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Description
Dwarven Mercenary Rogue OC: Character Sheet

Name: Brokk Saltdrinker

Age: 31
Height: 4 ft 11
Race/Species: Dwarf
Gender: Male

Physical Appearance: Pinkish skin, light blue eyes, stubby nose (broken) and a small scar under his left eye. Brokk has a short black beard, plaited at the bottom, and shoulder-length black hair; however, the top of his head is bald. Strong arms, muscular, and medium-size hands; his skin is hard and his palms generally a little clammy. His face is somewhat weathered (though due to past experiences).

Clothing: Blue tunic and brown leather chaps; brown boots.

Misc Items: Amulet of Moradin, father of the Dwarf race; all Dwarves worship him as they follow his laws, that all must seek glory, both for themselves in history and for the making of a family in the future. No matter what path they follow, all Dwarves find their way into his light.

Personality: Brokk is something of a silent type, but when he does open his mouth, it is for an important reason, whether that be to order an ale and a piece of meat, or to point out a certain fact. Brokk contradicts himself sometimes, going with one path before arguing over whether to choose an alternate one. His patience is not the best, therefore the slight annoyance is set to make him snap, and this is hardly helped by the fact that he is a heavy drinker. Despite this, true to most Dwarves, Brokk can still put it away better than any man, so alcohol is hardly a weakness. Brokk has a soft spot for beautiful women, and as such can be taken in by the sight of many an attractive lady, though he is more often than not too shy to say a word.

History: Since Brokk had been a young lad, he had always dreamt of adventure; he was, like his family, a devout follower of the code set down by Moradin. His hold was in the north somewhere, in the mountain kingdom of Lord Dwali, as a part of the kingdom of Dorvadir. Dorvadir exported, like most of the few Dwarven kingdoms, many items, though most special of the things exported from Brokk’s home were the steel weapons and ornate gold pieces of jewellery. When he came of age, Brokk’s family left him some money, a good sword and pointed him in the direction of the nearest town. It was likely fate that brought him into the service of an Orc ship captain; Captain Garvuk. Brokk earned the name ‘Saltdrinker’ after he fell overboard, yet successfully caught up with, and, got back on board the ship. He changed his original last name to this, hoping to feel more a part of the crew. His choices and ideals lain down by the father of stone meant he did not see eye to eye with his crew mates, or at least a special few and they came to blows on many occasions. Garvuk followed a code, and therefore let them fight it out, but with some rules thrown in. There was, however, one time when the ship’s Bosun, a short man with a mouth of chipped and yellow teeth, named Lerev, thought it easy to steal Brokk’s amulet from him. Brokk had knocked him on his backside. Lerev however, being the gutless snake he was, drew a skinning knife while Brokk’s back was turned. “I’ll gut you for that, you stinkin piece of dog’s turd” Lerev had said, and as Brokk had turned, slashed wide, missing Brokk’s throat, but slicing a small wound into the upper part of the dwarf’s cheek. Brokk outmanoeuvred Lerev and head butted him, hard, breaking his nose, but stunning Lerev and sending him toppling to the ground. “What was that about gutting me, Lerev?” Brokk has asked, laughing at the bad luck of this scum bag. Lerev proceeded to make another attempt at a swing but Brokk caught the incoming blow, flicked the knife up, and severed the Bosun’s last finger. As the man had shrieked in agony, Brokk kicked him over on his back. “Quit your wining, Lerev, your finger, for my cheek” Brokk had growled, breathless and tired of the fight. Garvuk placed Brokk in the position of new first mate and, for the breaking the ship’s code, assigned Lerev a position as near the bottom as possible. Brokk served happily under Garvuk for 3 years, getting some plunder, but more making a better name for himself and drinking in the glorious path he was following for Moradin; Brokk had reached the honourable position of quartermaster, second to the captain after the previous man had been killed in a skirmish with rival pirates. Everything changed when they came to the coast of Farestiria. Garvuk, an old Orc now, was dying, and so in his will he wrote a considerable share of the booty to Brokk, either because he trusted him and had grown to really respect the Dwarf, or because he knew that for Brokk to continue his path he would need to go far and to go far you needed money. The other crew, sadly, did not see it this way; they saw it as favouritism and a deep resentment grew up until the final day when Garvuk passed away in his sleep. Brokk had got himself a good horse, a strong saddle bag, and nice room in an inn a few miles from the ship. It had started to rain outside and the patter of water droplets began rapping strongly on his window. Brokk had been sifting through the small chest left to him by Garvuk. It was brimming with jewels, coins, necklaces, a gold cup and plate. It was then there had been a knock on the door and upon turning he had seen a letter slide under. Grabbing his sword he had thrown open the door, only to find the corridor was clear. Brokk stooped down to pick up the letter and closed the door; he opened it and found a smaller folded bit of paper. It was when he opened that paper he screamed a long and terrible scream. Drawn crudely but clearly on the paper was a dark black spot; the ‘Black Spot’ was the death warrant of pirates from another pirate, that he had less than a few hours until his death would come. Acting fast, Brokk tipped all the treasure into his saddle bag and was out the door as quick as he could. He got to his horse in time to see, coming over the rise of the hill behind him, a large party of men and creatures, yelling and howling, waving weapons and torches. Thankfully they did not see him and he was well-away as they boldly stormed the inn. Brokk made for the border with all haste and once over into the land known as Onendarien he safely hid his treasure in a place only he would know and from there set out, unsure whether he was going on to find friends, or simply await the coming arrival of his old and treacherous ship mates.

