Name: Jacrum Shieldbreaker
Age:55 (at creation)
Class: Barbarian 8 / Rogue 7 /
Battlerager 5
Race: Dwarf
Subrace: None
Alignment: Neutral Good
Deity: Vorax
Domains: None
Bio:
Part One: Alone
It was cooler here than out in the desert sun. There had been giant sign at the entrance to the cave system. Their foot prints unmistakable in the desert sand. The scent of giant wafted down the corridor. Jacrum looked at the sweat cooling on his scarred forearms. He probably didn't smell much better, not that it bothered him. It would just take a warm draught of air from the cave entrance for the giants to notice him. Undoubtedly their noses were keener than his. Walking forward alone he saw them. The two giants were arguing over the spoils of the recent raid, poor picking from the ant like creatures the roamed the desert. Only two giants, they would be wary of other tribes, bandits and adventures seeking to relieve them of their spoils. They would be paranoid. That gave him an idea.
ROARING like a hoard of stout Dwarven adventurers he charged the giants with the battle cry "For Vorax lads!" The startled giants immediately turned to flee, expecting a descending horde of their dire foes. The ploy work allowing the canny dwarf to extract the first blow to the slower of the two giants. "Never turn ye back in battle lad," Jacrum taunted the brute as he pulled his axe out of the giants broad back. The dim witted brute turned back expecting to be overwhelmed, but seeing only a single dwarf it called to its fleeter footed companion for aid.
Jacrum darted back down the passage to a narrow alcove filled with low hanging stalactites and protruding stalagmites resembling a stony maw. As the first of the two giants approached he barreled forward out of the alcove his axe up and his chin down, slamming into the giants legs. The tough dwarf bounced back from the impact, but the giant faired much worse. Jacrum had been trying to trip it up, but somehow the giant held its footing. However, it was another telling blow and the giants had yet to return a counter blow.
They approached the dwarf cautiously now, the narrow opening of the alcove restricted them to facing the furious dwarf one at a time. "Never tackle a dwarf with his back to stone" Jacrum called to the giant goading it on. From this strong defensive position he was able to fend off the prods of the lead giants spear on his sturdy iron shield, and then dart forward to return sapping counterblows. The small gap at the rear of the alcove had been Jacrum's exit route, but now the lead giant spotted it.
The lead giant was fading fast. It urged its companion to circle around and try to poke its spear through the jumble of stalactites and stalagmites that formed rear of the alcove. Its companion seeing the benefit of the plan, and eager to get involved in the fight turned to circle around the alcove. Knowing it would be difficult to use his shield to his advantage with giants prodding spears at him from front and rear, Jacrum leap forward past the lead giant. The unexpected move scored a vicious blow to the side of the second giant. However, the move left Jacrum's back exposed and the lead giant obliging plunged his spear through the iron links of the Jacrum chain shirt and deep into the hard flesh of dwarven muscle. A short, sharp grunt of pain escaped the dwarfs lips, the knotted muscle of his back spasmed tight around the embedded spear. Jacrum twisted hard to the left tearing the spear from the giants grasp. Completing the turn, Jacrum drove the full force of his momentum through the head of his iron waraxe and deep within the now unarmed giant's chest. The dwarven wrought iron bit deep and true, the fiery enchantment in the axe head flaring in a blast of heat. The Flame of Sharlin taking the giant.
With his companion felled the second giant screamed in fear and anger. It too had taken a grievous wound and it knew it could no-longer match the fury of its axe wielding foe. The screams of the giant echoed down the caverns as the firey waraxe beat past its weak attempts to fend off the fierce dwarf. On the second stroke of the axe the giant stumbled. At the third stroke the dwarven axe cleaved through the giants skull. The Flame of Sharlin taking another giant's life.
The Giant fell with a thud, as its screams faded into echoes. Then Jacrum heard the heavy thud of footsteps, another giant was coming to investigate the noise. He turned to see a third giant, a Duneleaper, bearing down on him. Jacrum was fatigued now, the spear embedded in the back of his left shoulder was affecting the strength of his shield arm, sending waves of pain spasming down his back. With determination he turned to evaluate this new foe. Larger and more cunning then the Sandunner tribe, the Duneleapers shunned the use of the spear; their stone hard fists and feet being enough of a weapon for this martial tribe of brawlers.
The chant of Vorax on his lips, the thought of Brunhilde in his heart, and the Flame of Sharlin in his hands, Jacrum called upon the reservoir of strength deep within him. New strength and vitality flowed to his limbs, the fatigue of battle left and pain of the embedded-spear faded as the drum like pounding of his heart filled his ears. The memory of Varka's words came to him 'listen to ye inner strength, remember lad!' This is the music of battle, the drums of war sounding within his blood; the prescience of the Father of Battle is flowing within.
Stepping backwards, Jacrum jammed the shaft of the spear into a wedge created by two of teeth-like stalagmites that formed the mouth of the alcove. Twisting powerfully once more he managed to wrench the spear free of his back. The pain of the crude operation, unnoticed within the rage of battle flowing in his veins. The spreading patch of blood was scarcely visible against the red mail-links of his chain shirt.
