Ophans of Whitehill
Ullr of Clan Kraska
Barbarian in need of a bath
Intro Blurb: 10
Intro Story: 50
Adventure Logs (10xp per log): x8 = 80
Game 1: Funeral: 62
Game 2: Zombie Hand: 140
Game 3: Goblins: 140
Game 4: Gypsy Inn to Kenku: 200
Game 5: Kenku & Harpy: 0
Game 6: Into Deep Talon: 575
Game 7: Out of Deep Talon: 1075
Game 8: Into IronCrest: 178
PbEmail: Black Marble Throne: 500
Game 9: Into IronCrest Prison: 780
Level = 4
Next Level = 6500
Uses Battle Axe & Shield
Also War Hammer, Hand Axes and Javelins
- Can be removed/remote from others to study and chronicle the events of the day & fighting styles I observed
- Tend to be rather crude & socially inept
- Bathe? Why bother! I’m too busy learning & practicing
- Learn the BEST fighting style for every situation
- I will reclaim the caves of Clan Kraska by becoming the best fighter ever
- I am VERY uncomfortable in social settings—unless I am discussing weapons & martial styles
You have listened to every tale of martial prowess you can, be it from bards, bazars or bars. Thanks to the catalog of legends in your head, you often know what local hero resides nearby and bits of trivia about him or her. You often know the most favorable manner to address these powerful warriors. On reaching a civilized area where you don’t know of a legendary hero, you are adept at ferretting out the tales you seek.
ULLR Back Story 1
Leaving the stability and security of Whitehill Home was one of the most difficult decisions for the dwarf. But due to his age and the gentle urgings of Master Koomer, Ullr knew it was time to strike out on his own. Earn a living or at least survive as an adult—for he was no longer young now that he had passed his 45th year.
Turning back one final time, he lovingly gazed at the buildings and courtyards that had been his home for so long. His dogged memory brought back the first time he looked upon this once strange place—and he chuckled to himself, joyfully remembering having tears in his eyes at that time too.
“PLEASE stay close Ullr!” Master Koomer’s voice almost rose to a shouting level as he reached for the shaking hand of the small dwarven boy for what seemed like the 100th time. “We are nearly there.” The voice returning to its calm level.
“But I want to stay in my home—my caves—MY MOUNTAIN” the shrill reply came from the child, pulling his hand away from the taller human. Ullr knew he could use his great strength to hurt the man and run, but deep inside, he was very scared and instinctively trusted this person.
Master Koomer stepped in front of the short humanoid and squatted down, looking into his bloodshot eyes and wiping the tears of sadness and rage from his already bearded face. He placed his hands on the exceptionally broad shoulders of the dwarf.
“You cannot live by yourself Ullr. It is dangerous. It’s a miracle you have survived this long on your own.” The older man gestured behind him, “The Whitehill Home will be your new home—with cooked food, humanoid friends and shelter. Not the kind of rugged shelter you are used to, but a home with a bed of feathers and linen sheets, not rocks and sack cloth.”
“But what about Bjardyr? Who will take care of him?” the child quietly asked, sorrowful tears filling his eyes again.
“The old grizzly has joined his spirit family.” The man said, recalling how he came across the large bear practically holding the dwarf when he found him—its lifeless body shielding the frail and hungry child. Luckily the raiding gnolls had not seen nor searched for the boy under bear’s body and left the dead beast alone. Its grey fur must have been a deterrent from them skinning the grizzly for its pelt.
During their days journey back from Ullr’s cavernous home, Master Koomer learned about the boy’s unenviable plight. His early years among his clan were happy and filled with learning experiences—metal working and weapon usage, stonework and dwarven culture, and due to his extraordinary strength, many of the physical & vigorous tasks of the tribe were assigned to Ullr—which he willingly accepted.
Days when the young dwarf was not working, he would go off on his own, exploring the numerous caves around his subterranean village. On one such trip, Ullr came upon a sleuth of bears in a large den. He watched the two larger grizzlies move carefully around the three smaller black cubs—then frolic and roll with them. They then ushered the young out a long corridor that appeared to go outside to train them in hunting, eating and protecting themselves. Ullr was reminded how his parents had shown him how to play, but also how to learn, work and take care of himself. The youthful dwarf returned as often as he could to observe the bears.
