Hall of Heroes
Free Action ♦ Personal
Minor Action ♦ Close Burst 5
It takes a special type of person to be able to charge pell-mell across the plain and run a claymore through two grown men while screaming the beautiful and terrible verses of war he composed before joining battle. It takes the sort of person who not only lives on the edge of brilliance and madness; it takes someone who has pitched their tent squarely astride that no-mans-land. Warrel is such a person.
Warrel was born on the second floor of The Brass Barrel to the wife of the inn’s owner. He grew up in and around this rough neighborhood, and was put to work carrying overpriced flagons of cut ale to belligerent, washed up men and wretched ladies of the night plying their age-old trade. Between the shouting, brawling, thieving, stabbing, lying, cheating, and occasional murderings, Warrel came to have an appreciation for those who were able to defend themselves. He lost his share of fights as a youth, but eventually became somewhat more than adequate with a broadsword. He also grew up to become, if not the tallest of men, certainly one of the stoutest.
Yet for all of that, what is most often remembered of Warrel is a great, barrel-chested man singing of heroes, demons, wildebeests and destruction. He lived for the nights when a traveling skald would lighten up the mood by recounting the preposterous deeds of old. The histories and legends were all well and good, though he chafed at any songs of romance (except the lustiest of them). Where he truly felt at home, however, was hearing stories of Kord and Bane, twin gods of war. Songs of Grummush were alright, but that the gods themselves fought with powers that mere mortals could never hope to possess got the blood pumping through his veins like untamed rivers of chaos. In time, he began to perform his own music for the disinterested patrons of The Brass Barrel.
He left town in his late teens to look for adventures worth putting to song. Long years have passed since then, and though Warrel has had some excitement, nothing has been truly worthy of glorification through verse. Escorting caravans and fighting off the occasional kobolds has been the order of the day for some time.