Fumpletog the Master of Weapons

Skill List

Role

Chapter 5

Considering the enormous size and obvious strength of the giants, it came
as a complete shock when the caravaners refused to pack up and leave.
Fumpletog and the others momentarily questioned the guilt of these people
and decided to head back to their own camp to talk it over, before
potentially bringing violence upon the innocent.

"These seem like normal people." Fumpletog said as he began loading wood
and tinder into a pile.

"Why all those weird robes on line to dry?" Vala asked as she began
striking flint to stone, sending sparks flying into the pile of tinder.
"Not normal robes. Weird runes on them, and why same overalls as farmer
wore hang on clothes line too, with blood on em? None of them in caravan
wore overalls!" she continued to probe, just as the sparks took to the
tinder and the fire started with a subtle whoosh.

"Also pots!" added Narbog, as he rubbed his cold hands together and held
them out towards the growing flames from his fireside seat. "Lots of big
weird pot boiling over into ground. Smelly! Not like food." he added,
scratching his head for a moment in deep thought.

"Not smell like food, and too much to be food for such little people!
What food is green and orange like this?" Munar said as he fanned the
campfire smoke away from his face.

Starting to put it all together Munar took his chance to put in his two
cents: "Caravan make brew that boil over into ground. Smelly brew get
into water. Bad water kill plants."

"...and they take villager prisoner, maybe hold in caravan...this why
have overalls. These bad people. Morning come and we attack. Take back
prisoner, destroy pot, and drive survivors out of town." Fumpletog said
as he took his seat by the fire.

"And get ale!" Exclaimed Bralos once again, reaping a second round of
chuckles from his (now running) gag.

That night Fumpletog's restless mind did not allow for the calming
release of sleep. Then just as he felt himself beginning to drift off he
heard a faint whisper coming from Narbog's tent beside him, then another
voice from Munar's on the other side of him.

'qfuwsabru gqajfoz' the strange voice uttered from within Narbog's tent.
Then once again 'qfuwsabru gqajfoz' the senseless words from an
unfamiliar voice came from Munar's tent.

Just as Fumpletog started to rise from his bedroll to investigate another
voice came from the opening in his tent behind his head 'grzzs,'
Fumpletog heard as he felt his muscles fall weak, his mind overcome with
pure calm, and fell to the ground. Finally...sleep.

Role

Chapter 4

Fumpletog's deep voice boomed as he calmly spoke up from the back of the
crowd "We help figure out." as he gestured to himself and his four
gigantic companions, as if any additional clarification would be needed
to tell who were the outsiders.

"We make unwanted visitor leave. Nobody say no to us!" Fumpletog said as
he nodded towards his friends, sporting a sly grin. "Find Danny, find
Jebadiah, and scare off Gypsy." Fumpletog said as he nodded one final
time towards the farmer who seemed to be leading the group.

"And what unreasonable debt would we owe you for this work?" the farmer
fired back, sounding rather skeptical.

"Blacksmith help sharpen weapons..." Fumpletog said as he patted the hilt
of the sheathed sword strapped to the left side of his belt and pointed
towards the smithy across the path.

"Mend clothes..." He continued as he poked at a small hole in the right
side of his right pant leg.

"AND ALE!" Bralos' voice came booming over everyone as he interjected.

A short and awkward moment of silence cane as Fumpletog glanced at Bralos
out of the corner of his eyes, followed by raucous laughter as Fumpletog
laughed, slapping his knee. Everyone joined in, chuckling...a much needed
lightening of the mood.

Shaking his head, rolling his eyes and chuckling the farmer responds:
"Reasonable enough, you've got a deal."

Fumpletog stepped forward, knelt down and extended an enormous open hand
towards the farmer, and they shook hands (rather Fumpletog shook the
farmer's arm).

Feeling quite proud of themselves for securing their first contract,
Fumpletog and the other Cloud Giants headed out of town towards the camp
of caravans to begin their investigation.

