Nomadic Gypsy-esque Story-Teller Skald: Thin, Pale, Pale blue hair, Warm blue Eyes, Light blue Freckles, Very attractive. :)
Name: Mysti Sno
Race: Engro; Rank: Novice; Advances: 4 (View Adventures)
Charisma: +3, +1 if seen as an Outsider; Glory: 0;
Pace: 6; Parry: 5; Toughness: 5 (1)
- Agility d6, Smarts d10, Strength d4, Spirit d8, Vigor d6
- d6 Knowledge Monster: Undead (Free)
- d8 Riding
- d6 Fighting
- d8 Song Magic
- d4 Healing
- d6 Notice
- d8 Streetwise
- d4 Throwing
- d6 Stealth (Racial)
- Outsider (Racial)
- Small (Racial): Size -1 and Toughness -1
- One Arm (Major)
- Over Confident (Major)
- Luck (Racial)
- Sneaky (Racial): Stealth
- Spirited (Racial): Spirit begins at d6, can be raised to d12+3
- Skald (Song Magic)
- +1 Charisma
- +1 to Common Knowledge
- +1 to Knowledge rolls relating to Riddles, History, Folklore, etc
- Beast Master
- Percussive Voice (Stun + Air Trapping; combined Opposed Roll) – Range: 12/24/48; Medium Burst – Opposed Vigor rolls or be Shaken. If a target fails by a raise, they also fall prone.
- Cimmerian Shadow Song (Fear + Darkness Trapping) – Range: Smarts x2; Large Burst – Spirit roll (Raise -2) or fail – if target fails they are panicked, Wild Cards see fear chart, and are at -2 to all sight related actions.
- Mimic – Range 8; Maintained – Duplicate 1 spell per casting. (See pg 88 in HF).
- Healing – Touch – Effect: Removes 1 wound (Raise removes 2 wounds). (See pg 114 in SW).
- Short Sword (Cheap, Penetrating) – Damage STR+d6; Armor Piercing +1 vs. all armor types, WT: 1
- Boot Spikes – Damage d4+STR.
- 1 Short Sword (Cheap, Penetrating) – Damage STR+d6; AP 1 vs all armor types
- 0 Boot Spikes
- 1 Furs
- 0 Leather Shirt
- 0 1 weeks rations
- 0 Bedroll
- 0 Backpack
- 0 Life-draining Amulet
- 1 Bag of Various Alchemical Devices
- Auld Saxa
- Black Tongue
- Race: White Wolf with Glowing Green Eyes; Rank: Novice; Advances: 0
- Pace: 8; Parry: 5; Toughness: 4
- Agility d8, Smarts d6 (A), Strength d6, Spirit d6, Vigor d6
- d6 Fighting
- d6 Intimidation
- d10 Notice
- d6 Tracking
- 1 Saddle
- Fleet-Footed – Roll d10 when running.
- Go For The Throat – On attacks that hit with a raise, hits in least armored part.
