AGFlynn
First Post
Cludge Slatefist (Pending level up approval for 3)
Appearance: A broad and thickly muscled dwarf, Cludge is unconsciously forceful
and overbearing but quite pleasant and amiable.
He prefers shouting and barking orders to just about anything else.
The word "negotiate" is not in his vocabulary.
[sblock=Background] Cludge's parents were members of a very entrepreneurial clan in the Northern Mountains and decided to start a caravan venture to transport human goods to the dwarves and vice-versa. The business went well for a few years, but eventually they came to financial ruin when it was learned the his uncle Modr had absconded with virtually all of the profits. Disgraced, the family had to go work for other people as (shame!) hired
labourers. Cludge wanted none of this, so joined a local militia. After about a year of volunteer service (no active combat) the unit was disbanded. None of the soldiers were paid. So, Cludge, being of generally optimistic demeanour decided to go into business for himself. He pooled his remaining resources, bought a mule, a pickaxe, some buckets and a tent and headed into the mountains. After all, a dwarf is a natural at finding gold and iron....or not. When his claim (purchased with just about the last silver to his name) turned out to be mostly dust, he headed into town to see what work he could find...
*blurry dissolve to the past* The Slatefist family wearily pulls its three empty wagons into the crowded forecourt of the grand cavern, grimy with dust from the road to the human lands. Cludge groggily lifts his head from his chest, waking from a semi-nap. Glad to be home at last, he drops down from his seat and plants his feet gratefully on stone. With a silent prayer to Azwan, he stretches his aching back, nodding to passersby. A few shoot the family odd looks as they hurry by.
What's up with them? Cludge wonders aloud.
Dunno, answers his brother Glaum. P'raps they din't get ale with breakfast.
Pushing through the crowd, Cludge's Aunt Fleat hurriedly approaches the family.
Krakut, she says breathlessly. Oh, Krakut. Something terrible has happened...
Cludge's grey-bearded father, a massive old dwarf with an enourmous pendulous belly, gives a last tug on the hobble secured to one of the dray ponies. What's wrong, Fleat? he says, straightening in alarm. His wife Sautre hurries to his side.
It's terrible, just terrible, Fleat stammers. Its Modr...
Modr? says Krakut. Is he dead? Is he hurt?
Worse, says Fleat. He's left. He's scarpered. Krakut... she hesitates. He's taken it all. Everything. The gold, the silver, the mithril bars that was to be shipped... Oh, it's terrible, brother!
Krakut stands staring. Everything? he says dazedly, staring into the distance.
We're ruined... whispers Sautre.
Cludge and Glaum step forward, bristling. He's WHAT? roars Cludge. I'LL TEAR THE BASTARD'S BEARD FROM HIS FACE AND FEED IT TO HIM!
Modr, hisses Glaum. I always knowed he was wrong in the head.
Whatever will we do? says Sautre. Krakut. Everything we had - gone! Your brother has made us poor.
Modr, says Krakut, staring into space, a look of pure shock on his weather-beaten face.
Cludge looks around at the now-quiet Grand Hall. In every face he sees pity, embarrassment. His anger burns, but it is also tinged now with shame...
I will find him, father, he fumes. My uncle will rue the day he stole from our family....
*blurry dissolve back to the present*
[/sblock]
[sblock=Tracking for current campaign - Sairunadan]
A Sojourn in Sairunadan
Paid for in party funds:
Transport: Cost Weight
Warhorse, Light 0gp -lb
Saddle, Military 0gp 30lb
[/sblock]
Code:
[B]Name:[/B] Cludge Slatefist
[B]Class:[/B] Fighter
[B]Race:[/B] Dwarf
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] Lawful Good
[B]Deity:[/B] Azwan
[B]Str:[/B] 18 +4 (16p.) [B]Level:[/B] 3 [B]XP:[/B] 3502
[B]Dex:[/B] 10 +0 (2p.) [B]BAB:[/B] +3 [B]HP:[/B] 34 (3d10+9)
[B]Con:[/B] 16 +3 (6p.) [B]Grapple:[/B] +7 [B]Dmg Red:[/B] 0/0
[B]Int:[/B] 8 -1 (0p.) [B]Speed:[/B] 20' [B]Spell Res:[/B] 0
[B]Wis:[/B] 8 -1 (0p.) [B]Init:[/B] +0 [B]Spell Save:[/B] +2
[B]Cha:[/B] 12 +1 (6p.) [B]ACP:[/B] -5 [B]Spell Fail:[/B] 0%
[B]Base Armor Shld Dex Size Nat Misc Total[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B] 10 +5 +0 +0 +0 +0 +0 15
[B]Touch:[/B] 10 [B]Flatfooted:[/B] 15
[B]Base Mod Misc Total[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B] 3 +3 +6
[B]Ref:[/B] 1 +0 +1
[B]Will:[/B] 1 -1 +0
[B]Weapon Attack Damage Critical[/B]
Greatsword +8 2d6+6 19-20x2
Sling +3 1d4+4 20x2
[B]Languages:[/B] Common, Dwarven
[B]Abilities:[/B] Dwarven traits
[B]Feats:[/B] Power Attack, Weapon Focus Greatsword, Cleave, Endurance
[B]Skill Points:[/B] 6 [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 6/3
[B]Skills Ranks Mod Misc Total[/B]
Intimidate 4 +1 +5
Jump 1 +4 -5 +0
Climb 1 +4 -5 +0
[B]Equipment: Cost Weight[/B]
Greatsword 50gp 8lb
Chain mail 150gp 40lb
Sling 0gp 0lb
Bullets (20) 2sp 10lb
Backpack 2gp 2lb
Bedroll 1sp 5lb
Blanket 5sp 3lb
Candle 1cp 0lb
Crowbar 2gp 5lb
Grappling hook 1gp 4lb
Pitons x4 4sp 2lb
Pouch 1gp 0.5lb
Rations (1 day) x4 2gp 4lb
Rope (50', hempen) 1gp 10lb
Flint and steel 1gp 0lb
Chalk 1cp 0lb
Waterskin 1gp 4lb
Whetstone 2cp 1lb
Sacks x2 2sp 1lb
Torches x2 2cp 2lb
[B]Total Weight:[/B]101.5lb [B]Money:[/B] 362gp 2sp 8cp
[B]Lgt Med Hvy Lift Push[/B]
[B]Max Weight:[/B] 100 lb. 101-200 201-300 600 1500
[B]Age:[/B] 42
[B]Height:[/B] 4'3"
[B]Weight:[/B] 210lb
[B]Eyes:[/B] Black
[B]Hair:[/B] Black
[B]Skin:[/B] Tanned
and overbearing but quite pleasant and amiable.
He prefers shouting and barking orders to just about anything else.
The word "negotiate" is not in his vocabulary.
[sblock=Background] Cludge's parents were members of a very entrepreneurial clan in the Northern Mountains and decided to start a caravan venture to transport human goods to the dwarves and vice-versa. The business went well for a few years, but eventually they came to financial ruin when it was learned the his uncle Modr had absconded with virtually all of the profits. Disgraced, the family had to go work for other people as (shame!) hired
labourers. Cludge wanted none of this, so joined a local militia. After about a year of volunteer service (no active combat) the unit was disbanded. None of the soldiers were paid. So, Cludge, being of generally optimistic demeanour decided to go into business for himself. He pooled his remaining resources, bought a mule, a pickaxe, some buckets and a tent and headed into the mountains. After all, a dwarf is a natural at finding gold and iron....or not. When his claim (purchased with just about the last silver to his name) turned out to be mostly dust, he headed into town to see what work he could find...
*blurry dissolve to the past* The Slatefist family wearily pulls its three empty wagons into the crowded forecourt of the grand cavern, grimy with dust from the road to the human lands. Cludge groggily lifts his head from his chest, waking from a semi-nap. Glad to be home at last, he drops down from his seat and plants his feet gratefully on stone. With a silent prayer to Azwan, he stretches his aching back, nodding to passersby. A few shoot the family odd looks as they hurry by.
What's up with them? Cludge wonders aloud.
Dunno, answers his brother Glaum. P'raps they din't get ale with breakfast.
Pushing through the crowd, Cludge's Aunt Fleat hurriedly approaches the family.
Krakut, she says breathlessly. Oh, Krakut. Something terrible has happened...
Cludge's grey-bearded father, a massive old dwarf with an enourmous pendulous belly, gives a last tug on the hobble secured to one of the dray ponies. What's wrong, Fleat? he says, straightening in alarm. His wife Sautre hurries to his side.
It's terrible, just terrible, Fleat stammers. Its Modr...
Modr? says Krakut. Is he dead? Is he hurt?
Worse, says Fleat. He's left. He's scarpered. Krakut... she hesitates. He's taken it all. Everything. The gold, the silver, the mithril bars that was to be shipped... Oh, it's terrible, brother!
Krakut stands staring. Everything? he says dazedly, staring into the distance.
We're ruined... whispers Sautre.
Cludge and Glaum step forward, bristling. He's WHAT? roars Cludge. I'LL TEAR THE BASTARD'S BEARD FROM HIS FACE AND FEED IT TO HIM!
Modr, hisses Glaum. I always knowed he was wrong in the head.
Whatever will we do? says Sautre. Krakut. Everything we had - gone! Your brother has made us poor.
Modr, says Krakut, staring into space, a look of pure shock on his weather-beaten face.
Cludge looks around at the now-quiet Grand Hall. In every face he sees pity, embarrassment. His anger burns, but it is also tinged now with shame...
I will find him, father, he fumes. My uncle will rue the day he stole from our family....
*blurry dissolve back to the present*
[/sblock]
[sblock=Tracking for current campaign - Sairunadan]
A Sojourn in Sairunadan
Paid for in party funds:
Transport: Cost Weight
Warhorse, Light 0gp -lb
Saddle, Military 0gp 30lb
[/sblock]
Last edited: