[CHAR] Morituri te Salutant: Arkreidian Gladiators

[Harbringer]

Appearance:

Standing at an elven average of 6'11" with forest green eyes and long blonde hair usually tied into a tight ponytail, Eltharion possesses a face which would make most human women swoon within minutes, though the same could be said of most elves around his age. With the green tint usually associated with his race muted, the elf sometimes wonders whether his mother coupled with a human, though he knows better than to ask. His elven genes grant him the usual benefits including long, ropey muscled limbs along with the usual liabilities. Tattooed across the right side of his body and face are arcane markings which serve no real purpose other than as a good luck charm, although he argues it gives him a certain mystique.

Name:
Eltharion Vindicaire

Age:
205, still in the prime of his youth

Gender:
Male

Personality:
Pragmatic more than anything else, Eltharion tends to look for the solution to a problem rather than whine about it. When speaking his words are carefully chosen and he attempts to hide any emotion under a sardonic grin, especially when dealing with strangers. Quick to take charge of any situation spiralling out of control, Eltharion is a natural leader which saw to his rapid rise in the Elven military and possesses a certain charisma that compels those of weaker will to obey without question. While he may sometimes be dark and broody, the elf prefers to keep a taciturn atmosphere about himself to improve his senses of his surroundings, combined with a sharp tongue and acidic words. While he may seem sarcastic and unfeeling, the elf is actually quite concerned about his charges and will quickly withdraw if they are being overwhelmed, even if it is against orders. Thanks to his...current predicament, Eltharion is not rather fond of Dwarves.

Previous Profession:
Forest thorn squad leader

History:
Eltharion, who's name was derived from their capital city, was born into a soldier family inside the fortress city of Athelara, a frontier city built to stop the dwarves in the event they broke through the main battle line of smaller encampments. As such, it was no surprise that he ended up in the military during his adolescent years. Starting off in the Forest Thorns, Eltharion found much action in the Palarian Strip, a long strand of no-mans land which the two had managed to fight to a standstill and which still saw blood daily. Set to defend a heavily forested area on the eastern flank called the Llan Copse, he found fame in managing to rally his squad mates after the commanding officer was killed during a brutal dwarven assault and mounting a valiant defence which managed to hold until reinforcements arrived.

For his actions, Eltharion was rewarded with a non-commissioned officer role and command of his own squad. While he proved to be a sometimes uncooperative officer, withdrawing when he deemed the odds impossible, he was also indispensable due to his unfaltering will and natural charisma, managing to hold the line and even push the dwarves back on occasion. As he rose to the rank of a full commissioned officer he was already gathering many eyes on him, from both sides. Top command in Eltharios marked him as one to watch, while Dwarven commanders across the archipelago deemed him too much of a threat to leave unchecked. Of course, the Dwarves were much better warmakers in that regard, having already pushed the elves off of vast swathes of their own land.

After a particularly crushing defeat, Eltharion's squad was cut off and surrounded, the Forest Thorns having been caught out of their element. Managing to strike a parley with the commander, he negotiated the release of his charges in exchange for him going quietly. Despite racial distrust, Eltharion had already garnered a reputation for ruthlessness and prowess and the deal was accepting. Letting the other 7 remaining elves leave, Eltharion was dragged away in manacles and chains.

For days, he was locked in a dark cell, fed only a thin porridge of grains and water. No matter how much the dwarves probed him however, his iron will never broke. That, or he was just incredibly stubborn. After they deemed him of no more use, instead of returning him to his family, the dwarves decided to sell him off to slavers for a high price after embellishing his achievements to their own end and negotiating a high price, along with a few other elves and beastmen allies.

The events afterwards went by in a blur of dark light and rocking waves and he soon found himself in a new land filled with creatures with round ears. Instinctively knowing that these were 'humans' he had nevertheless never seen any. At the slave markets, he was highly bid upon by a variety of contractors, from mercenary captains, to farm owners. But the one who won, in the end, was a lanista. With little other choice, accepting his hand in life, Eltharion was dragged off into a cart.

Preferred Arms:
Eltharion prefers the use of spears to anything else thanks mostly to his training, though he finds much solace in its long reach. Sometimes, it is best to keep danger at least 2 meters away from you with a pointy stick. Along with this, Elthanion prefers light leather armour for its protection and minimal reduction to manoeuvrability.