Strengths: The skills and trades learnt by Brokk over the years have left him with several important strengths. Brokk is a superb tavern brawler, having made a mark, one way or another, in most drinking establishments he has found himself in. He is an expert with the slight-of-hand technique and climbing some surfaces and especially walls seems to come naturally to him, though being a dwarf. He is great with a throwing knife, a skilled swordsman and has a very keen eye plus sharpened senses.

Weaknesses: Brokk, being a Dwarf, has one major and very significant weakness; at the mere mention of treasure, gold, or wealth, he is overcome by greed. This greed may, at times, lead him to making rash decisions, giving any situation an added obstacle if it comes down to it. Coming between him and a score is not the greatest idea, but he also has another flaw; how he reacts to large opponents. Even being fast as a little guy leaves him vulnerable to being overpowered by numerous, and, much larger foes.

Weapons: Brokk, being a Rogue or thief, uses 10 throwing knives and a short sword. In addition, he has the skill to use a crossbow, though not having enough money to actually purchase one, and to add on to all that, following his Dwarven roots, his proficiency in the hammer sees him wielding three, all for throwing, but also versatile in their use as hand-to-hand weapons as well.
Equipment: One leather belt, one bandolier (across his chest), a pair of hard leather bracers, a hard leather helmet and round shield. He also has some strong leather armour with round should pads.

Abilities/Skills Above Average: He’s light on his feet, sharp senses and keen eyes. He can hurl a knife from a significant range, same with a throwing hammer, and generally drops a target with the upmost silence and accuracy. Though as grim as it may sound, he has experience as an assassin and therefore slitting throats or killing someone as quietly as possible, even covering up a kill, is something he is well versed in.

