Username: Zectorman
Character Name: Baldric Tannfelder
Race/Species: Halfling
Gender: Male
Age: 26
Career (if any) and Skills: Thievery (Halfling passive as far as im concerned) Not a bad cook (great by Human standards) Barber/Surgeon (don’t rely too much on that last bit)
Weapons: a “ Sword” of black iron taken from a Chaos dwarf lord (The size of a dagger for humans) (Not all is at it seems with the weapon) A Sling (hidden in his trousers)
Attire: a simple necklace that belonged to a loved one. A worn wool smock, homespun trousers and a plain belt.
Equipment/Other : Mostly stolen goods (From gold pieces to other nice things)
Physical Description (as detailed as possible please, pictures not accepted.): 3 foot 9 and weigh 80 pounds. Very curly hair of chestnut, hazel eyes and a fair complexion. Right handed. Soft voice
Mental Description/Personality: Once happy go lucky like most of his kind, now replaced by a hollow quiet in his demeanor. Broken for a time by his former masters, the hopeless soul broke again when death faced him, having to murder to save his own life which somehow he still cared about. Once not caring replaced by a fidgety skittish attitude, like an animal cornered. Though agitated he is quick to smile still although forced, and blows off any inquiry as to whether he is ok or not. How could he ever answer that question again and not reply with a resounding no. He will never be alright again. His world was shattered and now replaced by one he does not understand and is increasingly becoming chaotic and frightening. He will either reforge himself or break in the oncoming days.
Background/History: Baldric was a normal fellow for most of his life. A barber and “surgeon” by trade he mostly treated stomach illnesses and other similar ailments maybe having to treat a broken arm or too some someone falling off of a Dawg from drinking too much. A happy simple life living in a home with his Mother Father, 5 sisters, 1 brother and plenty of other relatives was not too shabby for a Halfling like him. Fun and merriment with the occasional run in with imperial law and some bad luck were the day to day for Baldric Tannfelder.
Unfortunately for Baldric his bad luck struck at the worst time. On a rainy day far to the east of the moot there was said to be some of the best fresh vegetables one could ask for from the human farms. Sadly this very farm has come under attack from a roving band of Beastmen, butchering and eating not only the vegetables but the people as well. As he hid in the fields his allergies acted up and singled himself out in the herd of beastmen within the fields. Though as they were about to kill him it has seemed the beast men had had their fill of meat and this mere morsel would do little to top off their meal. Instead he and the rest of the survivors were roped together and taken farther east…to be sold for weapons in the Dark Lands…
Such sights were seen crossing the mountains, such horrors untold. While the Beastmen were monsters, the Chaos Dawi-Zharr were monstrous. Slave drivers, while the Beastmen would pull you against your will, the Dawi-Zharr would whip the backs of their property, regardless if you could move faster or not, or whether you “Deserved” it or not. No, it just seemed they took a simple pleasure in their slaves’ misery. The Hobgoblin taskmasters and the laughter of their dark masters were all that Baldric would know for months as they crossed the dark lands and started his “work” . A halfling meant some half decent cooking according to his master, and cook he did; for his masters and for the slaves. Good meats for his masters while the slaves would eat whatever he was told to cook, including the slaves that could not make it…
Such a horror, the multitude of lash marks against his back tells a story of how he resisted his masters in their orders to do what he did to the bodies. He did not resist very long. He could never face the other slaves after that. The personal cook to the slavers, the quiet Halfling. This continued for weeks, months, years. He lost count after the many hauls back and forth between the Dawi cities/forts and the border.
Though broken he did pick up the Dawi-language. Spoken between his masters and their Hobgoblin lackeys, and a sliver of how they thought and what they worshipped. He had seen their black temples, the screaming bull in the center of them. Every time he dreamed he saw its blazing eyes and the roar from its gaping maw. Life became simple, and the beatings lessoned as he quieted, allowed being in the presence of his Dawi-Masters from time to time without drawing too much ire.
Then came the raid upon the Fort he was on, escaped slaves, taking vengeance on their cruel masters. But the Master did not want his slaves to rebel, he started to murder each and every one of the poor chained souls before the escapees could reach I’m. His master’s black knife dug deep into the hearts of each one of his personal slaves until he reached Baldric. That’s when his bad luck finally turned as his master became distracted by the noise just outside the door, turning his head round to look. Baldric, fearing for his life, adrenaline pumping into his veins grabbed the sword out of his master’s hands. As his master rounded his head back, it took him a moment to notice the weapon missing and then the beady eyed Halfling wielding it. And before the Dawi lord could speak, his throat was cut, looking down to see the blood pulling at his feet. He reached out to grab Baldric, but the half mad Halfling screamed and plunged the knife into his master’s chest.
Baldric left the room, his master dead, his slave companions dead too. Free at last, with nothing but the cloths on his back, and the dark iron dagger in his hand. Over the cries of death and fighting from the fighting all around him he heard laughter. It came from behind him, within the room he just left, he turned dagger in hand pointed forward to prepare for whatever was still within. But he saw nothing, only the now lifeless corpses on the floor. If that was not disturbing enough, Baldric was not sure whether the laughter even came from the room, or the back of his own mind.
Praefectus
Re: Warhammer Fantasy: One Thread RPG
The Legislator of 'Lol'
. Siegmund's fits because his is magical
Dux Limitis
Primicerius
Pure-Blood
Vicarius
Tribunus
Originally Posted by Tim1988
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