[Knight of Doom]

Appearance:

Duvain has long, light blonde hair contrary to the green that most of the Canopy Striders have. She likes to keep it down to her waist, but if it gets in the way of her fighting, she will tie it up. She has bright emerald green eyes that capture most people's attention, one could say it's her most striking feature. While Duvain makes sure to keep fit, and limber, she doesn't have a lot of muscle, but the muscle she does have is ropey and stretchy. Duvain is very flexible and uses that along with her fast reflexes and speed to battle. She has perfect pale skin, that will stay pale no matter how long she stays in the sunlight. She's also very prone to sunburns. Some swirling black and green tattoos adorn her upper right arm, upper back, and one wraps around her waist.

Name:
Duvain Vanya

Gender:
Female

Age:
174

Personality:
Duvain is a brave, but kindhearted elf. She is good at listening, but never knows how to comfort others. While she tries her best to put others first, but she has trouble interacting with them. She is patient and is always willing to be the one who goes first or takes the blame. However, she only does this with elves. She is unsure of how to act around other species and is usually afraid of them, or gets nervous around them.

Previous Profession:
Duvain hunted and gathered food for the Canopy Striders.

History:
Duvain lived comfortably on her own in a modest home. She lived fairly close to her parents in order to visit them, and her younger sister who is 108 years old. She had very few friends due to the fact that she didn't know how to approach someone. One day Duvain's parents were killed while hunting a dangerous wild animal that had been terrorizing their village. So, Duvain had to take in her younger sister and started to take care of her. On the day that Duvain was kidnapped, she had left her younger sister playing with a friend at her friend's house. She went out farther than usual in order to gather food. While she was skinning a deer she had struck down, Duvain heard movement indicating that she was being surrounded. Since Duvain didn't have as much experience fighting against multiple people, she tried to escape from the circle that was closing in, however, she failed. After being knocked out by an unknown figure, they dragged her to an unknown place. When Duvain woke up, she was alone, and shackled down. While normally brave and fearless, Duvain couldn't help but feel hopeless as the manacles weighed her limbs down.

Preferred Arms:
Duvain prefers a light, bendable bow. However, she also carries around a dagger for skinning animals and, when necessary, fighting. Duvain prefers to wear light armor that doesn't restrict her movements, if any at all. However, if necessary, Duvain is trained to at least be adequate in all types of fighting.

[bluejay_gl]

Appearance

Gaunt-faced, strong-jawed, and heavily-browed, Kamnar’s appearance is fairly typical of Orcs of the Blacktusk tribe. His dark brown hair reaches his shoulders, partially braided with traditional painted beads adorning them. He has eyes as black as coal; looking in them is like staring into the void. His tusks are rather small for his kind – more resembling fangs than tusks, really – carved with angular forms and marks. His skin is the familiar dark, grayish olive of the green Orcs. He is tall even for an Orc at 6’8”, and his thick, impressive musculature coupled with his height make for an intimidating individual.

Name

Kamnar Murug-kah, previously Kamnar Murug-gar (as per traditional Blacktusk naming, Kamnar is his given name and Murug is his family name; the -kah attached is an honorific denoting dishonored Orcs, such as ex-paladins, deserters, and traitors. The -gar honorific denotes an esteemed religious rank)

Gender

Male

Age

29

Personality

Anger and ferocity is respected as honorable passion among the Orcs; the most successful warriors and Chiefs are also the most aggressive in disposition. Thus, Kamnar’s calm, thoughtful demeanor and calculating mind is highly unusual for Orcish kind, and certainly played a major part in his current shameful position. His quick thinking and inclination to logic make him not only a strong fighter but a capable strategist. However, he prefers reasonable discussion to unnecessary bloodshed. Despite his passive nature, it would be a mistake to call Kamnar a pacifist; he is still a trained Orcish knight, and will use force if he deems it prudent. He is also not without his pride, and won’t stand idly by if someone mocks his race or culture. As an ex-paladin, he is accustomed to talking to many different races for diplomatic and ministry reasons, and has seen that people of all walks of life fear the same fears and dream the same dreams; because of this, Kamnar does not suffer from the racial prejudices common of his kind.