Rank Requesting To Be In: Mercenary

Sample Post:
Brokk sat at the table at the farthest end of inn. He had been sitting there for well over an hour, staring into his mug of beer, playing with a gold coin as he usually did, and letting the roasted piece of meat on his place cool down. He was lost in his own world, the realm of his inner thoughts. “Need anything else, sir” asked a bar maid, approaching with a tray destined for a table off to the right. Her approach had brought him, momentarily back to the real world. “Oh…what…oh, no, no thank you, miss” he replied; it was then he looked up at her, she was a vision of beauty, truly, though to Brokk most women were visions of beauty, that’s how his brain worked. She shrugged her shoulders, smiled and left, leaving Brokk alone to mull over his thoughts on the events. It had been at least 3 days since he had last seen a sign of his pursuers, and as far he was under a mix of paranoia and exhaustion. Brokk had literally been forced to drag himself into this village after losing his last horse to a lame foot. The inn keeper he had paid nicely for a good room and warm food, but Brokk still couldn’t get rid of the feeling that sooner rather than later he would be forced to frog leap to some other place. Still sat there, at the table, though now having taken a sip from his mug, only to cough in disgust to discover it had gone warm, Brokk soon became lost in his own world once again. He failed to see the front door to the inn thrown open as five newcomers entered. “Welcome, sirs, how can I help you?” The innkeeper had called; they didn’t reply. They focused on where Brokk sat and marched right over to him. He didn’t need to look up to know who they were. To begin with, two were not men but beasts, one with a pig’s face, the other a lizard man. The lizard was wiry and thin, grey scaled, and had amber eyes; the pig had brownish skin, black pupils which were huge, and a head which seemed a little large for the neck it sat upon. The others were human, all scruffy, a little underfed, but all looking dangerous, one short with one eye, another tall and thin with a scar from his ear to his lip, and the last big and muscular, a black anchor tattooed on his sinewy arms, his chest bare and un-covered. The lizard sat down in front of Brokk, the pig stood, as did the brute. The tall man and the shorter one sat either side of Brokk, boxing him in. The brute reached forward, plucked the meat from Brokk’s plate and proceeded to gorge himself on it.
“Hello, Skaaraz” Brokk said, addressing the lizard without looking up, “how long has it been, 2, 3 months since I last saw you?”
“It has been four, you little shit, four months wasted tracking down a short arse, and months I could have spent on a sandy beach with a nice cold drink” the lizard snarled.
“And how are you, Swiller?” Brokk asked the pig, still focused on his beer. The pig huffed and scraped its hoof against the floor, “I thought as much. I see you brought Stump, Grins and Meaty with you Skaaraz, expecting more trouble than you can handle are we?”
“You can shut up; I know Lerev wanted you brought back to him, but I can hardly say that you’re going to come quietly, and I can no longer be bloody bothered with this shit; it ends here, dwarf” Skaaraz spat.
The tall thin man, Grins, reached over and took Brokk’s beer; he tipped it over on Brokk’s plate and then let the metal mug clatter to the floor. Brokk finally looked up at him, his lip curling with rage.
“I was going to finish that, for your information, Grins; now you’ve done it, scum bag” Brokk growled and brought a jab right under the scar-faced man’s chin; he was lifted out of his seat, across the room, and into a table which was unoccupied.
“Right, now the running is finally done; let’s get him boys” Skaaraz ordered and drew a wicked curved knife. Stump took out a club, Swiller a meat cleaver, Meaty a hand axe, and Grins – just picking himself off the floor – drew what seemed to be a fire poker.
Brokk drew two daggers and held them ready to meet the first attack; it came from Stump. The short man came at Brokk and swung wildly, completely missing Brokk and managing to stun himself with a blow to the face; from his own club. Brokk replied in a fluid but brutal action, cutting the backs of Stump’s knees and then drawing a knife across the man’s throat very quickly and cleanly. Stump gurgled as a torrent of crimson sprayed forth and he fell into an already widening pool. Grins was the next opponent, but he hardly lasted any longer than Stump and was just as inexperienced if not more so. Grins was used to deck brawls where he could be underhanded or sly; that wasn’t going to work here. Brokk came right under his guard and pushed a dagger blade under his opponent’s armpit, letting him drop twitching to the ground. Meaty came next, and attacked like a man possessed. By now, the fight had reached the other side of the room. Most people except the bar maid and the inn keeper had cleared out or sought a place elsewhere, but those that stayed could only watch as things got bloodier and bloodier. Meaty back handed Brokk and sent him crashing into the wall; Brokk had been focused on the bar maid and Meaty noticed this; he grabbed her and held her there, kicking and screaming.
“Lay down your weapons, or I break her neck” ordered Meaty. Brokk looked into her eyes and mouthed for her to be calm. He reached behind his back and let go of the blades, they clattered to floor; Meaty’s pressure eased a bit. Brokk, quick as a flash, drew a hammer and with superb skill hurled it; it slammed into Meaty’s head, braining the big ape as Brokk caught the bar maid; she smiled and kissed him on the cheek but feinted. He left her in the arms of two watchers and went over to Meaty.
“I’ll teach you to lay your hands on a defenceless woman” cried Brokk and swiftly brought the hammer down on Meaty’s bald head and shattered his skull in a big explosive mess. He then retrieved his daggers and kicked open the front door, seeking to take the fight outside. Skaaraz and Swiller obliged, visibly enraged at the loss of their comrades. Swiller came at Brokk, swinging his cleaver in a much cleaner and quicker fashion, causing Brokk to evade it fast. Skaaraz had drawn a hand crossbow from somewhere and then fired a bolt from it. Brokk was stood with his back against the doors of one of the stable pens in the courtyard when the bolt planted itself in the wood of the post to the side of his head, only narrowly missing him.
“This is for the others, you little worm” Swiller screeched and swung the cleaver, intent on decapitating Brokk. The dwarf just managed to duck, causing the cleaver to slam into the post and become stuck. Brokk took the moment to rise, address the situation, kick Swiller in the groin, and grab a hold of the cleaver handle. He drew it out, turned, and with a sharp twist, embedded it in the pig’s face at an angle, while cutting Swiller’s nose off; Brokk did not play around, and when it came to a fight for his life, he of course would stoop as low as the low-life who sought to bring about his end.
Swiller’s last act was to desperately try and remove the cleaver, and he succeeded, but in doing so he opened the wound, the terrible wound in his face, and let out a stream of blood. He snorted for the last time and fell face first into the dirt, the cleaver still grasped in his cold grip.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now, Skaaraz” Brokk chuckled, almost drinking in the hilarity of the moment. His ruse had allowed them to believe they had got him. They thought that they could simply overwhelm him, but he truly was not that easy. While the five of them, though having hunted him for all those months, and had likely been drinking a lot and simply gotten more and more furious, Brokk on the other hand had trained, drilled, and made ready.
“Brokk, I’ve always hated you; the little favourite of Garvuk. Did Lerev ever tell you…oh, wait, he wouldn’t have, but as I’m about to make your world dark for ever I might as well spill the secret; Garvuk never passed away, we poisoned him. However, that didn’t work, and so Lerev took it upon himself to slip a blade between the old bastard’s ribs” Skaaraz cackled with laughter, “now you and your captain can say hello again; for now, I’ll say good bye.”
Skaaraz pounced, coming down like a fall star, his curved dagger pointed downwards. He was no more than a few feet from Brokk when the dwarf drew the short sword from behind his back and pointed it outwards. Skaaraz seemed to scream as his momentum brought him onto the end of the blade. He was stuck on the tip, and Brokk grunted as he pushed it further and further into the lizard’s chest until they were face to face.
“Looks like you can see the captain first, though I doubt he’ll be where you are going, Skaaraz, so when you see the lord of hell, say hi from me; and one more thing. This is for Garvuk” grunted Brokk as he pushed the blade one last time before pulling it free.
Brokk walked back into the inn. He saw the maid and she ran over to him.
“I’m sorry you had to see all that, miss; when my blood is up, I just can’t stop my-” Brokk said half of what he had wanted to say when she planted a kiss right on his mouth. They stood there for a moment, though he almost had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach eye level with her. How beautiful she was; blue eyes, but fading yellow hair, and small bosoms showing, just, from the corset and dress she was wearing.
“My name is Sophia” she said sweetly, “and I wanted to say thank you in the best way I knew how.”
He marvelled at her; despite the bloodshed she had witnessed, she still treated him as a hero, despite his stature. He then noticed the speckles of blood on the right side of her face, from where his hammer had stunned Meaty. Brokk had grown to like Sophia; he had been here for four days, but had hardly said a word to her, mostly out of the sense that she might be scared off by some grubby looking, scar-cheeked dwarf.
“I’m sorry Sophia, but I have to go; I’ll leave it the others to clear up the mess” Brokk said, handing a small money pouch to the inn keeper who nodded and set about getting some guests to help him, “I promise I’ll come back; but until they aren’t after me anymore, staying here may put all of you in danger.”
Brokk said all this with a heavy heart. She kissed him once more, then reached behind her and took off a small pendent. “I want you to have this, Brokk, please keep, and remember me wherever you are” Sophia said to him before getting up and leaving to help with the clean-up. Brokk looked down at the pendent in his hands; it was a silver star, with a small, round, ruby set into it. He smiled then left.
Brokk picked up Skaaraz’s dagger, fancying the look of it. It was then he noticed a further three horsemen approaching at a gallop, forcing him to mount his horse.
Over where he had left Skaaraz, the lizard stirred. He was losing a lot of blood, yet somehow he had some life left in him. He licked the end of his bolt and slotted it in, then cocked and released. The bolt smacked into Brokk’s thigh as he rode away, causing him to cry out in pain. He could hardly stop to remove it as the three horsemen sped past the inn after him. Skaaraz coughed and laughed to himself. Looking up in time to see the inn keeper holding a meat-tenderising mallet; it came crashing down and the lizard’s world went black for good. Meanwhile, Brokk race out of the village; the name Traveller’s Rest suited it, very well indeed, and what a good rest this traveller had had there. But now the time for rest was done. The adrenaline was in him, keeping his mind off the pain of his thigh, impaled by a short bolt, and more set on the horizon, the main city, where he could hopefully find a haven. With this in his mind he led his pursuers on a hard chase, eventually coming the foot of the mountain pass and going on, until they were lost in the swirling winds and failing light of the evening.

