vacation in Arkham last month.'

"That's wonderful", she murmured, crossing and uncrossing her legs as
Khar watched, drooling slightly at the thought of how tasty one would be
right about now. "What are readers really want to know is just how
close you are to the Lords of Empire. Of course, I mean Grurk,
Khasotholas and Zulghinlour? Do you meet with them a lot? Discuss
Imperial politics, law, that sort of thing?" She smiled encouragingly.

Khar nodded, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Khar dream Ebony
Standard raise on pole while ride undead steed across lands, spread
Death, Cleansing lands, make safe civilization, order. Khar grow power,
grow strong like Lord Zulghinlour, eat half-elf leg not worry what
ratings say!"

Nervous for the first time in her long and distinguished career as a
tabloid reporter, the half-elf got to her feet hurriedly, smoothed her
dress and stowed her quill and scroll (somewhere). "Again, our readers
thank you for your time, Emperor Khar, and wish you a long and
distinguished career." Her high-heeled boots clicked rapidly upon the
marble floor of the hallway as she made her way from the Palace, the
Vanquisher giving her backside an admiring glance before being gutted by
a raving horde of Outlanders.

Khar sighed, wondering just what he had gotten himself into. Then he
grimly gripped his axe, grabbed a variety of magic sticks from the
floating chest that trailed along behind him like a faithful dog, and
prepared to defend the Palace yet again. "Fight strong for
civilization!" he bellowed, the words echoing hollowly back

Role

Chapter 2

Bad grapes. The memory of eating them was distant in Khar's mind, the
vague recollections of what it was like to be male hard to recall over
the years. Constant battling, physically with the enemies of the Empire
and mentally with the other Sects, had consumed almost all of her waking
hours. The burning desire to return to her natural state had slowly
been quenched by the passage of years, finally dulling to a minor
irritation at no longer being able to count past eleven without removing
her boots. The realization that many others would underestimate her,
considering females 'weaker' than males, was yet another reason to play
the hand fate had dealt her. Besides, she found those same bad grapes
to be quite energizing now! No, it wasn't the outer shell that
mattered, but the burning drive within that made Khar who she was, and
that would never change.

Role

Chapter 1

Kharghurln sat upon the Throne in the Palace, and pondered her long and
violent life. She thought of the souls claimed for her own, of the lessons
she taught her allies and enemies alike, of strength, power, pain, agony,
but mostly of Death. Death was her reason for living. Granting the Cleansing
of Death to her enemies made, so she believed, them stronger. And in turn,
strong enemies to fight made her stronger. So, she pondered, if Death made
those who experienced it stronger, what would the final Death do? Who
would benefit from hers? For she knew it was close. It had to be. She
had lived almost six hundred years, an amazing lifespan for one of her
race. And it had been a good life.

The Empire would benefit. She was but a shadow of her former self, and she
knew it, though none dared tell her to her face (including her enemies, who
still did her the honor of fighting her four to her one on occasion). She
was powerful, just not as powerful as in days past. So it was time, time
for new leadership to take the reigns of her Empire, time for another to
perhaps see Darkness and Order spread throughout Thera.

Her enemies would benefit, in their minds at least, for they wouldn't feed
bits and pieces of their souls to her. Though there would be others that
would come after her to continue her teachings. Death came for all, in many
different forms, all designed to Cleanse.

She would benefit. She knew she would go to Hell for her actions, to live
there for all eternity. She knew as well that she would inflict pain and
suffering upon countless souls, once those who ruled hell realized that
whatever tortures they had in store for her would only make her stronger. An
eternity of suffering for Khar? She would become so powerful that Satan
itself would fall before her might, should they choose that path. She hoped
for the Seventh Circle. Though she had never been there, she had heard from
others who had that there was a nice view. And a cave with a window and a
cheap desk she could prop her feet upon.

So, as her body began to betray her, as the blood started to flow a bit
faster and staunch a bit slower, as the pains from a lifetime of combat
began to intensify (a feeling she has come to cherish), she knew that it
had all been worth it.

The only thing she would miss was the statue. She couldn't stop thinking
about the statue, one she had seen in a picture book in the Imperial Library
ages ago. It was of a mighty warrior, and it stood atop two towers and
straddled a grand harbor, one arm raised high above its head, holding a
lantern. She secretly wanted a statue of herself, erected at the entrance to
the Imperial Lands, one massive foot atop each guard tower, one arm raised
high, holding an Unholy Scourge of Bone. And bearing an inscription: Here
stands Empress Kharghurln Akn'trar. Look upon her works, O ye mighty, and
Despair.

She drifted off to sleep atop the Imperial Throne, a smile upon her aged
and wrinkled face.

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