Previous Profession

Kamnar was a paladin, serving Pra’Flakor and the Blacktusks. His work was mainly based around teaching his religion and the customs of his tribe, but he was also tasked with knightly duties, such as guarding and escorting the elites and higher-class religious ministers.

History

Kamnar can best be described as an outlier of all Orcs. He didn’t share the same energetic bloodlust and tenuous fury of his peers, and so leant on one of many popular religions of the Blacktusks, that which worshiped the river god, Pra’Flakor. Pra’Flakor is a rarity among their pantheon, being one of the few deities not centered on war or blacksmithing. His family lived in Hel-brok'thar, where he was born and raised. His parents and six brothers were all renowned warriors of the tribe who brought honor to the Murug name. Though at first skeptical of his chosen path, they were pleasantly surprised to see him rise through the ranks so quickly and at such a young age, and were especially proud of his extraordinary skills in battle. Kamnar became a paladin at 20 and was dressed with a multitude of honors and accolades by 25; at 26, he became the youngest of the Lok’krith, or Ten Warriors, which was the group of paladins with the highest possible ranking among Blacktusks.

One day, the Lok’krith were on a diplomatic mission to a small tribe of black Orcs on the outskirts of Arkreides. One of the oldest of the paladins, Durak Bol-gar, who had become jealous and suspicious of Kamnar’s quick promotion, secretly met up with a Lanista, and arranged to have Kamnar enslaved as an Arena fighter – in exchange, the Lanista would help Durak disgrace Kamnar.

The Lanista and his slave warriors kidnapped a peasant black Orc in the tribe and murdered him in the middle of the desert. Durak tricked Kamnar into finding the corpse; he had barely discovered it before being “caught red-handed” by the black Orc’s family, and was immediately attacked. Kamnar had no choice but to defend himself – to this day he still shudders at the memory – and he slaughtered them all. So far away from his home of Hel-brok'thar, his family and friends were forced to trust the Lok’krith’s word that Kamnar had single-handedly killed this black Orc family in a blind rage. Framed for a murder he didn’t commit and forced to obliterate innocents, Kamnar was disgraced and shamed, removed from his status as paladin, and had all of his honorable decorations withdrawn. The Lok’krith, a smug Durak among them, told him that he should be grateful they chose to have him sold into slavery for the rest of his life rather than executed. The Lanista took the yoke-bound Kamnar and his weapons and armor, and brought him aboard a crowded boat destined to the Arena…

Preferred Arms

Kamnar is skilled in a variety of weapons, but is especially trained in the claymore, or two-handed sword. He is accustomed to heavy armor; as a paladin, he wore the best steel armor forged in Hel-brok'thar, with the customary white loincloth over his armor adorned with the Pra’Flakor insignia, denoting his paladin status. His barbute-style helmet was also decorated with long, white plumes, which only the most esteemed warriors were allowed to wear. After he lost his rank as paladin, he was forced to dye his loincloth and plumes black, announcing his shameful exoneration for all to see.

[The book of bad juju]

Appearance: Haughty, with angled features and a certain look like she was hewn from mahogany Koganusan is the spitting image of dwarvish merchant's wife of a billion woodcuts . She's pictured here without her beard on. In the fortress where she was raised, wigs and toupees were the fashion at the time, ever since the discovery and subsequent invention of bauxite and mythril filaments. The metallurgs and engravers of the time were highly skilled and braiding and shearing miniature works of art designed to be worn under the chins. She had to sell hers to pay her way.

Name: Koganusan Hawlaestic Sunkissed. If you get on her good side, she'll let you call her "Cog".

Age: Koganusan is not in the flower of her youth. More of the wrinkly unripe fruit of middle age. She's three-and-fifty.

Gender: Despite the beard and bodily hair, she's female.

Personality: Koganusan, like the infamous dwarven encampment for which she's named, is introverted and secluded to the point of mutism. She doesn't talk much, and what does end up coming out of his mouth is often broken and twisted, followed by mutterings and swears in Mine-speak. Unless you want to buy or sell, in which case she opens up like the emperor's palace to foreign ambassadors, and it's practically impossible to get her to stop.