Upon one of his returns trips, Ullr sensed something was not right even before he peered into the dark den. The first thing he noticed was a multitude of tracks in the dusty cavern. Closer inspection revealed them to be gnoll footprints. He quieted his steps even more and cautiously peered into the den that housed the bears.
A bloody mess of bodies assaulted his vision. Parts of gnolls and orcs lay scattered about the cave along with black fur that no doubt belonged to the grizzlies. Movement caught Ullrs eye as he looked to see three large gnolls carrying the remains of one of the adult grizzlies out of the cavern. Blinded by the rage he felt, the adolescent dwarf grabbed his two hand axes and charged into the den. He hurled both light weapons before the foul dog-faced creatures had time to react. His intended targets collapsed to the ground, sharp dwarven blades embedded in their skull. This caused their load to fall and knocked the third, largest gnoll off his feet. The nimble dwarf pulled his trusted battle axe for his back harness and leapt upon the fallen beast. A mighty overhead swing quickly ended the vile creature’s existence.
Ullr slumped to the cold stone floor, breathing heavily as his heart felt like it was pounding in his throat. He vision seemed to be cleared by the tears he shed. Looking over the dead animals, he could not believe what had happened, his heart broken by the loss of his “friends”. But then a spark of hope filled his spirit. Finally able to look around more carefully, he only spied two smaller bodies among the corpses. He joyfully sprang to his feet and began anxiously looking around. In the silence of the cavern, he first heard it—then after walking down a very narrow side passage—his darkvision saw it. Behind a large boulder with the narrowest of cracks on one side was the outline of a small black fur ball.
The strong dwarf used the handle of his fine axe to pry the enormous bolder far enough away from the wall for him to crawl in toward the cub. When he did so, he was rewarded with a brutal claw attack along the left side of his face. Fighting the urge to yell in pain—he deftly grabbed both front claws of the bear and scrambled back out of the small space.
Using the gentlest voice, Ullr whispered to the scared cub, “It’s ok Bjardyr. It’s OK. I’ll take care of you.”, as it unsuccessfully tried to climb up his arms and chest. Sensing the overpowering strength but gentleness of the humanoid, the small bear seemed to relax a bit and allowed himself to be carried by the dwarf. Next, the two new companions headed back to the underground village. Ullrs overwhelming emotions caused him to forget about his facial injury—leaving a nasty scar that exists even to this day.
Once the young dwarf explained to the clan what had happened, they accepted the cub much the way the cub accepted Ullr, with a loyalty and trust that would surpass all logic & life. Master Koomer suspected that when the same band of gnolls & orcs overran and slaughtered Ullrs entire clan some 20 years later, the old bear proved that devotion and love.
Ullr purposely gripped the handle of his heavy axe with his large hands-it’s worn handle giving him a momentary semblance of resolve, and he turned away from Whitehill Home. Looking north, he took the first mighty steps back to his REAL Home.
Ullr’s first few months out of Whitehill was spent traveling back to the caves that once were the home of his clan. He knew he would need to be careful as the gnolls that had overrun and wiped out his family may now be living there. His thoughts were of his dwarven family and grizzly companion, Bjardyr as he cautiously made his way into the dark & silent caverns.
Taking an old passage too narrow for the vile dog-faces creatures, the barbarian made his way to a ledge that overlooked the main chasm of his former home. He watched with extreme interest at the lifestyles and more importantly, fighting styles of the hated beasts. He was sure to take detailed notes on what he saw over the next few weeks—surviving on iron rations and food stuffs he had gathered during his travels here. After a time, Ullr knew he would have to seek out training from others to specialize his techniques and gain a upper hand if he wanted to reclaim his home some day.
Leaving the mountain caves for what he hoped was not a long time, Ullr headed West to seek out fighting champions and heroes of the largest cities to the smallest hamlets to hone his craft. While he was successful in some places, the nomadic & solitary traveler found he was often shunned and turned away due to the lack of cleanliness and stench he gave off. On the rare occasion he was allowed to train with a swordsmith, he was asked to sleep in the barn or outskirts of town. Or worse: Take a BATH. Reluctantly, the dwarf would clean himself as little as possible, but enough that his weaponry lessons could go on. Eventually he traveled much of The Wedge over the next ten years or so when he received a letter from his old friend, Master Koomer. Ullr packed up his meager belongings and immediately headed back to Whitehill Home