DnD5e Fall of the Frostreaper

Tabral Kask

Name: Tabral Kask
Race: Goliath (human variant stats)
Class: War Domain Cleric
Clan: Crystalline Keepers
Mechanical Background: Fisher

Appearance: Tabral stands at 7'3 with a thin, but well muscled and wiry frame. He has the face of an individual moments from simply giving up, with sunken eyes, that are an eerily glowing blue, a constant frown on his brows, and down-turned mouth making his dour looks all the more severe with his greying beard. Grey shoulder-length hair frames his face, that he keeps well maintained.

Personality:
Despite the life he's had, and all the strife he's been through, Tabral remains an idealistic individual. He believes the Clans will eventually be free from the tyrannical rule of Thalorgarax, that it is only a matter of time, and he hopes it's sooner rather than later. Many of his clan call him naive for this line of thinking, that a dragon should suddenly disappear when it has been around for six grueling decades. But he remains hopeful, if a little optimistic.

Perhaps one reason he clings to his idealistic view is because of his sheer stubbornness. Once Tabral gets an idea, ideology, or thought in his mind, it is almost impossible to dissuade him from it. Especially the ones that have long since stayed in his head. He is as stubborn as they come, and then some. Set in his ways, and refusing to expand whatever bubble he's set for himself. The joke the Spirits played on him by making him their cleric has forced that bubble to expand, despite how much he hates it. He refuses to acknowledge them, and the powers they've granted him, rationalizing the powers as mere sorcery.

He is also a compassionate and selfless individual. His stubbornness won't stop him from going out of his way to help those in need if he has the means, and sometimes even if he doesn't. It was that very careless attitude that got the attention of the Spirits, and he curses his compassion for making his life more complicated than it needed to be.

Living a life of self indulgence before the Spirits burned it all away. The cravings still exist, and he still indulges himself. Mostly in drink and in gambling. A coping mechanism that began after the death of his two sons at the hands of the Frostfang Warriors. He drowned the pain with drink, and spent whatever money he had gambling and paying off debts--or sometimes not paying them off so the collectors could beat him within an inch of his life.

BackgroundTabral was born to a family of fishers, and ever since he could think for himself, he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. To go out into the lake by himself, without any supervision, and fish. A simple life and a simple dream for a young man like himself. But it was tradition, and he was content with that. His father taught him the trade, supervising and training him, teaching him little tricks to have a better catch.

Tabral was a quick study, by the time he was fifteen, he was out in the waters by himself, hauling in a wide catch every evening, and giving a portion of the fish to the collectors that waited by the docks. He wasn't a violent young man, but he would fight against them when they thought to take most of his catch, and he would get a black eye or a bruised rib for his efforts. Oft times returning home with no catch at all.

It had happened several times before his father stepped in. He wasn't seen again after that.

A hatred grew in his heart for the tyrannical dragon ruling over them, and his cruel enforcers that languished in the other tribes' misfortune. He despised them, but he was also hopeful a time would come when they would finally be driven away. He didn't know how, but he often daydreamed, while fishing, of smashing their ranks and sending the dragon fleeing, as if he were some hero from a folktale.

He was eventually married several years later, and had two strong boys. A pair of strong and riley twins that drove his wife mad. They could both see the two would turn into powerful warriors, and Tabral dedicated his time in training them to fight and defend themselves, instead of following in his footsteps. He figured if his boys were good at fighting, their clan would be the better for it. He trained them, until the clan warriors saw their potential and took over, turning them into a fierce pair.

By the time they were in their mid twenties, the warriors of the clan decided they would no longer let the Frostfang Warriors walk all over them, thus when the collectors came, the warriors slaughtered them. Tensions rose between the clans, and Tabral was urging for peace, but the warriors nor his own sons had patience for his efforts, keeping up with their constant raids and minor skirmishes.

Things took a turn when his sons came up with an insane plan to destroy the Frostfang with a night-time raid. They waited until the sun had set and took two dozen warriors with them, and invaded the Frostfang territory. Tabral had only learned of this mad and desperate plan the next day, and although he wanted to go after them, was stopped by the clan leaders.

A week later, Hearing wailing and shouting, Tabral awoke that morning to a crowd surrounding a cart. He approached and there, he saw the heads of the two dozen warriors, and among them the heads of his sons.

His life shattered at that moment. And he was dragged away, screaming at the gods and spirits for their cruelty.

30 min RP
Five men men and women was all they could spare. His wife begged him not to go, pleading with him, cursing him and insulting his family for his stubborn nature. But he had to go. What choice did he have? Some part of Yolonda knew that, it was why there was no fierce bite in her words. He was doing this not only for them, but for his sons. Answering a wrong that needed righting, or he would go insane.

Too long he'd been in the drinks. The moment the plan had come up near the docks, he was already on board, and had packed a month's worth of strong ale for the trek. He'd finished half in the first three nights, before the others hid the spirits from him. That only made him more miserable. But now, they were standing in front of a force almost two dozen strong, facing their demise. The deaths of their sons and daughters needed answering, and perhaps their blood would be enough a sacrifice to the gods to finally get off their asses and do something about the dragon.

"They send their best against us," Nesrila said, standing from a crouch. She wore heavy hide armour and had a grim look on her face. "Standing there, waiting because they know we'll walk to our deaths."

"And it will have more courage than they'll see in a hundred years," Rodell said, his voice like gravel. He was wearing the same, his head bald and clean shaven, marked with the tattoos of a future elder.

"We will make the cowards bleed," Tabral said, "five of us will be a match for their numbers. Let us show them the true meaning of vengeance. And let us show our cowardly gods the meaning of courage." He roared, putting the pain of seeing his son's heads into his war cry as he ran towards the enemy. Not at all caring if his companions were following him or not.

They raised their shields and held their swords towards him. Raising his own, he crashed into the enemy and used his hammer to swat away and parry their attacks. Then he began swinging. He felt the crunch of bones. Tabral had little experience in warfare and fighting, save for what little Rodell taught him on the way to their deaths. At that moment, however, he felt his body moving on its own, acting on instinct.

Elements fell before him. He parried and swung, smashing his enemy's face into a bloody mess. He swung again after blocking with his shield, sending another toppling with a dented helmet. The others fought fiercely beside him, dropping bodies with their wild swings.

Two of their five fell, arrows piercing their bodies. But they kept fighting, and Tabral kept pushing into them. Swinging madly and dropping bodies around him. He felt something change in him. His eyes changed from their normal brown into a glowing ice blue, and his hammer began to drip with ice.

With every following strike, a toll was sounded over his enemy, before they shattered as if he were hitting warriors of ice. As he fought, he heard a deep, low laugh in his ear and he answered that laugh with a roar of pure rage. More bodies were shattered, and by the end of it, it was only him, Rodell, and Nesrila, standing over a field of broken bodies.

Sublimated waves of ice wafted from him like steam. He realized they were staring at him, and when he turned to look at them, he found himself, instead, within a strange, white, snowy field with a sheer black sky. Directly in front of him was an icy throne, upon it was a figure, strong and massive, holding an equally massive icy blade.

"You would show us our cowardice, then, mortal?" The figure spoke.

Tabral snarled. "I would. You and the others have shown your true selves when the dragon came. Cowering in fear, hiding away and leaving us as the dragon's playthings."

The Spirit was silent for a moment before letting out a soft chuckle. "You are indeed spirited. Fine then. Show us our cowardice." He leaned forward, baring his teeth in a mad grin. "Defeat the Frostreaper, Thalorgarax. Present his head, mortal, and you will have showed us your courage. But if you cannot bear this task, then know your soul will be mine to do with as I please. And I can imagine a few things I can do to the little man who slaughtered my worshippers."

Before he could respond, he was back on the field of battle. The other two were looking standing right in front of him with concerned looks on their faces, shaking him. He felt power flowing through him, and realized just how much of an idiot he really was.

DnD5e Fall of the Frostreaper - Page 5 (2024)