The Continent of Morkane
Vimik Skyseeker Guvathalin
Frighteningly strong hammer-wielding Goliath.
Vimik Skyseeker Guvathalin, Male, Age 16
Goliath Barbarian 6/War Hulk 6
7’10’’, 325 lbs.
STR: 42 (+0)
Speed: 40 ft.
AC: 20 = 10 + 6 Armor + 2 Dex + 2 Deflection
Touch AC: 14 Flat-footed AC: 20(Uncanny Dodge)
Armor Worn: +2 Chain Shirt of greater healing
Fort: 18 = 10 Base + 3 Ability + 5 Magic
Ref: 11 = 4 Base + 2 Ability + 5 Magic (+ 2 against Traps)
Will: 13 = 4 Base + 2 Ability + 5 Magic (+ 2 Luck with Luck Rerolls)
23, 3d6+27, x4 Crit, Range Inc: 20 ft. (ecmt+magic weapon)
Raging 25, 3d6+30, x4 Crit, Range Inc: 20 ft. ecmt+magic weapon)
Masterwork Composite Bow 3, 2d6+7, x3 Crit, Range Inc: 110 ft.
Racial Traits/Class Features
Rage 2/day, 8 Rounds
Trap Sense +2
Improved Uncanny Dodge
No Time to Think
Lucky Start(From lucky charm)
Better Lucky Than Good
Inattentive (-4 on all Spot and Listen checks)
Helm of glorious recovery
Goggles of darkvision
Amulet of Health +4
Cloak of resistance +5
ring of protection +2
Gloves of dex +2
Greater Healing Chain shirt +2
Boots of ultimate Athleticicsm
Belt of giant str +6
Goliaths are no strangers to the hardships of life. Their nomadic, tribalistic communities give rise to some of the heartiest humanoids to walk the planet. Almost all of them are gifted physically, and given proper motivation and training, they can be a terrifying force. Vimik Guvathalin is no exception.
However, unlike the Goliaths of the plains and mountains, Vimik was raised in the heart of a major city. His parents eschewed the life of wandering foragers in favor of the security of Aequora. Knowing only the life of a commoner, Vimik was more familiar than most of his kind with the intricacies of urban life. As he grew, he began taking jobs that other humanoids his age simply did not have the physique for. As a more efficient and equally aloof source of construction equipment, young Vimik never had trouble finding a job to help support his parents. Life wasn’t cheap in the city, even in the “Poor” District of town.
Life wasn’t a guarantee, either. Even the physically imposing Vimik had to learn to step far and fast when the streets became unsafe. His predilection to leaping across roof-tops to circumvent the two-bit hoods of his slum earned him the nickname of “Skyseeker” from his parents. Vimik never questioned the dangers of the city—they were simply part of things.
One day, after an excruciatingly hot and humid day at work, Vimik trudged his way home. The late hour did nothing to dampen the sweltering summer heat, and Vimik was looking forward to relaxing with a bowl or six of his mother’s finest stew. When his home rolled into view, he knew immediately that something was wrong. No light shown out from the window, the door swayed ajar into the night air. His feet forgot their fatigue, and within moments he was in his home. Quiet. Dark. He called out for his parents as he scrambled and searched his small abode. In their room he found them. On the floor, sticky and wet with blood, his parents lay. A mace rested amidst the pool of dark red, near the hand of his mother. The wounds on them were plainly from a blade, however. He cradled his mother’s head in his arms and wailed into the night. As the situation unfolded, a blind rage swept over Vimik. A bellowing whirlwind, he stormed out of his house into the street. On his way out the door, he snatched up a massive wooden maul that he kept for driving stakes into the ground on certain construction jobs.
Frantic and furious, Vimik charged to the nearest place where he could question people— The Riverboat Rum Shack. The teenage Vimik, now drenched in his mother’s blood, descended upon the bar like a tidal wave. Amidst screamed demands of “Who did it?!” and “Who killed my parents?!” the patrons of the pub did their best to calm the young Goliath; though when one of the regulars felt the need to intervene physically, he quickly found himself arcing through the air like a wingless bird. Chaos ensued, as is wont to happen in a rough Poor District bar, and the only one able to quiet the storm was the huge human barman. He wrestled Vimik to the ground and choked him out—enough to incapacitate him, but not kill him.
Vimik awoke to the jangle of chains and manacles. He sprung to his feet, swinging about wildly. As he clattered about, he realized he had been taken by the local guards. He shook his cell bars, rattling them about at the hinges. He shouted for the guards, and when they came, he did his best to explain what had happened. They told him they didn’t know anything about any murders, just that he was tearing up a bar, and that the proprietor had tossed him into the street. They told him they would look into it, but he would not be leaving his cell any time soon. This did not sit well with Vimik, but realizing his position , he merely bit his tongue and stepped away from the bars. “Just find out who did it,” he said solemnly.
