Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Shaggy_Shaggs 01-19-06, 04:58 AM	The character is a half-orc barbarian (orc mother, born and somewhat raised on that side) that due to a freak mutation is monstrous and bestial in appearance. (Seven and a half feet tall, about 350 lb, claws, prodigious physical power, slitted pupils, oversized tusks, furry... he's got an inherited template attached that's a toned-down version of the Feral template.) He didn't go over too well with the tribe and is on his own now. Could y'all give me some suggestions for names the orcs might have given such a beast?
Fithero 01-19-06, 07:31 AM	well.... id give him one of the more *tough* sounding orc names from the PHB, something short, to the point... like a hard smack to the face. Or, if he has a bit of infamy in his own tribe, perhaps the tribes shaman forbid him to have a name, and thus gave him a title that all are to call him by. Somthing like "unclean one" "Right eye of Grummish" (or whatever one was ripped out) or "crazy mofo who is to dangerous to allow to stay with us"... i dunno... again, make it short, blunt and descriptive. Hope this helps. Later
Harrow Blade 01-19-06, 07:44 AM	I imagine that orcs,as cultured as they are, would treat you as some sort of dangerous creature and name you as such. They would see you as a threat and so try to get one over you by naming you something demeaning like "Dog" or "kitten" (the terrifying savage named kitten, thats more than enough reason to rage) even "Beast' would work. Or you could go another way, "Gore" was always a favourite of mine, "Hand Biter", "Headkicker", "Baeruk" also springs to mind as a strange amalgum of bear and orc
Shaggy_Shaggs 01-19-06, 08:00 AM	Hmmm... perhaps Baeruk the Cursed would fit. Or maybe Baeruk the Rabid. Thanks folks.
Shaggy_Shaggs 01-19-06, 12:17 PM	So I ended up writing some about Baeruk the Rabid from his own POV. Comments or suggestions are welcome, never hurts to improve writing ability via criticism. They say a banshee keened when I was born, but that was probably just my mother. I already had my claws, hair, and all my teeth then. Lucky thing for me... dear mother died birthing me, and they say I tore myself out of her belly after they'd given me up for lost. No one had seen anything like it, and the tribe elders said it must have been the work of some devilish shape changing magic. Growing up was hard. Everyone gave me a wide berth, but I could hear them whispering about me, and smell their fear. I didn't mind it much, but the thrown rocks were aggravating. I grew fast, and by ten summers my mother's sister said I was already as big as the father I'd never met. I suddenly had to know, and demanded his name and location. She all too eagerly told me, and I could sense there was something more she wasn't telling me, but I foolishly let it drop, gathered some provisions, and set out to the city of Tara to find him. I never learned to read road signs, but lone travelers were so frightened of me they didn't dare not to answer my questions, and I found my way there eventually. I made my way in looking for answers, and found a lot of locked doors and shuttered windows. The few stray humans that weren't indoors were more or less useless, but I finally found an armor-clad man who kept his composure long enough to tell me that Bran Steelpike had indeed lived here, but he'd died three summers ago at the claws of an angry dire bear. What little was recovered of him lay in the cemetery. I left the guard and followed my nose to a bar for a bite to eat and some time to think, taking the door off the hinges to get in. Unfortunately, just after the cowering cook showed up with my meal, many guards showed up, and I grabbed my roast chicken and beat a hasty retreat out of town at spear point, with shouts of "monster!" ringing in my ears. Imagine my surprise after the long trek back home, when I found my tribe had pulled up the stakes and relocated - the encampment was completely gone. Anybody could've followed the blatant tracks, and I did till I found the new site, where I was met with more spears, axes and torches. "We don't want you here," the chieftain spoke, "your very existence is a bad omen. Take your hideous accursed blood from here before we spill it." He tried to be intimidating, but his voice sounded desperate, and I could smell him perspiring heavily. I didn't want to go, but what could I do? I've been on my own since then, for several years, I haven't bothered to count. I kept on getting bigger and stronger for awhile, but eventually I stopped growing, so I must be over fourteen summers by now. But days, months, years... it all blurs together into one long stretch of nothing special when you're alone. I'm bored and lonely, and I hate it. Nobody will talk to me for long when I meet them. Most run screaming. The few that stay for more than a breath talk like they think I'm some stupid beast. Sometimes I hear people setting up camps at night, and I sneak up to listen to them. There's always stories about warlords, powerful mercenaries, and heroes... brave men slaying dragons and saving princesses and villages, smashing up hordes of the living dead and coming back with mounds of treasure, getting respect and the girls. Nobody talks about their faces or where they came from. It's always how brave they are, how many foes they've slain, how their muscles bulge, and the maidens want them and the men want to be them. Each of my arms is as big around as the chieftain's midsection. I can lift 42 stones over my head, and I killed a young lion with my bare hands just yesterday. I should have people telling stories like that about me... now if I can just find some way to keep them from running away long enough to watch.
Fithero 01-20-06, 01:43 AM	Thats a pretty cool backgound, and an interesting character. It would seem at times he would even "set up" situations where he could come to the rescue... just to become famous. Alot like shrek in some ways... the big monster wanting acceptance. Cool. Later