Previous Profession: Purveyor and Racketeer.

History: It's hard to explain a dwarf's history without revealing something of their ancestry. A dwarf of the valleys shares little if anything with the dwarves of the hearth, who in turn share nothing with the saltsmithers of port Arz, or the merchants of the catacombs of Dhalmad. And none of those will even deign to raise their name to the dwarves of the shantytown. Barely anything but mining camps hewn into the side of a mountain, which gather houses like dog doings attract flies. As for Koganusan, she was born and raised in one of these, known in dwarvish as Gröf Herbergi, or salt catacombs. The place was built above rich seams of salts and nitrates over a bed of sandstone. It's a dry, acidic place where the sand stains your feet red. Gröf Herbergi was deep set into sandstone, and gained a reputation for salts and acidic deposits, as well a deeply hot and bitterly long sun. The name of "Sunkissed" denotes Koganusan's place in life: On the surface, bargaining with trade caravans.

Her mother, a broad woman by the name of Korsefandi, was the town tanner and leatherworker, with a face like she was constantly sucking on lemons. She taught her well before her untimely death and subsequent. How to cut leather, and dye wool. How to juggle scales. How to balance books. How to pretend iron was silver, and to melt down coins in secret. How to grease palms, and shave a little off the top for you and yours. She'd been good at it, and Koganusan had struggled to keep the lies going after her death. Of course, by that time she'd been in way too over her head already. She barely remembered for what exactly she'd been accused of, but these lies are like a dam, and all it takes is one rock to was away for the dam to burst. She'd ran, carrying most of her possessions on her back. Modern science has, as of yet, been unable to determine the maximum carrying capacity for a dwarven peasant, and she'd made it almost to the big city of men itself before she'd faltered and had been forced to sell her beard. She's in the arena because it's the easiest way to get back on her feet, gather enough to make a profit, and get herself some dinerii behind her. And once she does, she's going back to the mountains and sinking her teeth into the nearest mineral vein and she's never going to let it go.

Preferred Arms: The dwarvish weapons of choice are hammers and picks. Mine-to-mine warfare means that anything long or that requires stabbing are practically useless. However, Koganusan was never at home in mines at the best of times, and her preferred weapon to defend her hearth and home was the khopesh, a sickle-like sword.

Still a work in progress. I should stop lying to myself already and admit that it,s pretty much finished.

[Kho]

Themes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ifQ3JRS4gqc
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=06H_6oI4EK4
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwDwSUlmVVw

Name:

Garagogarag Ogorogo (Referred to simply as 'Gar' after enslavement)

Gender:

Male

Age:

'60 Summers have we seen'

Appearance:

Before Enslavement

Garagogarag with 'Seihdhara' in both hands - unlike other Treeminds, his weapon was a two part, one part a sword-like club, the other a grand horn which let out a most staggering sound

After Enslavement

An 11 feet tall bearlike beastman, weighing at 265 kilograms. Like others of his tribe, Gar's fur colour changes shades according to the environment he inhabits, his psycho-emotional state and physical health. His body is tattooed with a unique Treemind shaman concoction, allowing it to change colour in much the same way his fur changes shades. What's more, the tattoos can also shift and move, creating an effect which can range from the terrifying to the rather confusing for outsiders - among Treeminds, it has far deeper meaning, used for mating, indirect forms of communication and others.
Like other Treeminds, he is very well-muscled and his fur is thick and rough. Due to Treemind affinity towards nature and shamanistic practices, their very bodies, over time and with great exposure to the magic of their forest and cavern homes, become imbued with a passive magic. This magic affects their fur most of all, making it extremely rough and difficult to cut. Though by no means an armour of fur, the thickness and roughness certainly provides protection against attacks, particularly attempts at cutting them. The magic also affects their perception and intellect, and one might sometimes notice a glow to Gar's eyes, which has nothing to do with an animal's natural ability to see in the dark.

