Post by Wise Elder Khul on Jun 30, 2018 14:34:15 GMT
Name: Khul, Elder of the Wise Mammoth Tribe, First Son of the Great Tusk
Class: Mage (Tribal Shaman: Nature + Spirit)
Rank: 2
Defence: 5
Total Stamina: 13
Current Stamina: 13
Abilities:
Charisma: 2
Combat: 2
Magic: 6
Sanctity: 1
Scouting: 5
Thievery: 3
Titles:
God:
Blessings:
Resurrection:
Notes:
Money: 16 shards
Possessions:
1. Staff
2. Leather Jerkin (Defence +1)
Background:
The cave is lit by nothing more than a small fire pit, its smooth stone walls adorned by a multitude of blood red paintings. Around the faint burning flames, a dozen and a half dirty figures huddle, trying to push away the frost of the creeping winter. They mumble and grunt in the long forgotten tongue of their people, complaining about the cold and the hunger. A small hunching greying man clad in thick wolf furs uses an old stick to get on his feet. His wrinkly rheumatic hands, grasping the wood firmly, fighting against the pains of old age that pull him back to the ground. He speaks in a fading voice, summoning his family to huddle closely together, as he walks towards the small shrine in a darkly lit corner of the room. A couple strong young man rise to help him on his way, but with a gesture of his hand, he orders them to sit down.
The shrine is simple, just half a dozen rotten fruits lying on sheets of rabbit fur before the fleshless skull of a direwolf. The old man grabs it gently, touching with the same care as holding an infant. He removes the skull cap, revealing the thick red liquid, a mix of berries and wolf blood that had been fermenting there for the last few weeks. He returns to his place and takes a sip from the skull, passing it to the family member to his left. When the circle is completed and all have drunk, he grabs a pouch of seeds that hung to his loincloth and throws it into the burning fire. The flames grow taller than the tallest of the clan, lighting up the cave and revealing even more paintings than had once been visible. A thick white smoke fills the cave, it's across smell making their eyes water and blur. Amidst shadows, light and smoke, the drawings take life before their eyes. The spirits of the land had come to dance, telling the last of the Akil tribes the story of their forefathers.
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Appearance:
Class: Mage (Tribal Shaman: Nature + Spirit)
Rank: 2
Defence: 5
Total Stamina: 13
Current Stamina: 13
Abilities:
Charisma: 2
Combat: 2
Magic: 6
Sanctity: 1
Scouting: 5
Thievery: 3
Titles:
God:
Blessings:
Resurrection:
Notes:
Money: 16 shards
Possessions:
1. Staff
2. Leather Jerkin (Defence +1)
Background:
The cave is lit by nothing more than a small fire pit, its smooth stone walls adorned by a multitude of blood red paintings. Around the faint burning flames, a dozen and a half dirty figures huddle, trying to push away the frost of the creeping winter. They mumble and grunt in the long forgotten tongue of their people, complaining about the cold and the hunger. A small hunching greying man clad in thick wolf furs uses an old stick to get on his feet. His wrinkly rheumatic hands, grasping the wood firmly, fighting against the pains of old age that pull him back to the ground. He speaks in a fading voice, summoning his family to huddle closely together, as he walks towards the small shrine in a darkly lit corner of the room. A couple strong young man rise to help him on his way, but with a gesture of his hand, he orders them to sit down.
The shrine is simple, just half a dozen rotten fruits lying on sheets of rabbit fur before the fleshless skull of a direwolf. The old man grabs it gently, touching with the same care as holding an infant. He removes the skull cap, revealing the thick red liquid, a mix of berries and wolf blood that had been fermenting there for the last few weeks. He returns to his place and takes a sip from the skull, passing it to the family member to his left. When the circle is completed and all have drunk, he grabs a pouch of seeds that hung to his loincloth and throws it into the burning fire. The flames grow taller than the tallest of the clan, lighting up the cave and revealing even more paintings than had once been visible. A thick white smoke fills the cave, it's across smell making their eyes water and blur. Amidst shadows, light and smoke, the drawings take life before their eyes. The spirits of the land had come to dance, telling the last of the Akil tribes the story of their forefathers.
Appearance:
