Character Profiles: Mordrin Skorkinson (WFRP)

Mordrin Skorkinson, Giant Slayer. He is still looking for a giant to slay, as he doesn't feel the last giant was quite giant enough. He has also slain some daemons, though none of note. He has now slain a wyvern, but decided it was too small to count as a dragon.

He is the bemoaner of the doom that got away. He is also the grumbler of living in Tibalt's shadow.

His chosen weapon is a magical two handed war-hammer taken from a slain priest of Sigmar, its once faded runes now burn bright due to Mordrin's great deeds. So far, it's original name has been lost to time, but Mordrin has taken to calling it Drung Azgul, or Smashing Death.

Mordrin is a dwarf male warrior. He is 75 years old, 4'10" tall, 246 lbs with orange hair (covering grey), one hazel eye, and one brown eye.

Current Profile

WS 64% BS 37% S 48% T 56% Ag 32% Int 31% WP 52% Fel 21%

A 2 W 18 SB 4 TB 5 M 3 Mag 0 IP 4 FP 1

Skills: Consume Alcohol, Intimidate, Perception, Common Knowledge - Dwarf, Dodge Blow, Speak - Dwarf, Speak - Empire, Trade - Miner

Talents: Dwarfcraft, Fearless, Grudge Born Fury, Hardy, Night Vision, Resistance to Magic, Resist Poison, Sharpshooter, Specialist Weapon - 2 Handed weapon, Specialist Weapon - Flail, Stout Hearted, Street Fighting, Strike Mighty Blow, Strike to Injure, Sturdy, Wrestling

Weapons: Drung Azgul, or Smashing Death (Magic Warhammer +10% WS, +1D), Orc choppa

Armor: None

Trappings: Weather-stained clothing, boots, cloak with cowl, waterproof tarp, rations, flask - ale, belt pouch.

His tale so far:

Sufficient to say, I am a Slayer. We don't tell anyone what happened to make us choose this path.

Since that time I have hired on protect a mining group with my life. That didn't work out so well either. They are all dead or insane, and I remain quite alive.

The orcs attacked at night when I was catching a bit of shut eye. One moment I was falling asleep in a blissfully drunken stupor and the next moment I was tied up in a shack watching others of the group be eviscerated. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

Before my turn came, an odd collection of individuals showed up at the camp, killed the pathetic orcs, and freed me. I had no doubt all along that they would come. Death by orcs while tied up in an old shack is no death for a Slayer. This new group consists of a Brettonian Knight Errant, a sickly elf (pardon my redundancy, but he really does look like he can barely keep himself upright), and a priestess of Valya.

The only weapon available to me was a crude, unbalanced "choppa." I hefted the dull item with distaste and offered my services to the group who freed me...if they were going after the other orcs. Since they were, I led them up the obvious blood trail to the Groz Zorn meadow.

We entered Groz Zorn and explored the antechamber a bit. I decided to search the room which housed the entry murder-holes. Inside I spied what was sure to be my glorious doom: a giant spider capable of overcoming any single dwarf. The fight was ferocious, and my weapon ineffective at first. My death was certain, until the elf entered and interfered. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

Once I was used to the imbalance, I dispatched the vile creature using the crude choppa; I couldn't allow the elf to die while I was his guardian. However, we have both been wounded by the giant beast. Dire signs portend doom for all of us in this ruin, and I intend to be at the forefront.

I took the lead into a temple of the dwarf goddess Valaya. The statue of Valaya had been desecrated and patched up to resemble the Father of Darkness, a chaos dwarf god, Hashut. This drove our dear Ella insane, but I was able to hold her hand and get her back on the path to finding the item she came for. It figures I got here too late to protect the sacred room from its defilers. That's the kind of failure that plagues my pitiful existence.

The very next room was the library the priestess was looking for. She charged into it, and I was hot on her heels to guard her. It turns out the library was empty, except for pods containing the spore of a fungus called Kruts. Luckily, only Ella and I, as the toughest members of the party, were infected. The elf and the human remained safe.

We explored the ruins further, as the book Ella was looking for was not in the library. The book was found, but we continued to explore, hoping to find the beasts that desecrated the temple. The party elf interrupted a path I was following to tell me about one single solitary goblin he noticed. The ensuing fight was a bloodbath hardly worth my time. I know he needs protecting, but even an elf should be able to dispatch a lone goblin.

We left the ruins to return the valuable book to the plagued town. The hike down gave me plenty of time to convince the Elf to become my chronicler. He was reluctant at first, but all I had to do was explain that the job involved a lot of writing. He fancies himself a student, so he jumped on my offer to chronicle my doom. You just have to know how to deal with these elves.

The book we were looking for was about herbs and healing. Ella, with some help from the elf since she was itching so much, tried to find some relief for the Kruts. We ended up burning our clothes and rubbing our rash with a paste she had the elf prepare. I looked a powerful menace, naked, covered with red spots and dark paste!

Morrslieb, the chaos moon, animated an eviscerated human body, which (literally) dragged its innards out of a building to attack us. Undead don't have the presence of mind to fear the sight of a Slayer, no matter my current state. However, its punch was so ineffective it could not even hurt the human.

The elf decided to light on fire the building the zombie came out of because he feared more of its kind escaping. I got as close as I could to the building for as long as I could to be first in line in case other zombies appeared. It also helped to burn off the fungus. We should be safe the rest of our trek back, as none would dare attack a naked dwarf with a rash, dried,flaking paste, and steaming/singed hair (front and back). Thus does my doom elude me even as I keep my promise of protecting the party.


Further tales of Mordrin

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