Personality:

GAAARR

Garagogarag is a Treemind, bearlike beastmen who dwell in the forests and the caves. Unlike other beastmen, Treeminds are a rather more refined, dignified and intellectual subspecies. They hold dearly to their ancient traditions and ways, they revere nature and trees in particular. Though they do not worship a deity as such, they consider all life to be connected, and that life is most powerfully imbued in trees. The older the tree, the more powerful is the life within it. Garagogarag grew and flourished in this kind of society, and this as invariably affected his personality.

He reveres nature and trees in particular, all he does in life, he does to become ever closer to the great source of life. He is a very quiet creature, preferring to listen and watch. However, when he does speak, his words are short and very thoughtful, making them slightly riddle-like to outsiders. While he has spent most of his life in his homeland, among the tree and the caves and in the mountains, he has had contact with other beastmen. His curiousity means he does not give fearing outsiders much consideration, unless they give him reason to be afraid - or more likely, to be hostile. Further, his tendency to watch and listen means that he has an ability to understand other creatures even if he has no knowledge of their language or if they do not speak their mind.

Overall, a curious, rather wise and thoughtfully kind creature when he chooses to be.

However, Treeminds are not simply adorable teddy bears. Their's is a society which emphasises martial skills and strength. From a young age each Treemind must go through a ritual and is 'bonded' with a weapon which, unless a rare situation arises, stays with them for life.

Where Treeminds feel threatened, or where their tribe and their cherished homeland is in danger, they become furious monstrosities, lethal in combat and capable of rampaging until their enemies have been utterly destroyed - to their last man, woman and child. They would raise villages and towns, bring down garrisons and leave behind them a trail of blood and ruin. What makes Treeminds particularly terrifying in this regard is their unmatched discipline and organisation in war. Their ability to communicate indirectly, almost telepathically though not quite, means that even in their rage they work cohesively and look-out for one another.

Garagogarag is, in this regard, a typical Treemind. His strength and power gained him tremendous respect and allowed him to rise to the position of Tree-Claw, the most prestigious position a warrior Treemind could possess. His sense of duty to the tribe means he would go to any lengths to avenge it and bring about the downfall of its enemies and all who plot and scheme against it. Further, his sense of 'justice' with regards to destroying aggressors can at points depart from the realms of purely 'defensive' combat to an all out battle to the death or the annihilation of said 'aggressor'.

The greatest weakness of Treeminds is undoubtedly their pitifully small numbers. There is no more than one tribe of Treeminds, made up of fifty to sixty individuals in total. This has meant that they tend to be very isolationist and avoid conflict as a whole. With their small numbers and low birthrate, they cannot afford to battle endlessly, and thus they have developed a more or less pacifist way of living - any aggressive expansion is, in their view, unjustifiable. The only war which is justifiable is one against an aggressor who refuses peace. Garagogarag holds dearly to this belief, though he may find himself doing that which he is most disinclined towards...

Previous Profession:

Garagogarag was a very high-ranking member of the tribe, having risen to the position of Tree-Claw not four summers before his enslavement.
Treemind tribal hierarchy:

Tree-Cub (Unproven Youngling)
Tree-Arm/Tree-Mouth (Warrior/Hunter)
Tree-Mother/Tree-Father (Treeminds Dedicated to Raising Families)
Tree-Nourisher (Treeminds Dedicated to Supplying the Tribe with its Needs - i.e. Workers)
Tree-Claw (Chief Warrior)
Tree-Walker (Tribal Shaman)
Old-Tree (Tribal Elder)
Tree-Mind (Chief)

History:

Treemind 'Territories'

The outer red line shows the hunting grounds of the Treeminds. They cherish this land and love it much, but it is not part of their core and sacred 'homeland'. This land is where they hunt, from the coast and rivers, they hunt fish, and in the mountains and firsts and on the hills, they hunt down larger prey to feed the tribe. These hunting grounds are generally out of bounds for anyone not a warrior.
The middle, darker red line, shows the sacred 'homeland' of the Treeminds. This land is imbued with the ancient Treemind magic and every inch of it is holy and must be protected against all odds. The Treeminds do not hunt here, shedding of blood is forbidden, and all Treeminds bar Tree-Cubs can roam freely here. The huge Lake Grasidar, and north of it The Solitary Mount, are two of the three most revered places by the Treeminds (the third being Old Bark-Skin, a magnificent and archaic tree located in the inner-most circle.)
The smallest, inner-most circle, is where the tribe is settled. Their homes are located here and that is where the young are kept. At its centre is Old Bark-Skin. Many Treeminds inhabit the impressive girth of Old-Bark-Skin, particularly the Tree-Mind, the Old-Trees, the Tree-Walker and the Tree-Claw. Others also inhabit it, and the rest have their homes around it.

