Iconic Barbarian: Ragnoth Frost Serpent

Playing Ragnoth Ragnoth lives by a code taught to him by his uncle: “Die on your feet, or live on your knees.” By his understanding, a person that does not choose his own fate is a slave to those that would choose it for him. When utilizing his rage, he is imagining the presumptuous noble that thought to determine Ragnoth’s fate.

Ragnoth Frost Serpent        

Male Half-Orc Barbarian 1

CN Medium humanoid

Init -1; Senses darkvision; Perception +1

Defense

AC 13, touch 9, flat-footed 13 (+4 armor, -1 Dex)

HP 21 (1d12+9)

Fort +7; Ref -1; Will +1

Offense

Speed 30 ft.

Melee scythe +4 (2d4+4/*4)

Ranged orc war bow +0 (1d12/*3)

Special Attacks rage (9 rounds/day)

Statistics

Str 16, Dex 8, Con 20, Int 12, Wis 13, Cha 10

Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 13

Feats Toughness

Skills Acrobatics +0, Climb +4, Knowledge (nature) +6, Survival +5, Swim +4; Armor Check Penalty -3

Traits killer, savage*

Languages Common, Orc, Halfling

SQ fast movement*, orc blood, orc ferocity, intimidating

Equipment scythe, orc war bow, quiver with 80 cold iron arrows, hide armor, barbarian’s kit

* The effects of this ability have already been calculated into Ragnoth’s statistics

Backstory Born to a small orc clan in Sylvanor, Ragnoth’s family held moderate station despite their blood having been mixed with that of the Ninuq humans from beyond the Frozen Wall. Ragnoth’s father, Aelfric, was the finest smith in the mountains and orcs from nearly a dozen clans came to prove themselves worthy of an ax or spear made by Aelfric Frost Serpent. Tinilga, Ragnoth’s mother, was the clan’s healer. Though not a shaman, she knew enough of plants to be able to treat all but the most grievous of injuries.

     An only child, Ragnoth didn’t take after his parents but his uncle. His father’s half-brother was a full-blooded orc warrior and hunter for the clan, with nearly twenty raids to his name. Determined to be like his favorite uncle, Ragnoth entered the sparring rings far younger than would normally have been allowed. Most whelps that try to enter the sparring rings early receive increasingly more lashings until they give up and wait until they are the proper age. Ragnoth however, kept forcing his bleeding body to stand, and on shaking legs would throw himself at the Ring Master.

     His stubborn refusal to back down combined with his surprising durability impressed the Ring Master enough to permit his early training. Ragnoth bore the scars on his back as a badge of pride, and a reminder to always stand back up. The older youths in the sparring ring would repeatedly knock Ragnoth down, and every time they did Ragnoth forced himself to stand. Ragnoth never won a fight in his training by being the better fighter, he always won by being the last one standing.

     When Ragnoth was fourteen, he participated in his first raid. Under the command of his favorite uncle, he was eager to wet his blade on the soft foreigners from the south that he grew up hearing tales of. The mountains made the orcs strong, while the valleys that the foreigners favored coddled them. When the raiders came upon a farming village, Ragnoth was horrified when he saw the human villagers.

     While they were not the fat gluttons that he grew up hearing tales of, he could see in their eyes that their spirits were broken. They didn’t know how to fight for what was theirs, they just surrendered it to the first person in fancy dress that demanded it. It filled Ragnoth with a fury unlike any he had known.

     The raid went well, but it was on the way to their mountain homeland that problems arose. The local lord had grown tired of orc raids and had thus sent his soldiers to patrol for orcs. The tired orcs were no match for the fresh patrol, and those that were not killed were captured. Led in chains to the lord’s fortress in the city of Eszath, the captured orcs, including Ragnoth, were thrown into the dungeons.

     Ragnoth shared his cell with a halfling pickpocket named Tobias. As Ragnoth demanded to know what was to occur, the indignation of youth fueling his voice, Tobias managed to calm the young warrior. Through Tobias Ragnoth learned of the southern lands, how most folk weren’t warriors and were simply trying to live their lives as best they could.

     Despite this newfound understanding, Ragnoth could not accept that life under fat lords could be a good thing. The rugged independence of his mountain homeland was far too central to who he was. As his uncle told him while Ragnoth was in training, “When you boil it down, there are two choices in life. You either die on your feet, or you live on your knees.”

     Ragnoth could not accept a life where another was the master of his fate. With Tobias’s help, he escaped the dungeons to make his life his own, for in his own words, “I am the master of my fate, not some fat, so-called ‘noble.’”

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