'FOR VORAX' Jacrum roared as he raced forwards to meet the charging Duneleaper. Dwarven muscle and enchanted iron clashed with Giants stone hard fists. Jacrum took the first blow on his shield and returned with a powerful cut to the brute's hip. The second blow he caught with his jaw, the skin split and Dwarven blood splattered into the dim light of the cavern. Jacrum's counter blow was a wicked axe cut to the giants forearm as it carried through with the punch. With the strength of rage coursing through his blood he felt no pain. The hammering of blow for blow matched the beat of the war drums in his ears. With the presence of Vorax within him he would be victorious, even in death. The pounding rhythm of the fight was a hymn to the glory of the Father of Battles.
Then pounding stopped, the battle hymn had run its course, the giant was dead. Victory! The war drums in his ears started to fade. A mischievous thought flashed through his mind, did he remember his foot work? Looking at his battered body the answer was clearly no. A more sobering thought reached him. He needed to stitch his wounds before his 'inner strength' faded completely. The loss of blood could be fatal. With a feverish grin he began the task of stitching and binding his wounds.
Part Two: Memories on the Path
As Jacrum sat in the gloom recovering from the recent fight, his wounds stitched and bound, he thought back to his past. As very young dwarves, he and his twin brother Gothim had been inseparable. They had been a fistful of mischief and good-natured trouble for his mother and father. In the blurred memories of distant childhood it was hard to distinguish which pranks had been his ideas and which had been his brother's. Then one day his brother was gone. Sent away to the temple of Vorax deep within the Brech Mountains, Gothim had been removed from Jacrum's life for the next five decades.
Jacrum's childhood was spent in the multi-cultural port city of Leringard. He was ignored by his industrious father Darhim and spoilt by his mother Laila. As a lonely youth with too much time on his hands in the port city he had mixed with non-dwarven youths. The docks were a rough initiation into realities of Layonara. He became part of the street-gang culture of the docks. It was there that he made some close friends with other minority youths; his friends, Clari the lovely Halfling rogue, and the sly witted Elven youth Haldamir. From these two he learnt much about, lock-picks, pranks, loyalty, brawling and friendship.
The thoughts of his misspent childhood flew forward to the confrontation with his Father. Being sent away from the influence of his friends and the coddling of his mother. He thought of the years spent in the northern port-town of Ravenswatch on the island of Krashin. These years brought both responsibilities, in working in the family trade office, and freedom from the pressures of the city. His anger and frustration had found an outlet in the simple lifestyles of the local tribes' people. It was here that he learnt the style of axe fighting favored by the tribal warriors. With his rough manners and fiery temper he was a natural with the axe.
Jacrum returned to Leringard to find his friends missing. His investigations into their disappearance led him into the dark recesses of Leningrad's under city. Again he clashed with his father, who believed Jacrum was mixing with the wrong crowd. Fiery tempers flared, and stubborn pride prevented reconciliation. Jacrum left for Hlint to search for his friends. Instead he was found by his brother. The brothers Gothim and Jarcum were once more reunited, and instantly functioned as a unit, as if the missing decades had never occurred. Jacrum wished his brother was here now. The wound in his back was starting to throb. Putting the pain out of his mind he recalled their first few days in Hlint. A smile crossed his thickly bearded face as he recalled one of their first adventures.
The brothers Gothim and Jacrum had just returned from an outing into the Hlint Crypts. Gothim had been practicing the art of enchanting, and skeleton knuckles were a vital component of this. They had been talking to a few other adventurers, about the problems with rats and goblins plaguing the town, when the Elven lady speaking to Alleina removed her hood. Jacrum was the first to notice her black skin. DARK-ELF! He cried to his brother. The dwarves scrambled for their axes and shields. Quickly Jacrum confronted the evil. Insults were hurled, Baby-Eater, Demon Spawn, Dark-Elf, while the others, who would call themselves heros did nothing. The dark-elf Alantha taunted Jacrum, assuming the dwarf was of little threat. Rage filled him and Jacrum roared and charged the incarnation of fury, fearless of the deadly Dark-Elven foe. Gothim leaped in from behind. Unnerved by the ferocity of the dwarves Alantha vanished, fleeing the town. The two brothers tumbled to a stop as their axes found only empty space. Satisifed, with their work the twin brothers rewarded themselves and their companions with a round of ales at the Wildsurge Inn. Tales of the dreadful deeds of the dark-elves were told in the warmth of the tavern; the evil that lurked in wait in the underdark could be forgotten.
