Vraknar Wolfgang the Searing Omen of Destruction

Role

Chapter 11

Vraknar sighs as he picks himself up mumbling words under his breath

"Orcs. Undead make sleeps and sicks." Mumbling as he walks tinges of
doubt flood his mind. He has certainly felt the hunted more than the
hunter of late, not without glimmers of almost but almost may as well
be nothing in these stakes. As he slowly trudges to a stop he hangs
his head in shame, his chest heaving as the air seeps through his
ghostly frame. He slumps further the light flickering from his eyes
yet just as suddenly his head tilts to the left, as his gaze is drawn
through his translucent foot. The sole imprint of a wolf paw, can
clearly be seen, flecks of fresh blood pressed into the earth as the
creature passed not so long ago. Lifting his head his face meets large
bared teeth supported by the body of a wolf the size of a horse.

A powerful yet surprisingly gentle voice enters the giants head, "You
are not with the worms yet giant as its not your time" With the echo of
the last word the wolf disapears as silenetly as it came.

"vraknar fight always fights, one day feed lots worms."

Role

Chapter 10

As Vraknar strikes at the Captain of the guards in an attempt to get the
Fetish back, a single word from one of the defenders triggers a powerful
toxin racing through his blood. Quickly turning to take flight, he quickly
rounds back in to try to take down the foe, striking heavily he was near
done until the little man weasled theri way back into the Spire. Not without
his injuries, Vraknar quickly had to choose, and it was not an easy one
to make but it was one that had to be made. He stayed within the cities
he knew with each passing hour that his legs and mind were going to falter
and that he must accept that he was now the hunted.

As he moved through the city an entourage of guards followed him many catching
the disease that coursed through his veins, and when he could move no more.
The mind games started, money, women, wenches that bring your food. But
vraknar had been there done that when he was younger, and there was no way
that he was going to fall back into that cycle ever again. So instead he slept
turnings his foes ... So called strengths against them, eventually the disease
was driven from his body. Standing he dusted himself off and pushed again
for another attempt.

Vraknar heard once the first sign of insanity is doing the same thing over and
over and expecting different results. So to the outside seeing Vraknar sick
for the seventh and eigth time it likely looked this way. However what it truely
was a sign of was he sheer stoic nature in the face of adversity. For many
its easy to push on when the times are good, for Vraknar he is so confident and
sure of his choice that its easy to push on. Although next time he will take
the offer of money so he can burn it infront of those offering.

Role

Chapter 9

Vraknar sits comfortably within the trunks of a large oak tree, scanning
the surrounds for any sense of movement. It is in these times that he
conceeds that it was not for the chance to stop and smell the roses so to
speak that he would have long ago let his lust for revenge consume him
whole. Still hell bent on the destruction of the all that betrayed him and
left him for dead, he has learnt that fear can be as valuable a tool as
a sturdy mace, sometimes even moreso. Suddenly as tho his thoughts were
being answered, a shadow in the shape of a bird of pray moves quickly along
the ground growing ever larger until taloned claws meet taloned shadows.
Spreding its wings wide to cover its catch, the large Wedge-Tailed eagle
tears at the small rabbit caught in its claws.

Having had its feed the eagle lifts its head looking straight at Vraknar
while curiously tilting its head to one side, before spreading powerful
wings and taking to the skies. Vraknar follows the birds flight path as
he reaches his right hand towards his back his fingers running over the
heavily scarred mess that his flesh has now become. The anger that builds
in his eyes vanishing just as suddenly, as he turns his head suddenly
tracking a telltale sound, he hones in one the rustling in the underbrush.
Silently he crouches in the tree, tounge poked out the left side of his
mouth, bottom high in the air wriggling in a cat like motion coiling
ready to pounce. Suddenly he leaps with a grace rarely seen in such a
large man. As he pounces on the first quail killing it swiftly, in a flurry
of smooth movements he rapidly moves to catch a few more. He works rapidly
defeathering the birds before moving back within the oak tree as he awaits
his next opportunity for prey.

Role

Chapter 8

Vraknar stands deep within the halls of Stone's Embrace when he noticed
a curious sniffing from the shadows. Instinctivly clenching his heaviest
hammer ready for a fightand issuing a threat only to be answered with
a huge bolt from the heavens. Muttering somewhat he loosens his grip, this
was not a fight to win, only a fool dare fight the lightning.