- Size -1
- Bite – Damage d4+STR
The Mysteri of Mysti Sno:
It was a chill filled night when it happened, in more ways than one. Howls echoed through the night fog and screams of terror shattered the clouds, an unknown adventurer was born and a legend started… But I’m getting ahead of myself, let me start closer to the beginning… I grew up in a small nomadic pack of Engros called Mountain Riders, known for the distances they traveled and the mountain spine they frequented. Around 13, I started my training as a Skald. For most of my life, the fluffy tales of the wilds and gentle stories of magic where all I knew. I was taught stories of polar bears and the icy glaciers of afar. These were the stories I was taught to tell and loved, but now dream of and dread at the same time. Around 15, I started my apprenticeship with a songstress known as Jaden Lilly and finished at around age 18. I am now 25 and about to reveal a story to you that is both a miracle, and a curse. It truly is The Mysteri of Mysti Sno. It started when I was 17, only a year before I completed my training. I had two arms at the time and had never seen a wolf before. He was tall, for an Engro, and handsome. His name was Evergreen Prine, but I called him Eve. He was known in my pack as being a trouble maker that delved into things he shouldn’t. In his clan, he was an outcast, for he didn’t follow the ways of the Engro tribes and didn’t keep their strictest beliefs, for he thrived for the dead… And so did I. Together we scoured the mountains, stalking the undead creations that infiltrated our lands. Eve and I learned their language together and started telling our ghost stories instead of the tales of old we were taught. We started telling the stories of the undead we were watching. They fascinated us… Until that fateful night… My master was scolding my, yet again, for my behavior and the creepy stories I told. But I liked them. They were more thrilling than tales of elf and caribou, and far more fascinating than the crusty old tales she told of fairies. The stories Eve and I told were new and, though mostly embellished, gripping. My master didn’t approve of Eve. No one did. So Eve and I started sneaking out to do our studies of the undead. We lived double lives. By day, we were apprentices, I a Skald, him an alchemist. By night, we were both scholars of the undead. Night, after night we would sneak out to study them, their habits, their language. We gave them names and sometimes even pretended to be undead so we could walk among them. Some, we even got so close, that we could talk with them… It was just about dawn, one morning, when we decided to head back to our respective tribes. We had stayed up all night listening to the sounds of the undead shuffle back and forth. The sun was illuminating the snow and making the icicles glisten when both tribes sprang upon us. They charged right for us, or so we thought. Just as they reached striking distance from us, they kept running past. We turned around in horror to see a massacre at hand. We had not realized that a swarm of undead had been following us and now our tribes were slaughtering them. We screamed at them as they chopped off the heads of our specimens. But then our beloved specimens started eating our tribes. We had forgotten what they were really capable of until we saw the carnage they were causing. We joined our brethren to defeat the monstrosities. I used my song magic and Eve threw potions, but there were too many of them. My clan fought with sword and song. Blades clanged all around and battle cries rang out. Eve’s clan threw potions of fire and beat the enemies with bare fists. There was a whole gaggle of undead that were attaching us. Many of both clans perished, but still Eve and I fought on, side by side. We both had received several wounds, but then, Eve got bitten… My world stopped. I lunged forward, attacking his attacker with a two handed swing of my blade. Just as I was about to make contact, I heard it. The shriek of a necromantic warrior right by my ear and felt his sword slice through my shoulder. My left arm dangled by a flap of skin as I haphazardly brought my sword down on the monster… And Eve. It was too late. My world was spinning. I was loosing blood. I stumbled, sword swinging wildly from my still attached arm. And then it went black, and I fell. I should have died, but I didn’t. I should have been killed, but I wasn’t. I could hear myself breathing, no wait, that’s not me. I could feel myself being dragged and torn at. It was the undead, the creatures that had fascinated my over the past few months. I opened my eyes, there were no undead in sight. I looked to my left, and there he was. The great white wolf with glowing green eyes ripped my loosely attached arm off in one final wrench of his head. I felt nothing. He ate my arm and licked my wound. I reached up with the last bit of strength I could muster and smacked the wolf in the head with my sword that I was miraculously still holding. I hit him as hard as I could until he wasn’t moving. Then I lied still. Feeling. My breathing and the snow start to fall. Then, I felt myself being carried and I whispered for someone to take the wolf. Half of the clans survived. They had been making trips back and forth between camp and the battle ground, gathering the mostly living. They had carried me back to camp, but it was too late to save the arm. During my recovery, I focused on my Skald training with my master and kept my eyes on my prize, the white wolf. I had never seen a wolf such as this one, and was determined to make him mine, after all, the trade is only fair. It was my arm for his servitude. After I completed my training, I paid a man to train him for me, and named the wolf Aerow. I rode him and told stories of our journeys together. And that’s how I ended up resting here, one arm and a wolf, the legend, and the curse. And now you have read, The Mystery of Mysti Snow.