Veriren the Dweller of the Wilds

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Flaws

Racial Edges

Class Edges

Edges

Mob Deaths

Timeline

Leveling History

PK Deaths

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Skill List

Skill List

PK Statistics

PK Gank-O-Meter

Immortal Comments

Role

Chapter 1

Upon the mud covered, jagged shore of a valley river, a thin, ragged figure
writhed in the mud, hands clasped over his face. He thrashed and writhed
amongst the effluvial meeting of fresh water, black silt, and steaming pools
of poison water.

The thin, young figure had suffered a wound most pitesouly, beneath
the slat raised, ashen gray skin and deep red meat pooling beneath a
neglected wound.

Over and over in his mind, the sounds of a deep bellowing warhorn
made peals of thunder inside his head, seeming to almost burst
through the front of his thin face in a din of the wild hunt, led by frothing
hounds, weirding women clutching their omens, and bloodthirsty men.

The rattle that came with them placed him back in
that sacred, quiet place of yellow fields, chirping bugs, and hot golden sun.
The approaching steps of armored men and mounted cavalry preparing themselves
for a lone defender. A slender half-drow child, holding a knobbly, broken
ended spear. Protected by a skull and resolve both created from steel, he
charged once more against his foes, stabbing his spear over and over into
their imagined bodies, shrieking in bestial rage.

It was the same screaming muffled by hands through them revealed
revealed wide open eyes, as golden as the meadow told in his own legends.

Drawing himself up, he looked upon the far off peaks of
jagged mountains. The same bestial, blood rage haze that filled
him seemed almost to swallow him up. Taunting him with its unattainable peaks
and foul, frigid breath at the crest of its mouth.

It was just another beast.

He killed beasts. He, in fact, loved killing beasts. After the nastiness in
Hamsah, he had fallen into the desert, running blindly shrieking into empty
wastes. Seeking to cast off this utter hatred of the living he possessed in
his soul.

Now facing his new foe, he understood that the beauty of his savage
nature was merely that of a hunter. The very paragon of loyalty, a feeling
understood by even the basest villains, was admired by friend and foe alike.

He would find the beasts with the biggest teeth and see if they were bigger than his.

Role

Chapter 2

painting on it: tiny spotted green mushrooms, drawn in stark detail with a
background of two far off black specks of cliff, separated by a gap, through
which a wide river runs. The extremely emphasized tight view of the mushroom
against the starkness of the landscape forces the viewer's eye to the gap
between the mountains.

The gap is indeterminably long due to the perspective of background meeting
the foreground but even at this distance it looks like it is too wide for a
person to jump across. But, on the left side of the painting, nearly hidden
in the gloom of evening is what appears to be the rough surface of a
mountainside. Almost at a perfect angle but still possible for a creature to
run down it.

Maybe they could run fast enough to jump across the gap. We don't know how
far apart it is and how quickly the person is running. Or why they're running
towards their own certain doom if pursued. Why would they be running this
direction unless they thought, from what they saw in the moment this mushroom
was drawn, they had the faintest hope that they could make it across the gap.
To safety. To life, continued or ended, but by your own choice.]

The letters and symbols under it are in a crude shorthand, barely even
recognizable as language, but can be safely assumed as follows:

certain distance from another object. There are tiny, yet drawn so detailed
leaves that you would think they could shiver on the page, drawn next to a
pot, a smudge of red over brown meaning fire, and a purple, berry stain smear
of smoke moving upwards.]


is a remarkably advanced yet unrefined drawing. At some personal level,
however, each time, it asks the viewer: "Have you ever had to jump without
knowing if you would land before? Why did you do it? Were you scared? Did you
jump because you were sure, or because whatever was behind you was scarier
than the fall?"]