Mourngrymn

Special Equipment: Carries his fathers sword ‘Moon’s Kiss’ and is always accompanied by Stormchaser.

Moon’s Kiss is a broadsword made of a silvery metal that has blue tint to it’s folds. It is carved with the saying, My family is my honor, my honor is my life, my life is my sword, my sword is my family. In battle it always seems to strike better or cut deeper when Mourngrymn is fighting someone who murdered his family. It has the spirit of his tribe held within to guide him on his path of vengence. It also heals him when he needs it the most. He doesn’t activate this power of the sword, it just knows when it needs to be used. It only seems to be able to do this once a day however, and only heals wounds done from those who he is taking his vengence out on.

Stormchaser is a young wolf pup that took to Mourngrymn when he was young. He follows his where ever he goes and follows his commands without question. His right eye is gone but he can still see and compliments Mourngrymn well in battle. Mourngrymn is not his master. “You tell him to go away!” is his most common remark about the wolf.

He has a number of tattoos that aid him in his quest of revenge. These tattoos are mystical in nature and have limited use.

Appearance:

Like most Keirn he stands taller than 6’5”. At 6’10” he is a towering beast of pain and rage. His dark features add to his vengeful look. He has long, unkept red hair with pale green eyes that seem to glow like an animals at night. He has a long scar running from his left jaw line to his right collar bone, leaving a horrific scar across his throat. Because of this wound, he now speaks quietly with a rough, raspy voice.

Background:

He was born into a strong line of warriors in his tribe. Everyone was well known, even to their enemies and respected for their skill and prowess from all. All he wanted was to prove his worth and be accepted as his family was. When his father spoke, people listened and were commanded without fail.

He wasn’t born with a name. His father called him little runt, his brothers called him Ca`tral droppings. He didn’t care, he knew they did this to make him strong. The hard cuffs to the head, and the unending chores only made him a man.

The shaman had told his father that his little runt would be one of the Verkies, or Chosen, but would need to wait for his Naming Ritual until his Day of Manhood and Rights of Passage were fulfilled. His father took great joy in this, as his family had never produced one of the honored before. He secretly rejoiced.

The time came for him to prove his manhood and honor himself and his family. He was taken out by his father and the Shaman who had predicted his honored future to a place he had never been. Far into the northern forest they had traveled, days they traveled with him unaware of where they were going or when the would stop.

When they finally did stop, he no longer saw the coast but he viewed mountains for the first time. “You must return home and prove yourself worthy of being my son. If you can not little runt? Do not return ever.” His father sat down at a large stone and waited. The shaman walked over and told him to strip, and he did without hesitation. When he was finished, the shaman took his clothes and walked over to where his father sat and began building a fire and speaking some unknown language. “No go! And do not return unless your a warrior of my blood.”

He set off at once, the running bring warmth to his already cooling body. He knew that cold and hunger were his enemies now and he would fight them off as he would any other enemy.

He ran for hours, pacing himself so he wouldn’t tire to quickly. He found a small copse of trees where he fashioned himself a crude spear, tieing a rock he had sharpened tightly with some creeping vine. He also sharpened himself a small dagger. Useless against anything to large, but it was comforting.

His first few attempt at capturing food were failures at best. He was to cold to keep quiet, and he didn’t want to risk a fire without food. He changed his tactics and decided to return to a nearby stream to perhaps gather fish. This was more successful. As he was fishing with his spear a doe came to the stream to drink. He was able to steal up on the doe and take her down. He quickly dressed the animal, cooking al lthe meat and smoking the hide to dry it out enough to use as clothing.

His trek back took him a week, but when he arrived he was fully clothed, had three small throwing spears hung from his back and a larger spear which he used as a walking stick. A wolf pup nipped at his heels yet listened to any command he gave. He called him Stormchaser, as he claimed to run after every storm and howl.

Weeks went by and his Naming Ritual would begin soon. He no longer did chores for the house but hunted with his father and fought with his brothers, always with his wolf pup nearby. He grew stronger as the days wore on. The night before his Naming Ritual, a rain storm had risen up and Stormchaser ran after it. Laughing at the nature of animals he followed his pup into the raging storm. When he returned, his world changed forever.

The village was in tatters, fires grew out of control everywhere. The bodies of everyone he had ever known lay in heaps about the grounds, the smell of blood and death rising over the smell of burning wood.

A large group of horse riding soldiers spotted him and rode to him, murder clearly on their faces. He picked up a fallen spear and lashed out, killing the murdering soldiers one after another with Stormchaser biting the ankles of the horses to great effect.

He had killed close to ten or twelve when a yelp from behind had him turn to see Stormchaser fall from the blade of a soldier. That second cost him as a bright burning slashed his face and neck sending him crumpling to the bloody ground.

His last image was of a tall man wearing blackened armor grinning gleefully at the carnage before him. “That was fun, to bad they are all dead. I wouldn’t mind doing it again. The useless rabble.” And off they road, and he delved into blackness.

He woke with cold water running down his face and neck, he opened his eyes long enough to see the very shaman that took him on his Right of Manhood. He was saying something that he couldn’t comprehend. He dove into darkness again.

He woke, stiff and cold. He looked around and saw the village in a state of carnage and dismay he thought was only a dream. Stormchaser lay near him breathing shallow breaths, but still alive. A cut down his right eye had closed his eye, but otherwise he seemed fine.

He stumbled to a water pale to wash away the blood and grim and noticed something odd his the reflection. A scar ran down his face to his neck, but that is not what caught his eye. He saw tattoos covering his neck and chest. He looked to his arms and saw them there as well.

The shaman completed the Naming Ritual while he was unconcience. He knew his real name now. Knew his real purpose. He gathered up what armor and weapons he could, finding his fathers sword still clutched in his hand, a pile of bodies laying near him testifying the strength which ran through his veins.

“I will return a man, father. I will return with vengence as my clothing and murder as my food. I will return to tell you that your only son has a name and belongs in this family. Your son, the last Verkies. Your son, the last of our line. Your son, Mourngrymn. Will return.”

Tattoos
His tattoos are the last mystical remnants of his tribe. He can used them once a day in any order of his choosing but he can only use one at a time.

White Hare : This tattoo gives his speed. When he uses it, it doubles his actions and movement for one combat. When he uses this tattoo however, he must rest for a number of hours equal to the number of minutes he used the tattoo for as it drains him of his endurance and stamina.

Eagle Talon : This tattoo gives him a bonus to his combat actions. He strikes and parries better, and can dodge most attacks. The tattoo’s effects only last for three actions however.

Dragon Scale : This tattoo seems to shine like metal on his skin. He can only use this tattoo’s abilities once every two days. When it is active, his skin turns a scaly metal green and hardens. He is given a natural armor that protects against physical wounds for five minutes. After the effects leave however, he is very vulnerable to taking wounds and his skin is tender to touch.

Owl Eye : This tattoo grants him a night owls near perfect vision. He can see farther and more clearly while this tattoo is being used. The effects last for one hour. Afterwards he has difficulty seeing in daylight the next day as his eyes are attunded to the darkness.

Plot Hooks
The players come to a town where they whitness Mourngrymn killing another man. If the players are of an honorable or law abiding frame of mind, then cries of murder in the streets should have them running to detain him for the authorities. If a fight ensues he will do everything he can to disarm or cripple the players, but he will not kill them. If he strikes a killing blow, he will pull it at the last minute. If asked he will attempt to explain himself if he is captured or detained and request to be set free until his vengence is done. After that, he claims he wil return for punishment by the code of laws if need be.

The players are related to someone who was involved with the murder of Mourngrymn’s tribe. They will be there when he comes to take his revenge on this person. Whether they try to kill him or not, he will not harm them unless they attack him. He will even tell them that he is no threat to them and that his business is done with the death of their relative. If the players stop and ask for an explanation, he will tell them of what happened.

The players come across Mourngrymn when he is near death. His sword has used its healing property for the day and he is dying of his wounds. He will ask for assistance only in the continuation of his debt to his family. If they heal him he will repay them in whatever manner they choose, but he will spin a tale of grizzly murder and slaughter maybe hoping to gain aid in his venture. Possibly this last test was to much for him and he sees a need for allies.

Roleplaying Notes:

His sole purpose is to locate all his tribes killers. He has no foresight beyond that. He is cold, hard, and calculating. Willing to use what means he can to finish his purpose. He will not, however, harm and innocent. If the person was not involved in his tribes extintion, then they have no worries. If they fight him, he will defend himself but that is it. He will only kill someone if the need is great.

His tattoos hold mystical powers that allow him to do amazing feats. Run and move faster, see in the dark without the need for light, have a precognative view on things making it near impossible for him to be surprized or flank attacked.

He is not invulnerable, just determined.