Revealing himself large sharp teeth prominant, Vraknar takes a step back
relaxing further to hear what the voices the Ancients may have carried to
Ergush. The times within the Imperial Army and held prisoner for countless
years had taken there toll, the bond to civilization ever yet weakening
the bond with nature. As air purified by lightning touched his nostrils
something slowly clicked on Vraknar's mind. He needed to time to stop, he
needed the time not for his rage to dwindle and die but it to focus into
a beautiful raging destructive force. An eternal fire raging through
civilization fanned by vast storms, for this to start the the smallest of
flames needs to be set.

Satisfying his desire for dwarf blood Vraknar soon moved to the forests to
the south, finding an enslaved felar it was here facing the cold that he
started his fire. As club crushed the felar's skull spilling brains all
over the ground, Vraknar utters the words, "Death has set your free of your
shackles."

Role

Chapter 7

The man that Vraknar once was is now well and truely gone, a servant of
Order who spent countless years suffering at the product of civilizations
quest for vanity, long life and ingnorance. Unnatural abominations left
unchecked so the product of countless efforts in potions and balms trying
to escape death itself.

May things are a product of his entrapment:
- He carries a terrible curse, the very being of that place deep within
. his body, a lesser curse than those of the Mansion suffer but one none
. the less.
- His still bares the Imperial mark, thought has never crossed his mind
. to try remove it, burned deep in his flesh as it is. He does wonder how
. he has escaped Anathema and can only assume records show he is now long
. dead.
. Note: I did try to speak with the Oracle on this matter but did not seem
. something in my future at that time ...
- While he is a decendant of Rah through and through, he will bare a name
. that pays respect to those that unbound his shackles Vraknar Wolfgang
- His countless years of experimentation and torture have left him very
. changed unlike other giants of his kind he is completely hairless, his
. flesh also a marble complextion where pigmentation has been stripped from
. skin.
- He will continue on the path of the Warrior
. Studying the more brutal side of weaponry in Maces, Flails and Whips
. Balanced against the Warrior Monk Training of Gates of The Forge, and
. Fires of Adversity

Role

Chapter 6

As the sun rises the forbidding quitness breaks as several odd sounds begin
to fill the dungeon of the mansion. Vraknar hangs limply from a set of thick
steel chains, arms outstretched in a V as the weight of his emaciated body
is stretched by the weight of gravity. Leathery wings hang limply on the
ground rot and decay spreading through the abnormal surgical deformity, the
very thought of life all but rejected.

The howl of a wild wolf echoes through the dungeon, several more answer in
kind. Suddenly the upper halls are filled with gentle footsteps and tortured
screams. Then complete silence ... the guards hearing the comotion begin to
gather near the northern hallway and the familiar sound of lever clicking
home and gear in motion spring to life. The fresh air that rushes the
dungeon carries the screams and sounds of metal hitting stone block. The
ringing soon replaced buy a deep gutteral breathing, taking what strength
he has left Vraknar lifts his head towards the hallway, a chance floods his
being, hope of death, freedom from the pain.

A huge dark shadow fills the hallway, by far in his time the biggest wolf
he has ever seen, dwarfing any but the largest of horses. Large white teeth
bared in a snarl as the huge creature stalks into the open area of the
dungeon. Recognition flashes across Vraknar's face as he gets a closer
look the left side of the wolfs face is heavily scarred and devoid of fur.
As the wolf gets closer it pauses an intellegent glint in its eye observing
the giant, slowly the wolf drops its head seeming to bow as other smaller
wolves file through surrounding it.

A deep powerful ancient voice shatters Vraknar's mind "We meet again giant."

Screams fill the air as the smaller wolves jump on the giant tearing the
rotting and decayed wings from his back. That powerful voice once again
enetering Vraknar's mind "Death will set you free, unbound from your
shackles."

...

A breeze sweeps across the plain, causing the tall grass to sway
effortlessly. Vraknar stands in what he recognizes as the Prosemy Forest,
a lone powerful howl echoing in the distance.

Role

Chapter 5

Vraknar's eye shoot open suddenly as pain races through every inch of his
body, the light in the room stinging his eyes. How long has it been since
they had been touched by the light of day? Days? Weeks? Months?

As his eyes adjust he turns towards the bed beside him, a headless body
taking up the available space. This ... thing ... appears cobbled together
from whatever body parts wehere available at the time, massive arms look
at odds with the small hands and torso they are sewn to. Short thick legs
seem almost normal when taken into context with the wings folded behind
the creature back. A sick feeling overcomes Vraknar as he strains to look
role at his own body unsure through the pain if he has arms or not. The
relief that floods his being soon washed away by sheer horror as large
leathery wings folded behind his back begin to respond with movement.

Role

Chapter 4

DRIP! ... DRIP! ... DRIP! ...

Vraknar's eyes blink involuntarity as another small droplet of water bores
its way into his forehead, despite the lack of light he can make out the
large crack in the ceiling branching into many smaller cracks, the source
of the water. As the next drop hits his head he moves in a attempt to free
himself only to find his head tightly clamped, and metal spikes digging
into flesh from the cuffs around his limbs.

DRIP!

Vraknar's eyes blink involuntarily ...

DRIP!

Vraknar's eyes begin to fade the water smothering the fire within.

...

Role

Chapter 3

Many people speak of a point in life where one reaches a fork in the
where a decision is made do you take the path on the left or the path
on the right. But sometimes the choice being made is not your own and
instead of going left your right you get slammed straight through the
boulder that the road sign has been errected on.

...

As the light starts to fade with the setting sun, Brynaen pushes
himself to his feet, moving through the doorway towards the City Garden
he nervously peers outside while filling a jug with water. One by
one streetlamps are lit, and the shuffling steps of Arkham's citizens
retreating to their homes can be heard. A low fog slowly starts to
move through the streets covering the city streets, a sudden chill runs
up Brynaens spine as a several loud agonizing screams echo from the
forests to the north, followed by an eerie quietness. Turning his back
to the streets Brynaen retreats from the garden mumbling under his breath.

...

Brynaen jerks suddenly in his sleep, the sounds of constant pounding
filling his ears, a sinking feeling balls in the bottom of his stomach,
something is very very wrong peering towards the south his gaze is met
by two dark red eyes that appear to be floating within the deep shadows
of its dark hood. Terror grips him as the eyes hover through the gardens
and into Sanatorium gaze focused on a heavily blood soaked bunk. As the
figure lifts a translucent claw-like hand two more sets of eyes silently
enter the room. Pointing a claw like finger at the giant on the bunk a
raspy voice scratches one word from shadows of its dark hood ... "Mansion"

Role

Chapter 2

A hulking black figure lays cramped in the lowest bunk of a windowless
room. His heavy muscular body causing the entire bed from to bow
around and under him. An aging man stands over him coal black hair
peppered grey, his vibrant green eyes studying the surrounds of the
massive wound in the chest of the giant before him. Reaching to the
bowl on the right the man gathers a handful of blue leaves and
skillfully pushes them into the gaping wound of the giant before him.
Brynaen nods somewhat as he steps back from the figure before him and
turns his attention to another in an adjacent now blood soaked bunk.
Quickly surveying the wounds he begins to skillfully sutcher the worst,
his hands steady and skilled in a manner that only years and years of
practice can provide.

The steady flow of blood now somewhat staunched, Brynaen takes a step
back from th giant beads of sweat covering his forehead from the sheer
volumes of heat radiating from this giant. A ferocity he did not notice
with the other giant murmuring something about infection he turns his
attention to the thorns and spikes riddled throughout the giants body.

PK Statistics

Role

Chapter 1

The initial premise behind this character was a Warcry:

As I loom above you like a bird of doom. The shadow that falls
will foretell your Destruction.

It is from here that Vraknar's story starts:

...

Brynaen lifts his head cocking it to the right listening for
something a small smile crosses his face as he once again hears
the winces of pain. Leaping from his chair the jingle of coin
in his pocket echoes through from the walls of the Arkham
Sanatorium as he passes through the doorway to the south. Standing
at the town circle the souce of the pain soon became evident.
The silhouettes of two behemoths slowly hobbling through the fog,
both bare the brand of the imperial army upon the flesh.

Quickly appraising the situation a smile begins to spread across
Brynaen's face at the thought of the money that will be coming his
way over the next few days. Moving forward he quickly greets the
men and the damage to both ubundantly evident, one a hulking black
figure with poorly cut short hair had a thorny plant protuding
from a gapping wound. The other ... well the other could only be
described as a dead man walking. Blood oozes from cuts and tears
covering his entire body, stoney spikes peirce the lower half of
legs in several locations. A thorny plant protrudes from his chest
one end broken off clenched in his blood soaked right hand. The end
of the plant equally as bloody the fur of wolves and who knows what
else brutally hammered into the fibre of the wood. How this giant
is standing let alone near carrying his companion is a mystery.

Brynaen quickly moved to offer what little aid he could as he ushers
the two giants towards the lowest bunks within a windowless room.
Moving towards the most injured of the two he was soon met with a
strong hand, rolling in his bed the giant lifted his other arm
pointing to the less injured giant and uttered two words before
conciousness fell from his eyes ... "War Master"

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