Description
Dwarven Mercenary Rogue OC: Character Sheet

Name: Brokk Saltdrinker

Age: 31
Height: 4 ft 11
Race/Species: Dwarf
Gender: Male

Physical Appearance: Pinkish skin, light blue eyes, stubby nose (broken) and a small scar under his left eye. Brokk has a short black beard, plaited at the bottom, and shoulder-length black hair; however, the top of his head is bald. Strong arms, muscular, and medium-size hands; his skin is hard and his palms generally a little clammy. His face is somewhat weathered (though due to past experiences).

Clothing: Blue tunic and brown leather chaps; brown boots.

Misc Items: Amulet of Moradin, father of the Dwarf race; all Dwarves worship him as they follow his laws, that all must seek glory, both for themselves in history and for the making of a family in the future. No matter what path they follow, all Dwarves find their way into his light.

Personality: Brokk is something of a silent type, but when he does open his mouth, it is for an important reason, whether that be to order an ale and a piece of meat, or to point out a certain fact. Brokk contradicts himself sometimes, going with one path before arguing over whether to choose an alternate one. His patience is not the best, therefore the slight annoyance is set to make him snap, and this is hardly helped by the fact that he is a heavy drinker. Despite this, true to most Dwarves, Brokk can still put it away better than any man, so alcohol is hardly a weakness. Brokk has a soft spot for beautiful women, and as such can be taken in by the sight of many an attractive lady, though he is more often than not too shy to say a word.

History: Since Brokk had been a young lad, he had always dreamt of adventure; he was, like his family, a devout follower of the code set down by Moradin. His hold was in the north somewhere, in the mountain kingdom of Lord Dwali, as a part of the kingdom of Dorvadir. Dorvadir exported, like most of the few Dwarven kingdoms, many items, though most special of the things exported from Brokk’s home were the steel weapons and ornate gold pieces of jewellery. When he came of age, Brokk’s family left him some money, a good sword and pointed him in the direction of the nearest town. It was likely fate that brought him into the service of an Orc ship captain; Captain Garvuk. Brokk earned the name ‘Saltdrinker’ after he fell overboard, yet successfully caught up with, and, got back on board the ship. He changed his original last name to this, hoping to feel more a part of the crew. His choices and ideals lain down by the father of stone meant he did not see eye to eye with his crew mates, or at least a special few and they came to blows on many occasions. Garvuk followed a code, and therefore let them fight it out, but with some rules thrown in. There was, however, one time when the ship’s Bosun, a short man with a mouth of chipped and yellow teeth, named Lerev, thought it easy to steal Brokk’s amulet from him. Brokk had knocked him on his backside. Lerev however, being the gutless snake he was, drew a skinning knife while Brokk’s back was turned. “I’ll gut you for that, you stinkin piece of dog’s turd” Lerev had said, and as Brokk had turned, slashed wide, missing Brokk’s throat, but slicing a small wound into the upper part of the dwarf’s cheek. Brokk outmanoeuvred Lerev and head butted him, hard, breaking his nose, but stunning Lerev and sending him toppling to the ground. “What was that about gutting me, Lerev?” Brokk has asked, laughing at the bad luck of this scum bag. Lerev proceeded to make another attempt at a swing but Brokk caught the incoming blow, flicked the knife up, and severed the Bosun’s last finger. As the man had shrieked in agony, Brokk kicked him over on his back. “Quit your wining, Lerev, your finger, for my cheek” Brokk had growled, breathless and tired of the fight. Garvuk placed Brokk in the position of new first mate and, for the breaking the ship’s code, assigned Lerev a position as near the bottom as possible. Brokk served happily under Garvuk for 3 years, getting some plunder, but more making a better name for himself and drinking in the glorious path he was following for Moradin; Brokk had reached the honourable position of quartermaster, second to the captain after the previous man had been killed in a skirmish with rival pirates. Everything changed when they came to the coast of Farestiria. Garvuk, an old Orc now, was dying, and so in his will he wrote a considerable share of the booty to Brokk, either because he trusted him and had grown to really respect the Dwarf, or because he knew that for Brokk to continue his path he would need to go far and to go far you needed money. The other crew, sadly, did not see it this way; they saw it as favouritism and a deep resentment grew up until the final day when Garvuk passed away in his sleep. Brokk had got himself a good horse, a strong saddle bag, and nice room in an inn a few miles from the ship. It had started to rain outside and the patter of water droplets began rapping strongly on his window. Brokk had been sifting through the small chest left to him by Garvuk. It was brimming with jewels, coins, necklaces, a gold cup and plate. It was then there had been a knock on the door and upon turning he had seen a letter slide under. Grabbing his sword he had thrown open the door, only to find the corridor was clear. Brokk stooped down to pick up the letter and closed the door; he opened it and found a smaller folded bit of paper. It was when he opened that paper he screamed a long and terrible scream. Drawn crudely but clearly on the paper was a dark black spot; the ‘Black Spot’ was the death warrant of pirates from another pirate, that he had less than a few hours until his death would come. Acting fast, Brokk tipped all the treasure into his saddle bag and was out the door as quick as he could. He got to his horse in time to see, coming over the rise of the hill behind him, a large party of men and creatures, yelling and howling, waving weapons and torches. Thankfully they did not see him and he was well-away as they boldly stormed the inn. Brokk made for the border with all haste and once over into the land known as Onendarien he safely hid his treasure in a place only he would know and from there set out, unsure whether he was going on to find friends, or simply await the coming arrival of his old and treacherous ship mates.

