Comments and suggestions for story behind Half-Ogre bodyguard [Archive] - Wizards Community

Comments and suggestions for story behind Half-Ogre bodyguard [Archive] - Wizards Community

Post/Author/DateTime Post
SpellMaster
08-09-03, 11:14 AM Here's the story as is now. It is fairly long, but I think you'll like it.

A long time ago, the Fist of Blood clan was the most powerful force in Komala. They ruled with an iron fist, and yet were fair and just. The ogres of this clan valued honor more than all else, even victory in combat. The city of Taramboor, founded by a small band of ogres over two thousand years agom, grew and flourished, becoming a center of trade and commerce of the world. Nestled in the verdant valley between two giant mountains, Taramboor had easy access to water, farmland, and ore. It also acted as a crossroads for anyone traveling through the mountain pass where it lied.
The leader of the Fist of Blood clan, a giant ogre called Tor, took the seat of ruler, not because he desired the power, but because it was necessary for the well-being of the city. He insisted upon honor and justice throughout his land. To each of his children, and to his children’s children, was passed his ideals. Under their rule, the city grew.
The populace flocked to this stronghold of peace, and soon it was the largest, most populated city in the world. Its influence spread throughout the land, and its control grew until it was the unofficial empire of Komala. Even with this power, the Fist of Blood clan never exploited their citizens, nor did they demand the surrender of surrounding regions. They were content that their city, mighty and powerful, would survive until the end of days, keeping their legacy alive in the hearts of all ogres to come, and left the world be.
But there were some that were not content to leave the ogres be…

* * * * *

A thousand years after its founding, Taramboor came under siege from a force of skeletal warriors and giant bone dragons. This legion of dead was lead by a jealous necromancer, called the Bone Keeper, who wanted the power and influence of the city for himself. With the aid of other necromancers, who held together the bonds of undeath that held their warriors together, the Bone Keeper assaulted the city. Using evil arcane powers, the Bone Keeper tore asunder the mighty walls surrounding the city, and in through this wound poured all the hate and malice of the world. The citizens were slaughtered, buildings burned to the ground, or simply turned to dust by foul green energy. The city guard had no power against these undead monstrosities. For each one that fell, another two rose from the dead bodies of the peasants.
After a single day of combat, the town lay in ruins, the ogres’ legacy burning to the ground under the red twilight of night. The last of the ogre defenses had been pushed back to the center of the city, where the great ogre palace lay. Of the two thousand ogres that once patrolled the city, only a few dozen remained. These protected the palace with their lives. The undead hordes trudged forward, unyielding, undying.
In this time of dread, Lozak, the current leader of the city, prayed to the gods for a savior, one who would save his fair city from the terrible undeath that surrounded his palace. Standing from his private prayer chamber within his temple, he strode from the room to join his fellow ogres in battle.
When Lozak stepped from the temple, the remaining guards formed a circle around him. Over ten thousand skeletal warriors surrounded this last defense of ogre kind. With grim determination, the small circle of warriors moved forward into the mass of bone.

* * * * *

Far away, in a different land altogether, a mighty sorcerer was watching the onslaught of Taramboor. He had been watching this ogre city for years now, curious as to why, in this city’s world, the ogres were peaceful, intelligent, and just. In the sorcerer’s world, ogres were giant things, terrible to the extreme, and delighted in the torture of lesser beings. They ransacked the countryside, enjoying the screams of the dying, and feasting on children’s torn bodies.
In the past few years, the sorcerer had come to the conclusion that this race of ogres, whether related to the monstrosities of his world or not, had proven themselves just and fair. He stood from his scrying mirror, and walked to his storeroom of magical arcana. Placing each item with care, the sorcerer readied himself for war. Once prepared, he shuffled over to a large, ornate chest lying in the corner. Never having thought that he would use this mighty artifact for the benefit of ogre-kind, he retrieved a small glass bauble from the chest. With a single word of power, the sorcerer disappeared.

* * * * *

Only his four sons and himself still alive, Lozak knew the end was near. But giving up was dishonorable, and he would not die abandoning his ancestor’s ideals. The four fought on, crushing skulls and ribcages everywhere. But still the undead poured in, countless lifeless corpses.
As they cleared the courtyard of the palace, a light shone through the blood-soaked clouds above. From this beam of light strode a small human, clad in red robes adorned with strange symbols. The ogres turned towards him, ready to face this new enemy. Just as they were about to strike, the small man pointed a hand to the entrance to the courtyard and muttered a small incantation. A small bead of red fire rushed forth from his fingertip and exploded in a great inferno, incinerating two dozen skeletons that were clambering over the dead blocking the entrance. Only a fine dust remained where once there had been iron-clad, skeletal warriors.
Realizing this powerful little man was an ally, the ogres turned back towards the gate. Rushing forward, bellowing warcries the likes of which had never been heard, the ogres crashed into the legion of the dead.

* * * * *

With the aid of the small man’s powerful magicks, the ogres were able to recapture the palace grounds. Lozak stood beside the small man upon the battlements of the gate, peering over his ruined city. Almost like a river of metal, the undead flowed towards the palace.
The man turned towards the ogre and spoke, for the first time. “I have a way to save your city, but the chance is slim it will function correctly.”
Lozak peered down at the little human, doubting that his city even had a hope of surviving. But, knowing his city was doomed one way or the other, gave the man a small nod.
The sorcerer climbed down from the battlements and knelt in the middle of the courtyard. Removing a small glass bead from his robes, he began muttering strange syllables and weaving symbols in the air with his fingers.
A great blast shook the walls, as the gate was disintegrated to splinters by an evil necromancer. Undead poured through.
“Protect the human!” yelled the ogre leader. The four remaining ogres formed a circle around the small man, and fought for their city.
With a last word, the kneeling mage threw the small bead into the air, where it hung upon the winds of magic. A white light began to pour from within the small bauble, growing in intensity. When the light touched a skeletal hand, the bones flared with black fire, and fell to pieces upon the ground. Wherever the light reached, the dead fell apart, their link to this world sundered by the power of the artifact. Like a ripple in a pond, the river of dead fell to the power of the white light.
As the corners of the city were lit by the magical light, a gray fog began to seep from the ground. As the light died, the fog moved to take its place. Almost as if with intelligence, the fog crept forward with a purpose, covering every part of the city. Soon, the whole city was covered in fog, so thick one could not see through more than five feet.
Suddenly, the ogres felt a sensation as if they were falling, and yet they were still standing on solid ground. As they recovered from the experience, the fog parted, seeping back into the ground from whence it came.
The ogre city was no longer shouldered by the two great peaks, but by a strange countryside.
“Welcome to Ravenloft,” said the small man.

I want the half-ogre to be an honorable, dependable, kind of guy. He isn't very bright, and aint no social king, but he has good common sense and is very loyal to his charge (a human sorcerer, who's player has used his own, computed stats for his character, so he aint that good).

The half-ogre, named Tor (protec-Tor), has stats as follows:

Str: 22
Dex: 14
Con: 20
Int: 11
Wis: 15
Chr: 8

He wields a longspear, to best protect his charge from harm, but also has a longsword (all these weapons are for large creatures, of course), and is skilled in bare-hand combat (hence the Fist of Blood clan name).

His feats are Improved Unarmed Strike and Improved Grapple, giving him a +15 to grapple checks, at ECL 2!

This is not a min-max request. I don't want to exploit his obviously great fighting potential. I just want some further story ideas to flesh out his backgrounds.

If you need any more info, just ask.
Knight_of_spades
02-28-05, 12:49 PM Who is who here?
Is your character the king? Why is he a bodyguard?
In any case playing an ogre (half or not) is very inappropriate for ravenloft. In any other world this would be a good backstory for a character.
Besides a mage can not open a portal to ravenlof, also nobody know that ravenlof is called ravenloft. Ravenloft is the castle that Count Sargovich lives in. The reason that the world is called ravenloft is that the first adventure to the world was based in castle ravenloft.
In any case why would the sorcerer teleport the city into ravenloft? That will not save them from the undead it will just make the undead more powerfull.
Even if the sorcerer leaves the undead behind the mist of ravenloft would gladly pull them in.
SpellMaster
03-02-05, 05:39 PM Wow, a year and a half ago, I posted that. Can't believe it resurfaced.

Anyways, although the game never got off the ground :(, I may be able to address some issues, at least within my understanding.

Given, I know next to nothing about Ravenloft, I went by what the DM told me. You can get into Ravenloft, but not out of it. So, in my character's people's history, a powerful mage teleported the entire city away from the encroaching horde of undead.

I had no idea that Ravenloft was not the known name for the plane. So, a mistake on my part caused by my ignorance of the campaign world. Beyond that, it was a last ditch effort, like the story says. It was either die right then and there, or go to Raven... whatever the plane is called and at least have a chance at survival.