The a few days later, the clank of a steel lock opening jolted Vimik from his sleep. In front of his cell, next to the guard, stood a big, barrel-chested human. The bartender from a few nights prior, Vimik realized.“You’re out of here, kid,” the guard said. “Minion here has offered to post your bail, on the condition that you fix up the damage you caused.” More baffled than angry, Vimik shuffled over to be released. “Oh, and uh, sorry about your parents,” the guard added. “We’re still working on that one.”
On their way out of the station, Vimik began to turn back, as if to begin demanding of everyone the answers he had not yet been given. A firm, but gentle hand clutched his shoulder. Minion quietly shook his head. Vimik boiled with hatred over the next few days. He had his parents buried, though it took most of his remaining funds. He stopped by the police station every day, and every day they gave him nothing. With clenched teeth and barely contained frustration, he repaired the damage he caused at the Riverboat Rum Shack. The days seemed to drag on and on.
In the weeks that followed, more murders swept through Aequora’s streets. While the area and affluence of the victims varied, other conditions were strikingly similar to the murder of Vimik’s parents. Each time the victims were riddled with slashing wounds. Each time the valuables of the victims were left undisturbed.
Each time, the guards came up empty handed.
Whenever a new victim came to light, Vimik seethed with fury. He had been ordered to stop harassing the guard stations, or else he would be thrown in jail again. Vimik’s disdain for the city guard grew by the hour. Once he had finished fixing his bar, Minion offered Vimik a job as bouncer, and at more than fair pay. Vimik excelled at doling out pain to anyone and everyone that challenged him, and Minion made sure he was compensated for his efforts. Though few words were exchanged between the two, Vimik was glad to have Minion around.
One night, as he was sweeping up after a decidedly boring evening at the bar, Vimik noticed a large package at one of the tables. He scanned the empty bar, wondering how he hadn’t noticed the package there earlier. He walked over to it, and found a letter addressed to him on the top. He spun around again as a sickly feeling crept into his gut. Silence. He opened the letter.
“Hey kid. I have some associates who figured out who this sicko is that’s been killing people. It’s the same guy who killed your parents. Now, if you aren’t up to this, they say they can handle it. But if you want, there’s a map of this guy’s hideout in the package—plus a little gift from me. Burn this letter.
Vimik tore open the wrapping. Inside were detailed floor plans to a small shrine hidden below a derelict mill, but the bulk of the package was made up by a colossal great hammer. Vimik recognized the markings on it as Gol-ka symbols. After disposing of the letter, he set out into the night.
In the detritus-filled basement of an old and disused mill, Vimik found the secret pressure plate that was indicated on the map. A section of wall slid open, exposing a staircase. Radiating from deep within was the warm light of a fire. As he made his way down as stealthily as he could manage, Vimik heard echoing through the halls a disturbing tune whistled not-quite in key. It grew louder as he approached the source of the light. Far below the surface, standing near a shimmering shrine of a horned humanoid head with a lit brazier, was the cavern’s soul occupant. He watched as Vimik approached, still whistling that sickening song.
A bald human looking to be in his mid-twenties stood before Vimik. He crossed his arms in front of him. Razor-sharp and wiry musculature filled his relatively small frame. He was naked to the waist, save for intricately stitched leather bracers and a necklace of large, ornate beads. Baggy, delicate-looking orange trousers swayed slightly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Tucked in the waistband were two menacing looking kama.
Behind the man, near a small, simple tent, was a large wooden frame with long paper scrolls suspended from it. Names of all different kinds filled the paper, written in an erratic, jagged manner. Even in the flickering fire-light, Vimik could see the dark-red hue of the letters on the page. Blood. Amongst the names, Vimik saw his parents’. On the ground in front of the frame lay a large book.
A smirk spread across the stranger’s face as his whistling ended. His eyes did not smile, however. They seemed completely disconnected from the man who was looking through them. “Finally,” he muttered, unblinking. “Someone to appreciate my work.”
Never one for words, Vimik charged the man, hammer in hand. In a flash, the man tore into him with his kama, and Vimik’s weapon found only air. The battle raged for some time— the nimble murderer flitting about, dodging each of Vimik’s swings, and sadistically carving him apart with little effort. After a while, Vimik was replete with wounds. Gasping for air and clutching at his bloodied torso, Vimik seemed at the end of his rope. The man cackled as he seemed ready to deliver the final blow. The man made a blinding dash at Vimik, only this time it was he who came up empty. Having lept straight in the air, Vimik crashed back down upon the man with a massive two-handed swing. The man’s body crumpled into a bloody and broken heap.
Looking about the cave, Vimik began setting fire to the man’s works. He paged through the book, but found its contents indecipherable. He tossed the book and the ragged corpse on top the the inferno. Sealing the caverns behind him, he stumbled home and began to tend to his injuries.
In the weeks that followed, Vimik would come to some peace about his parents. Now, however, he was directionless. He retained his job as bouncer of the Riverboat Rum Shack, though more out of habit than necessity. As time passed, he became more and more lost for purpose. A chance encounter with two well-intentioned brigands, however, would awaken his realization that more evil brewed elsewhere, and his hammer was eager to quench its thirst.