Strengths: The skills and trades learnt by Brokk over the years have left him with several important strengths. Brokk is a superb tavern brawler, having made a mark, one way or another, in most drinking establishments he has found himself in. He is an expert with the slight-of-hand technique and climbing some surfaces and especially walls seems to come naturally to him, though being a dwarf. He is great with a throwing knife, a skilled swordsman and has a very keen eye plus sharpened senses.

Weaknesses: Brokk, being a Dwarf, has one major and very significant weakness; at the mere mention of treasure, gold, or wealth, he is overcome by greed. This greed may, at times, lead him to making rash decisions, giving any situation an added obstacle if it comes down to it. Coming between him and a score is not the greatest idea, but he also has another flaw; how he reacts to large opponents. Even being fast as a little guy leaves him vulnerable to being overpowered by numerous, and, much larger foes.

Weapons: Brokk, being a Rogue or thief, uses 10 throwing knives and a short sword. In addition, he has the skill to use a crossbow, though not having enough money to actually purchase one, and to add on to all that, following his Dwarven roots, his proficiency in the hammer sees him wielding three, all for throwing, but also versatile in their use as hand-to-hand weapons as well.
Equipment: One leather belt, one bandolier (across his chest), a pair of hard leather bracers, a hard leather helmet and round shield. He also has some strong leather armour with round should pads.

Abilities/Skills Above Average: He’s light on his feet, sharp senses and keen eyes. He can hurl a knife from a significant range, same with a throwing hammer, and generally drops a target with the upmost silence and accuracy. Though as grim as it may sound, he has experience as an assassin and therefore slitting throats or killing someone as quietly as possible, even covering up a kill, is something he is well versed in.

Rank Requesting To Be In: Mercenary

Sample Post:
Brokk sat at the table at the farthest end of inn. He had been sitting there for well over an hour, staring into his mug of beer, playing with a gold coin as he usually did, and letting the roasted piece of meat on his place cool down. He was lost in his own world, the realm of his inner thoughts. “Need anything else, sir” asked a bar maid, approaching with a tray destined for a table off to the right. Her approach had brought him, momentarily back to the real world. “Oh…what…oh, no, no thank you, miss” he replied; it was then he looked up at her, she was a vision of beauty, truly, though to Brokk most women were visions of beauty, that’s how his brain worked. She shrugged her shoulders, smiled and left, leaving Brokk alone to mull over his thoughts on the events. It had been at least 3 days since he had last seen a sign of his pursuers, and as far he was under a mix of paranoia and exhaustion. Brokk had literally been forced to drag himself into this village after losing his last horse to a lame foot. The inn keeper he had paid nicely for a good room and warm food, but Brokk still couldn’t get rid of the feeling that sooner rather than later he would be forced to frog leap to some other place. Still sat there, at the table, though now having taken a sip from his mug, only to cough in disgust to discover it had gone warm, Brokk soon became lost in his own world once again. He failed to see the front door to the inn thrown open as five newcomers entered. “Welcome, sirs, how can I help you?” The innkeeper had called; they didn’t reply. They focused on where Brokk sat and marched right over to him. He didn’t need to look up to know who they were. To begin with, two were not men but beasts, one with a pig’s face, the other a lizard man. The lizard was wiry and thin, grey scaled, and had amber eyes; the pig had brownish skin, black pupils which were huge, and a head which seemed a little large for the neck it sat upon. The others were human, all scruffy, a little underfed, but all looking dangerous, one short with one eye, another tall and thin with a scar from his ear to his lip, and the last big and muscular, a black anchor tattooed on his sinewy arms, his chest bare and un-covered. The lizard sat down in front of Brokk, the pig stood, as did the brute. The tall man and the shorter one sat either side of Brokk, boxing him in. The brute reached forward, plucked the meat from Brokk’s plate and proceeded to gorge himself on it.
“Hello, Skaaraz” Brokk said, addressing the lizard without looking up, “how long has it been, 2, 3 months since I last saw you?”
“It has been four, you little shit, four months wasted tracking down a short arse, and months I could have spent on a sandy beach with a nice cold drink” the lizard snarled.
“And how are you, Swiller?” Brokk asked the pig, still focused on his beer. The pig huffed and scraped its hoof against the floor, “I thought as much. I see you brought Stump, Grins and Meaty with you Skaaraz, expecting more trouble than you can handle are we?”
“You can shut up; I know Lerev wanted you brought back to him, but I can hardly say that you’re going to come quietly, and I can no longer be bloody bothered with this shit; it ends here, dwarf” Skaaraz spat.
The tall thin man, Grins, reached over and took Brokk’s beer; he tipped it over on Brokk’s plate and then let the metal mug clatter to the floor. Brokk finally looked up at him, his lip curling with rage.
“I was going to finish that, for your information, Grins; now you’ve done it, scum bag” Brokk growled and brought a jab right under the scar-faced man’s chin; he was lifted out of his seat, across the room, and into a table which was unoccupied.
“Right, now the running is finally done; let’s get him boys” Skaaraz ordered and drew a wicked curved knife. Stump took out a club, Swiller a meat cleaver, Meaty a hand axe, and Grins – just picking himself off the floor – drew what seemed to be a fire poker.
Brokk drew two daggers and held them ready to meet the first attack; it came from Stump. The short man came at Brokk and swung wildly, completely missing Brokk and managing to stun himself with a blow to the face; from his own club. Brokk replied in a fluid but brutal action, cutting the backs of Stump’s knees and then drawing a knife across the man’s throat very quickly and cleanly. Stump gurgled as a torrent of crimson sprayed forth and he fell into an already widening pool. Grins was the next opponent, but he hardly lasted any longer than Stump and was just as inexperienced if not more so. Grins was used to deck brawls where he could be underhanded or sly; that wasn’t going to work here. Brokk came right under his guard and pushed a dagger blade under his opponent’s armpit, letting him drop twitching to the ground. Meaty came next, and attacked like a man possessed. By now, the fight had reached the other side of the room. Most people except the bar maid and the inn keeper had cleared out or sought a place elsewhere, but those that stayed could only watch as things got bloodier and bloodier. Meaty back handed Brokk and sent him crashing into the wall; Brokk had been focused on the bar maid and Meaty noticed this; he grabbed her and held her there, kicking and screaming.
“Lay down your weapons, or I break her neck” ordered Meaty. Brokk looked into her eyes and mouthed for her to be calm. He reached behind his back and let go of the blades, they clattered to floor; Meaty’s pressure eased a bit. Brokk, quick as a flash, drew a hammer and with superb skill hurled it; it slammed into Meaty’s head, braining the big ape as Brokk caught the bar maid; she smiled and kissed him on the cheek but feinted. He left her in the arms of two watchers and went over to Meaty.
