Chaotic Good Male Human
Level 15 Ranger
Level 1 Barbarian
Level 2 Prestige - Planar Champion
Str 10 Dex 22 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 14 Hit Points: 168
I was born to a whore. My mother was a kind woman, forced by fate and love into a life she had never imagined as a girl. Born into a family of standing, she defied her family and ran away with a soldier she had fallen in love with. She never told me the man's name. Neither did she give me a family name, for they had cast her out for her defiance - and so I took her last name as my own surname.
However, the soldier she had fallen in love with died in an early battle with the forces of the Dark One, before she had been married to him. It would have
probably mattered not, for there were many widows in those days. So, my mother found herself alone, without money or friends in an army camp in the wilderness. She had few skills, so turned to a life of prostitution, following the camp along. I never realized this until after she had passed on. I was born several years after the man she ran away with had died, I later figured, so I guess I was the spawn of some soldier visitor, unknown to me. My mother was probably also not sure of the man who was my father -- it could have been any one of a number of men, I suppose.
Surprisingly, I was an only child, cared for and loved by my mother. I spent my time growing up living in army camps, always moving around. I learned how to get around the camp. I also spent a lot of time wandering around the forests that would often be nearby the camp (although not going too far, of course). It was then that I learned how to skulk around in the forests, hunting small animals with my sling and avoiding what stray monsters were around. I would often-times be sent out to wander the camp at night, although I didn't understand the reasons for it at the time. Like many children, I enjoyed spying on the soldiers, and dreaming of being one when I grew up. I could tell that it was a tense and dangerous time, and often fantasized that I could become a great warrior when I grew up, and smash the enemies who were threatening us.
I was even allowed to help in some limited ways. In a war, especially one such as that, all hands were pressed into service. I was but a boy, but still I was given the task of helping to bandage battle wounds -- to staunch the bleeding and help the man survive until further help could be given. It was not always a fun or easy job, but it was not a horrible or arduous one either. Very few seriously injured men ever made it back as far as the camp.
I often used these skills to help small animals that I would run across while exploring nearby woods. Many a squirrel and bird owed its life to my small amount of care. I often failed to give any help, especially at first, but as time went on a got better at helping injuries such as cuts and broken bones to heal.
However, the realities of life soon intruded. Nearing the final stages of the war with the Dark One, the camp was attacked in force, a surprise attack that I can only imagine used magic to succeed. The army of the United Kingdoms was decimated. While the more powerful creatures fell upon the warriors of the army, mopping up the noncombatants was left to the relatively weaker creatures -- ogres, trolls, bugbears and the like. I still cannot think about that day with my heart clenching. The sight I beheld, as two trolls slowly and painfully killed my mother, I cannot repeat in detail, for luckily my mind has blocked the worst of the memory. I had just passed my 14th year at the time. That day I learned what fighting and war were really about -- not glory and victory, but death and misery for all who participate. War truly is a hell on earth.
I managed to escape an join up with the small remnant of the United Kingdoms army that regrouped in the west. I suppose I stayed with the army camp still because it the only home that I had ever known. I tried to live in the camp still, doing odd jobs when I could (which wasn't very often) and skulking around and stealing what I needed to live. I wasn't very successful, though, because I was caught after a short time by an officer. Fortunately for me, he recognized some potential in me, and offered my a "choice." Death for stealing from the army during wartime, or joining the army and training as a scout. Naturally I chose to live, and so began my training as an army scout. Not long after I was so drafted, the war with the Dark One inexplicably ended, and his armies scattered -- ceasing to be an organized threat. They were still a threat in the form of smaller war bands, however.
For the next few years, my life in the army consisted of helping to track down and eliminate these smaller threats to the people of our land. There were a great many of them. I was trained in the use of swords and a short bow -- standard equipment for an army scout. My skills at hiding and observing the enemy were sharpened. I was taught how to orient myself so that I could find my way back to the camp from nearly anywhere. In addition, my small skill as a healer of animals was found out, and I was given additional instruction in how to apply these skills to my fellow man. My primary role was scouting, and when I was not doing that I healed my fellow soldiers. I did not participate in pitched battles, as a rule. The shortage of men in the United Kingdoms army because of the war with the Dark One meant that many people performed multiple duties.
But a couple of years later, everything changed. For some unknown reason, even though we had been at peace with them since antiquity, the elves to the northeast of us attacked suddenly and for no reason. We were hard pressed, and the searches for left-over war bands of the Dark One ceased. We were being driven back, even with our full attention dedicated to the elves.