History

The slave wagon rocked back and forth as it made its way along the road. The horses whinnied and grunted as they clip-clopped along and the horse-master clicked his tongue at them and whipped the reins so they could go faster. The wagon was surrounded, armoured guard rode alongside it, before it and behind it. It had been a good hunt, they caught what they needed. A bearman! Yes, one of those incredibly rare monstrosities from the north! They were going to have fun with this one in the capital for sure! The horse-master smiled to himself and whipped the reins again, egging the horses on.

It had been a surprise encounter in the hills just north of Pae-Zun, quite a distance from where the creatures were usually spotted. They had managed to surround him, cutting off his path to the river and to the rest his kind. He had been curious at first, not showing any signs of fear or aggression, and this had allowed them to get quite close to him before he noticed that something was off. Dressed in all his leaves and strange crown of branches and and horns, he looked a rather fearsome sight, especially with those strange markings slithering all over his body, shifting from a threatening black to a menacing, angry dark red. The horses had not liked that at all, but the men managed to keep them under control. The creatures were usually spotted with clubs or other such weapons, but this one was empty-handed. All the better!

There was silence and stillness for a while as the men stood watching the creature, and it stood watching them. They had studied these creatures for a while before coming, asking a few scholars back in the capital, working out a strategy to capture one. The horse-master had called the mage, and the child, forward and told him to do what he was being paid for. It took a little while, but then the child walked forward and began circling the creature, the mage muttering all the while. The creature circled too, wary but curious of this tiny creature they had sent forth. The child muttered something, a little, high pitched sound, and the creature gave a grunt in response. They both sat, the creature doing so in a rather mesmirised, unnatural way.

'He's caught!' the mage hissed. With that, the horse-master gestured to his men and they charged. The creature looked up, groggy and slow. It tried to get up, but it was too slow. A great mace landed on its head, sending the creature crashing down. But it was not out yet, rolling over, it grabbed the child and got groggily to its feet, attempting to adopt a fighting stance. Strike after strike, the men did not cease. The creature seemed to be purposefully keeping the child away from their weapons - but there was no way it was doing it purposefully. Definitely the magic getting to it, the horse-master convinced himself as he watched the affray. A few men were sent flying due to the wild swipes of the monster, but soon enough it was on its knees. The chains were thrown, bringing it down even further, a muzzle was placed on its mouth - after two failed attempts lost a few men their fingers and hands. It was amusing for the horse-master to watch, this beast would surely be a spectacle in Lairea.

It was dragged into the slave wagon, a run of the mill jail wagon they'd had resized and strengthened for this particular hunt. They didn't want the creature running away if it managed to break the chains. The mage wiped some sweat from his brow.
'As we agreed, I'll be getting half of what you sell it for,' the mage said, looking towards the horse-master, 'as we agreed, Tivullus.'
The horse-master gave him a cold look. Glancing towards a few of his men, he gave a quick nod. Before the mage knew what was upon him, the tip of a sword erupted from his chest. There was a moment of calm before the mage started shaking uncontrollably. His killer let out a hair-raising shriek and tried to let go of the hilt, but to no avail. Before long, both fell dead. The hired guard had been fried to death by some kind of protective spell the mage had cast upon himself. It must have been that strange red amulet. Tivullus looked carefully and found that, to his satisfaction, the strange stone in the amulet was now a dull black. It was as he thought.

'Come on, let's get out of here. Throw the kid in with the thing and let us be on our way!' the child was thrown in, the creature had its muzzle removed and they set-off. A few of the men complaining about broken bones or missing hands had to be cared for. If it was up to Tivullus he would have had them dealt with more permanently, but there was no need to antagonise those he depended on for protection.

The journey back took a few days ride, but the weather was good and no one stopped them - any bandits who may have considered it clearly decided otherwise upon seeing the heavily armed guard and the monstrosity they were carrying.