“I’ll teach you to lay your hands on a defenceless woman” cried Brokk and swiftly brought the hammer down on Meaty’s bald head and shattered his skull in a big explosive mess. He then retrieved his daggers and kicked open the front door, seeking to take the fight outside. Skaaraz and Swiller obliged, visibly enraged at the loss of their comrades. Swiller came at Brokk, swinging his cleaver in a much cleaner and quicker fashion, causing Brokk to evade it fast. Skaaraz had drawn a hand crossbow from somewhere and then fired a bolt from it. Brokk was stood with his back against the doors of one of the stable pens in the courtyard when the bolt planted itself in the wood of the post to the side of his head, only narrowly missing him.
“This is for the others, you little worm” Swiller screeched and swung the cleaver, intent on decapitating Brokk. The dwarf just managed to duck, causing the cleaver to slam into the post and become stuck. Brokk took the moment to rise, address the situation, kick Swiller in the groin, and grab a hold of the cleaver handle. He drew it out, turned, and with a sharp twist, embedded it in the pig’s face at an angle, while cutting Swiller’s nose off; Brokk did not play around, and when it came to a fight for his life, he of course would stoop as low as the low-life who sought to bring about his end.
Swiller’s last act was to desperately try and remove the cleaver, and he succeeded, but in doing so he opened the wound, the terrible wound in his face, and let out a stream of blood. He snorted for the last time and fell face first into the dirt, the cleaver still grasped in his cold grip.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now, Skaaraz” Brokk chuckled, almost drinking in the hilarity of the moment. His ruse had allowed them to believe they had got him. They thought that they could simply overwhelm him, but he truly was not that easy. While the five of them, though having hunted him for all those months, and had likely been drinking a lot and simply gotten more and more furious, Brokk on the other hand had trained, drilled, and made ready.
“Brokk, I’ve always hated you; the little favourite of Garvuk. Did Lerev ever tell you…oh, wait, he wouldn’t have, but as I’m about to make your world dark for ever I might as well spill the secret; Garvuk never passed away, we poisoned him. However, that didn’t work, and so Lerev took it upon himself to slip a blade between the old bastard’s ribs” Skaaraz cackled with laughter, “now you and your captain can say hello again; for now, I’ll say good bye.”
Skaaraz pounced, coming down like a fall star, his curved dagger pointed downwards. He was no more than a few feet from Brokk when the dwarf drew the short sword from behind his back and pointed it outwards. Skaaraz seemed to scream as his momentum brought him onto the end of the blade. He was stuck on the tip, and Brokk grunted as he pushed it further and further into the lizard’s chest until they were face to face.
“Looks like you can see the captain first, though I doubt he’ll be where you are going, Skaaraz, so when you see the lord of hell, say hi from me; and one more thing. This is for Garvuk” grunted Brokk as he pushed the blade one last time before pulling it free.
Brokk walked back into the inn. He saw the maid and she ran over to him.
“I’m sorry you had to see all that, miss; when my blood is up, I just can’t stop my-” Brokk said half of what he had wanted to say when she planted a kiss right on his mouth. They stood there for a moment, though he almost had to stand on the tips of his toes to reach eye level with her. How beautiful she was; blue eyes, but fading yellow hair, and small bosoms showing, just, from the corset and dress she was wearing.
“My name is Sophia” she said sweetly, “and I wanted to say thank you in the best way I knew how.”
He marvelled at her; despite the bloodshed she had witnessed, she still treated him as a hero, despite his stature. He then noticed the speckles of blood on the right side of her face, from where his hammer had stunned Meaty. Brokk had grown to like Sophia; he had been here for four days, but had hardly said a word to her, mostly out of the sense that she might be scared off by some grubby looking, scar-cheeked dwarf.
“I’m sorry Sophia, but I have to go; I’ll leave it the others to clear up the mess” Brokk said, handing a small money pouch to the inn keeper who nodded and set about getting some guests to help him, “I promise I’ll come back; but until they aren’t after me anymore, staying here may put all of you in danger.”
Brokk said all this with a heavy heart. She kissed him once more, then reached behind her and took off a small pendent. “I want you to have this, Brokk, please keep, and remember me wherever you are” Sophia said to him before getting up and leaving to help with the clean-up. Brokk looked down at the pendent in his hands; it was a silver star, with a small, round, ruby set into it. He smiled then left.
Brokk picked up Skaaraz’s dagger, fancying the look of it. It was then he noticed a further three horsemen approaching at a gallop, forcing him to mount his horse.
Over where he had left Skaaraz, the lizard stirred. He was losing a lot of blood, yet somehow he had some life left in him. He licked the end of his bolt and slotted it in, then cocked and released. The bolt smacked into Brokk’s thigh as he rode away, causing him to cry out in pain. He could hardly stop to remove it as the three horsemen sped past the inn after him. Skaaraz coughed and laughed to himself. Looking up in time to see the inn keeper holding a meat-tenderising mallet; it came crashing down and the lizard’s world went black for good. Meanwhile, Brokk race out of the village; the name Traveller’s Rest suited it, very well indeed, and what a good rest this traveller had had there. But now the time for rest was done. The adrenaline was in him, keeping his mind off the pain of his thigh, impaled by a short bolt, and more set on the horizon, the main city, where he could hopefully find a haven. With this in his mind he led his pursuers on a hard chase, eventually coming the foot of the mountain pass and going on, until they were lost in the swirling winds and failing light of the evening.