The ogre was born into the caste of warriors and became a bodyguard for nobles, in this case the scrawny, pompous sorcerer. Anyways, I can't really tell you much more, the game ended after one session.

Post/Author/DateTime	Post
SpellMaster 08-09-03, 11:14 AM	Here's the story as is now. It is fairly long, but I think you'll like it. A long time ago, the Fist of Blood clan was the most powerful force in Komala. They ruled with an iron fist, and yet were fair and just. The ogres of this clan valued honor more than all else, even victory in combat. The city of Taramboor, founded by a small band of ogres over two thousand years agom, grew and flourished, becoming a center of trade and commerce of the world. Nestled in the verdant valley between two giant mountains, Taramboor had easy access to water, farmland, and ore. It also acted as a crossroads for anyone traveling through the mountain pass where it lied. The leader of the Fist of Blood clan, a giant ogre called Tor, took the seat of ruler, not because he desired the power, but because it was necessary for the well-being of the city. He insisted upon honor and justice throughout his land. To each of his children, and to his children’s children, was passed his ideals. Under their rule, the city grew. The populace flocked to this stronghold of peace, and soon it was the largest, most populated city in the world. Its influence spread throughout the land, and its control grew until it was the unofficial empire of Komala. Even with this power, the Fist of Blood clan never exploited their citizens, nor did they demand the surrender of surrounding regions. They were content that their city, mighty and powerful, would survive until the end of days, keeping their legacy alive in the hearts of all ogres to come, and left the world be. But there were some that were not content to leave the ogres be… * * * * * A thousand years after its founding, Taramboor came under siege from a force of skeletal warriors and giant bone dragons. This legion of dead was lead by a jealous necromancer, called the Bone Keeper, who wanted the power and influence of the city for himself. With the aid of other necromancers, who held together the bonds of undeath that held their warriors together, the Bone Keeper assaulted the city. Using evil arcane powers, the Bone Keeper tore asunder the mighty walls surrounding the city, and in through this wound poured all the hate and malice of the world. The citizens were slaughtered, buildings burned to the ground, or simply turned to dust by foul green energy. The city guard had no power against these undead monstrosities. For each one that fell, another two rose from the dead bodies of the peasants. After a single day of combat, the town lay in ruins, the ogres’ legacy burning to the ground under the red twilight of night. The last of the ogre defenses had been pushed back to the center of the city, where the great ogre palace lay. Of the two thousand ogres that once patrolled the city, only a few dozen remained. These protected the palace with their lives. The undead hordes trudged forward, unyielding, undying. In this time of dread, Lozak, the current leader of the city, prayed to the gods for a savior, one who would save his fair city from the terrible undeath that surrounded his palace. Standing from his private prayer chamber within his temple, he strode from the room to join his fellow ogres in battle. When Lozak stepped from the temple, the remaining guards formed a circle around him. Over ten thousand skeletal warriors surrounded this last defense of ogre kind. With grim determination, the small circle of warriors moved forward into the mass of bone. * * * * * Far away, in a different land altogether, a mighty sorcerer was watching the onslaught of Taramboor. He had been watching this ogre city for years now, curious as to why, in this city’s world, the ogres were peaceful, intelligent, and just. In the sorcerer’s world, ogres were giant things, terrible to the extreme, and delighted in the torture of lesser beings. They ransacked the countryside, enjoying the screams of the dying, and feasting on children’s torn bodies. In the past few years, the sorcerer had come to the conclusion that this race of ogres, whether related to the monstrosities of his world or not, had proven themselves just and fair. He stood from his scrying mirror, and walked to his storeroom of magical arcana. Placing each item with care, the sorcerer readied himself for war. Once prepared, he shuffled over to a large, ornate chest lying in the corner. Never having thought that he would use this mighty artifact for the benefit of ogre-kind, he retrieved a small glass bauble from the chest. With a single word of power, the sorcerer disappeared. * * * * * Only his four sons and himself still alive, Lozak knew the end was near. But giving up was dishonorable, and he would not die abandoning his ancestor’s ideals. The four fought on, crushing skulls and ribcages everywhere. But still the undead poured in, countless lifeless corpses. As they cleared the courtyard of the palace, a light shone through the blood-soaked clouds above. From this beam of light strode a small human, clad in red robes adorned with strange symbols. The ogres turned towards him, ready to face this new enemy. Just as they were about to strike, the small man pointed a hand to the entrance to the courtyard and muttered a small incantation. A