***

'Rare 'un this! Will bring 'uge crowds no doubt! C'mon, 'oo wants it?!'
There were shouts and screams as the crowd fought over the exotic creature.
'Does 'at kid come with i'?' one of the bidders managed to out-shout the rest.
'Yes, yes, the kid comes with i'! Can't tcha see i' won't le' i' go? C'mon, c'mon, 'oo wan's i'?!' once more the roar of the crowd rose. Bit by bit bidders departed as they gave up. It was three who ended up remaining in the bid. A rather plumb, pink, bald man who was dressed in clothes far too extravagant even for a wealthy Laireanian. The other was a man leaning on a cane and banging a wooden leg to the stone floor every time he shouted a sum of money. His nose was hooked and his body, though by no means as large as the former, was not exactly a model of human muscularity. The third wore a huge black cloak and all that was visible of him was a long white beard which extended as far down as his waist. The one leaning on the cane came out on top.

***

Garagogarag did not struggle much. He knew he was far from home, he could no longer sense his people. The child was still seated on his shoulder, even as these strange little creatures stripped him of all he wore. He was glad he had buried Seihdhar before he ventured beyond the hunting grounds. He had been curious. Meeting other beastmen in the hunting grounds, trading with them and interacting was interesting, but he could never help but feel rather limited.

From his youngest days he had dwelled in the tribal lands, his parents reared him there and the tribe cared for him, but he thirsted for more. What lay beyond the tribal lands? What creatures? What life? Perhaps the source of all life had led him here, had led this strange youngling to him, which sat on his shoulder even now, quiet and unperturbed. Was it not a strange little creature? It spoke sometimes, but other than that did little else. Garagogarag could feel strange energies from it, but he did not understand them - they were very similar to the man they had killed, the one who had been muttering. Perhaps this child was related to him in some way, or perhaps he had been apprenticed to him, in much the same way a Tree-Cub is apprenticed to a Tree-Walker.

The journey here had been long, they had given him very little to eat and he had spent most of his time communicating with the little thing. It muttered in a strange tongue, but Garagogarag understood and responded, and the child seemed to understand him too. It had mostly asked him about his life, and he had obliged.

We are Garagogarag Ogorogo. We are the mighty Tree-Claw. Emerged We from Our Tree-Mother's life-womb many summers ago. We played with other Tree-Cubs. We wrestled. We bested them all. We grew.

When We grew into our tenth summer, We were bonded with Our beautiful Seihdhara. She was waiting for Us by The Solitary Mount. She called to Us during the bonding. We answered. She inspired Us. We fashioned Her. Our precious Seihdhara.

We hunted together, Our Seihdhara and We. We bested all other Tree-Arms, Our Seihdhara and We. We bested Our Master Tree-Claw Horaroh Oharaho, Our Seihdhara and We. We were the Tree-Claw, Our Seihdhara and We.

Many times did We travel. Man places did We see. The Thunderhoofs We befriended. The Skytalons We honoured. We traded much. We offered them wood from the Sleeping-Trees. They offered Us tales and knowledge. They taught Us much. We were good students. Other beastmen We did not approach. Too far.

We grew. Restless We grew. We left Our beautiful Seihdhara. We buried Her beneath the Sacred Earth. The Life led Us away from Her. She is far away now. The Life parted Us from Her. We will to Her one day return. We must as the Life commands obey. We must Grow.

With his crown of branches and horns taken, and his kilt of leaves and bark removed, nothing covering him but his fur, Gar now moves to welcome a brave new world. He will Grow.

Preferred Arms:

Unlike other beastmen, Treeminds have a preference to blunt weapons. While their bodies are undeniably lethal, they fashion great clubs and other such weapons out of ancient trees in their sacred homelands, which have succumbed to the final sleep. These weapons are precious to them and it is not unusual for a Treemind to form a bond with their weapon which lasts a life time. These bonds are extremely intimate and difficult to understand for outsiders, even other beastmen.
Gar, not wishing to have his precious Seihdhara endangered along with him, buried her in a place only he knows before setting off beyond the bounds of Treemind territory, where he was subsequently captured. He will return to her one day.