Role

Chapter 3

The merry band of Cloud Giants set forth into the world to find adventure
and glory. Days turned into weeks with no discovered opportunities to
provide mercenary services. Luckily, these adventurers were not strangers
to hunting and gathering to survive.

Just as hopes for glory were starting to dim, the group happened upon a
small village that seemed to be having mysterious troubles.

"...and it's bad enough that half of this year's crop has been lost to
this unexplainable rot, but now I've got to try to finish the harvest
without Jebediah? There simply aren't enough hours in the day!" Fumpletog
heard the farmer exclaimed loudly, as he riled up a crowd of concerned
villagers gathered outside of the tavern.

"This could be chance to work!" Fumpletog thought to himself. He beckoned
to the others to join him in approaching the gathering. As they
approached, other villagers began to speak their concerns.

"Let's not forget: Jebediah isn't the first to go missing!" exclaimed the
farmer's wife as she struggled to organize her frazzled hair and maintain
her composure "Just three weeks ago our little Danny went missing!"

"Your little Danny is a grown man now, I'm sure he's just off enjoying
himself with the women of Hamsah!" piped up another villager.

"I know my Danny, and he wouldn't just leave without saying anything!"
the woman shouted as she burst out crying.

"I'm not saying we should be panicked, I'm just saying it's no small
coincidence that folks started goin' missing and crops started going bad
when those damned gypsies decided to park their caravans outside of our
little town." The farmer calmly continued to push his point as he pulled
his wife in close to try to comfort her.

Role

Chapter 2

As the years passed, and as the young Giants grew taller and taller it
became clear: this business of strategy and war was what Fumpletog wanted
to do with his life, but he wanted more than to merely pass down stories
and techniques. He yearned to make use of what he'd learned, and to
develop strategies of his own. For these things, he would have to leave
his remote ancestral home.

There is great honor in one on one combat, Fumpletog thought, but making
a living this way doesn't seem feasible. He'd heard many stories of
roaming bandits and the other acts of malfeasance which reinforced his
people's desire to isolate themselves. He could roam the lands as a
mercenary, helping to solve these problems. For this, though, traveling
with some like-minded friends would be wise.

Of the nine in the village around Fumpletog's age, he'd grown to respect
the skills of four of his sparring partners: Munar, Bralos, Vala, and
Narbog. The five of them got along fantastically and shared the joy of
grappling and swordplay. One day, as they all rested from some spirited
wrestling, Fumpletog invited them all to a private dinner: just the five
of them, a campfire, and a freshly slain reindeer.

That night as they sat around the campfire and gnawed happily on the
tender flesh of rotisserie meat, Fumpletog laid out his plans for world
travel and glory through mercenary work. It didn't take long before the
close friends were all in agreeance: they were hungry for more than game.

Early the next day they each packed their things and said their goodbyes.
It would be a life on the road from that point on.

Role

Chapter 1

In the mountains of the farest northern reaches of the world, sits a
small nameless village. After all, if it's inhabitants never interact
with the outside world, what purpose would there be in them calling it
anything other than 'home?' It was here that generation after generation
of Cloud Giants were born, lived, and died.

In this village grew a boy named Fumpletog. Emmersed in a culture
maintained entirely through stories and lessons, Fumpletog began learning
of grappling and sparring techniques from a young age, from his father.

From wrestling with the other children in the village, it became clear
that Fumpletog didn't master new techniques as quickly as the others, but
was much more adept at using them once well practiced. In one such
incident, Fumpletog was practicing his swordsmanship. Carelessly he
allowed his sword to twist in his hands, putting the hilt out of angle.
When he parried his sparring partners next attack the blade slid down,
missing the hilt, and scraped down the majority of his left forearm. The
dull practicing weapon wasn't able to inflict a grievous wound, but
scraped several layers of skin off, which left Fumpletog with a rather
wide and unusual scar. This is a lesson that would never be forgotten.

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