small bead of red fire rushed forth from his fingertip and exploded in a great inferno, incinerating two dozen skeletons that were clambering over the dead blocking the entrance. Only a fine dust remained where once there had been iron-clad, skeletal warriors. Realizing this powerful little man was an ally, the ogres turned back towards the gate. Rushing forward, bellowing warcries the likes of which had never been heard, the ogres crashed into the legion of the dead. * * * * * With the aid of the small man’s powerful magicks, the ogres were able to recapture the palace grounds. Lozak stood beside the small man upon the battlements of the gate, peering over his ruined city. Almost like a river of metal, the undead flowed towards the palace. The man turned towards the ogre and spoke, for the first time. “I have a way to save your city, but the chance is slim it will function correctly.” Lozak peered down at the little human, doubting that his city even had a hope of surviving. But, knowing his city was doomed one way or the other, gave the man a small nod. The sorcerer climbed down from the battlements and knelt in the middle of the courtyard. Removing a small glass bead from his robes, he began muttering strange syllables and weaving symbols in the air with his fingers. A great blast shook the walls, as the gate was disintegrated to splinters by an evil necromancer. Undead poured through. “Protect the human!” yelled the ogre leader. The four remaining ogres formed a circle around the small man, and fought for their city. With a last word, the kneeling mage threw the small bead into the air, where it hung upon the winds of magic. A white light began to pour from within the small bauble, growing in intensity. When the light touched a skeletal hand, the bones flared with black fire, and fell to pieces upon the ground. Wherever the light reached, the dead fell apart, their link to this world sundered by the power of the artifact. Like a ripple in a pond, the river of dead fell to the power of the white light. As the corners of the city were lit by the magical light, a gray fog began to seep from the ground. As the light died, the fog moved to take its place. Almost as if with intelligence, the fog crept forward with a purpose, covering every part of the city. Soon, the whole city was covered in fog, so thick one could not see through more than five feet. Suddenly, the ogres felt a sensation as if they were falling, and yet they were still standing on solid ground. As they recovered from the experience, the fog parted, seeping back into the ground from whence it came. The ogre city was no longer shouldered by the two great peaks, but by a strange countryside. “Welcome to Ravenloft,” said the small man. I want the half-ogre to be an honorable, dependable, kind of guy. He isn't very bright, and aint no social king, but he has good common sense and is very loyal to his charge (a human sorcerer, who's player has used his own, computed stats for his character, so he aint that good). The half-ogre, named Tor (protec-Tor), has stats as follows: Str: 22 Dex: 14 Con: 20 Int: 11 Wis: 15 Chr: 8 He wields a longspear, to best protect his charge from harm, but also has a longsword (all these weapons are for large creatures, of course), and is skilled in bare-hand combat (hence the Fist of Blood clan name). His feats are Improved Unarmed Strike and Improved Grapple, giving him a +15 to grapple checks, at ECL 2! This is not a min-max request. I don't want to exploit his obviously great fighting potential. I just want some further story ideas to flesh out his backgrounds. If you need any more info, just ask.
Knight_of_spades 02-28-05, 12:49 PM	Who is who here? Is your character the king? Why is he a bodyguard? In any case playing an ogre (half or not) is very inappropriate for ravenloft. In any other world this would be a good backstory for a character. Besides a mage can not open a portal to ravenlof, also nobody know that ravenlof is called ravenloft. Ravenloft is the castle that Count Sargovich lives in. The reason that the world is called ravenloft is that the first adventure to the world was based in castle ravenloft. In any case why would the sorcerer teleport the city into ravenloft? That will not save them from the undead it will just make the undead more powerfull. Even if the sorcerer leaves the undead behind the mist of ravenloft would gladly pull them in.
SpellMaster 03-02-05, 05:39 PM	Wow, a year and a half ago, I posted that. Can't believe it resurfaced. Anyways, although the game never got off the ground :(, I may be able to address some issues, at least within my understanding. Given, I know next to nothing about Ravenloft, I went by what the DM told me. You can get into Ravenloft, but not out of it. So, in my character's people's history, a powerful mage teleported the entire city away from the encroaching horde of undead. I had no idea that Ravenloft was not the known name for the plane. So, a mistake on my part caused by my ignorance of the campaign world. Beyond that, it was a last ditch effort, like the story says. It was either die right then and there, or go to Raven... whatever the plane is called and at least have a chance at survival. The ogre was born into the caste of warriors and became a bodyguard for nobles, in this case the scrawny, pompous sorcerer. Anyways, I can't really tell you much more, the game ended after one session.