But to me even something more profound happened. My meager abilities as a scout (I had never considered them meager before) were fine against unorganized bands of orcs and goblins, but they were no match for a well-trained elven scout. It was not long after they attacked that I was caught out by one (or more -- I don't know), and took a well-placed arrow. It pierced my chest, not a couple of finger-widths from my heart. The enemy scout, thinking his job done, raced off, leaving me to die. I could not get the arrow out by myself, and so I dragged myself back to camp with the arrow still through me. To this day I don't know how I did it. When I got back, I was a mess. I had lost a great deal of blood, and the arrow had been jostled so much that it was badly inflamed. It took a few months in a bed to recover from that. After recovering enough to rise from my stupor, I swore that I would not go out again to be slaughtered. My superiors, short as they were on manpower, would not let me go, nor let me stay and function as a healer in the camp. So, the next time I went out on patrol, I gathered up all my back pay, and never went back to the army. It was a hard thing to do, deserting my comrades, but the fear of death had been put in my by that elven scout.
After leaving the army, I headed east, rounding the Bay of Biengyar. I followed the coast line, trying to put distance between myself and anyone who might recognize me from the United Kingdoms army. I worked odd jobs, and lived off of the forest. Times were not easy, though.
Eventually I made my way to Tel'Akbar, the greatest city that I had ever seen. I had no taste for cities, preferring the clean air and quietness that can be found only in the wilderness. So I found a place outside the city walls to squat, made myself a cabin, and proceeded to spend a year in peace. Work was hard to come by, since I didn't have many usable skills. Fortunately I survived due to my hunting skills, and the occasional odd job as a caravan guard. I also had my back pay from the army, but it would not last forever.
However, during the summer something happened and the caravans stopped moving. Work dried up, and I realized how precarious my position was here. In addition, I had never spent very long in one place, and I was starting to feel closed in but my surroundings.
In the fall, the caravans started again...
Personality and Ambitions
Therod is fanatically committed to revenging himself and his mother upon the troll race. This may cause him to take risks -- primarily when engaged in combat with trolls or when there are trolls nearby. However, he may take risks in order to gain powers or equipment that will help him in his quest}
Therod is generally a practical sort. He is not overly intelligent, but has a good degree of common sense, and has learned to be
cautious. He will generally not take a risk unless he judges there is no reasonable alternative. His strong degree of caution has resulted from his near death experience while a scout in the United Kingdoms army. It has left him fairly afraid of taking risks.}
Therod does not worship a particular god, although he has a healthy respect for them. He is not of a philosophical nature, but enjoys and deeply respects nature -- in a quasi-spiritual, but not intellectual
level. He views himself as a part of the cycle of natural things, and does not judge dangerous animals as evil -- merely as dangerous. Therefore he does not go out of his way to dispatch dangerous animals, and may even help them if circumstances allow him to, and the animal needs it. For example, if he dispatches a dangerous animal like a bear, and discovers that it was a female with a young cub, he will care for the young cub and set it free, not keeping it as a pet or attempting to gentle it. This will be viewed as many as somewhat foolish, and Therod will have no intellectual justification for his actions, only that it feels like the right thing to do. As he rises in level, and gains his understanding of nature lore, he will understand that he is attempting to maintain the balance of nature.
Therod believes in loyalty to ones comrades, as much as is possible. Much of this has been fostered by the community feel of
living in the army for so long, and the interdependence that such an envirnoment causes. As time goes on, he may begin to feel less need to maintain loyalty to his fellow humans, if they betray him, and may instead begin to trust in animals, who have simpler and less devious natures. This process his already begun, with his need to desert from the United Kingdoms army. He justifies this action, blaming it on his commanding officers.
Therod, while likable, is generally blunt. On occasion he sees the need for tact, but his relationship and respect for nature and animals has made him dislike the need for lying or deceptions in order to save face. He prefers the simplicity of saying what he feels, and expects to hear from the others the basic and simple truths that tries to tell. He will also sometimes become impatient with other's foolishness.
Therod has two, deeply conflicting desires. First, he is driven towards his goal of killing trolls, and, to that end, gaining
power. However, he is naturally very cautious, and somewhat timid, from his nearly being killed by the elves. The thought of dying frightens him in its own right, as well as the failure of his self-imposed quest. Hence when placed in circumstances where both desires are pulling at him strongly, he may exhibit slightly (or in very rare cases extremely) erratic and irrational behavior. He will always deny such occurances.}
Generally, Therod's primary drive is to assuage his guilty conscience over having witnessed his mother's death. To this end he is driven towards fighting trolls -- even to reaping many, many troll's lives. He will go on adventures, perform riskier actions, and take more decisive actions in pursuit of this life-long quest.
He will not perform as party leader, and will typically bow to the will of whoever is the leader (following his military brain-washing) as long as such actions don't seem overly foolish to him, or conflict with his obsession to kill trolls. When he does see the way to do
something, he will not hesitate to speak up if necessary, but will often just perform whatever action he deems necessary without consulting others, as he is used to his own independence and freedom of action.