Jacrum recalled that the early deeds of the brothers did not go unnoticed. A few months later, Gothim, the elder of the twins, received a letter from Varka Cleaveson, Warlord of the United Clans of bloody. The two brothers had been invited to contribute to the construction efforts, the rebuilding of the bloody gate. Months followed of work mining and gathering materials for the reconstruction. This was Jacrum's first experience of the wider Dwarven community. The reconstruction itself went smoothly, Jacrum's decades of experience in the shipping and transportation of wood, ore and metals being put to good use. As did his knack for spotting trouble makers and rogues. The warlord made a strong impression on young Jacrum. Here was strong dwarven icon, fearless and different, yet respected and well loved by his men. Varka was everywhere during the construction, offering support and encouragement to each of the differently tasked groups of dwarves. Varka paused for a small word of thanks on a job well done, and he gained the impressionable young dwarf's loyalty and admiration. Having been ignored by his father here was a figure he could look up to. Far grander in his mind was the fierce Warlord of the Bloody Gate then king Rory who sat upon the throne.
The ground of the cave was hard and cool under Jacrum's stiffening limbs. Streching his axe arm, his eye caught the flames of his enchanted iron waraxe. Jacrum recalled the hours of practice with his old battleaxe. After seeing the warlord in battle he had trained daily in the quiet of the old arena in fort Vehl. The battle priest Grohin had helped him with his training. They had met regularly in the practice grounds, to spar and discuss the Father of Battles. During one session Jacrum had even managed to knock the tough old priest to the ground in a friendly brawl. Grohin was undoubtedly impressed with the young dwarf, yet troubled by his style of fighting. Jacrum was wild and undisciplined, his methods and axe technique unsporting in honorable combat. Grohin saw potential in the big hearted Jacrum, his methods were effective if sometimes not Voraxian. He needed guidance, there will little else a formally trained warrior-priest could do.
Jacrum remembered his surprise when Warlord Varka Cleaveon appeared during one of his regular practice sessions. Varka interviewed Jacrum about his past, the relationship with his brother, his father, and his friends. It was clear to Varka that Jacrum needed to take responsibility for his own life, to stop trying to please his father, to stop walking in the shadow of his battle-priest brother. Jacrum needed to see his own worth for what he was. The canny and fierce warlord devised a test for Jacrum. 'Wealth dies. Friends die. One day you too will die. But the thing that never will die is the judgment on how you spent your life. Do you understand the question in this?' The riddle and the search for the answer allowed Jacrum to see his own worth and to take responsibility for his life. 'I make the judgement on my life.' This answer was also the answer to controlling his temper Jacrum realised. It had been a momentous day in his life when Varka accepted Jacrum as his student, to mentor him in the ways of the Battle Rager. The Kuldjargh, the Axe Idiots, it was a designation that was intended as an insult, but was now worn with pride and respect. Jacrum recalled how he had a taken responsibility for his life that day. He had made the decision to walk the path of the Kuldjargh.
The first step on the path had been the reconciliation with his Father. Knocking on his father's door had at one time seemed the hardest thing to do in the world. The Dwarven patriarch expected respect, order and efficient delivery times. His view of the world did not include affection or frivolity spent on an unexpected youngest son. Nevertheless, the decision once made had been firmly held to by Jacrum. Humbling his pride Jacrum had stepped into his fathers study and opened his heart. One bottle of Dregar whiskey later and Father and Son were reconciled; their lost years and misunderstandings melting in the warmth of their conversation.
The second step on the path was to gain some true battle experience more then just adventuring with his brother. Jacrum had signed up to the 16th Skirmishers of Fort Wayfare for three seasons. Gothim followed to keep his brother alive. Soon the call to arms came and the 16th had been sent to Alindor to boost the Wolfswoods rangers who were under-siege from increased giant activity in the forest. The numbers sent were not enough, giants overran the command unit of the 16th, slaughtering the local tribes people of the forest. Yet somehow the brothers' unit had survived in spite of the over whelming odds. Experience had been gained; the massacre of peaceful tribe-folk by the giant hordes would never be erased from Jacrum's memory. Slaughter of the weak was not glorious to the Father of Battle.
The third step had been the control of his anger. The enemies of Vorax had been simple to identify in the childish ideals of the past, goblins, orcs, bugbears, and giants. Quick to anger, at one stage Jacrum would have entertained the slaughter of these without thought, his rage burning without restraint. Then Jacrum met a goblin that didn't attack on sight, a pitiful creature with only a single ear. It had capered, groveled and begged for scraps of magic. Despite the rage burning within him at the sight of the creature Jacrum had controlled his inner flame from exploding forth. Compassion and pity for the weak had stayed his vengeful rage.
An unexpected twist in the path was the shock of love. Brunhilde. The name sparked fires deep within Jacrum's stout Dwarven heart. His memories of their first meeting flooded to his mind, relieving the pain of his throbbing shoulder. He had been a tongue tied fool on their first meeting. Yet somehow he hadn't driven her off. He remembered battling beside her, the joy within him. His inner strength had burn't far brighter that day. The passion of joy not anger had given his limbs their strength and vitality. It was still the flame of his inner strength, but its colour was different.
Jacrum stopped staring at the flames on his axe, and noticed the axe itself, The Flame of Sharlin. He had commissioned the axe from Kurgin Stormbrow, a kinsman and priest of Dorand. Six thousand true Jacrum paid for the flame enchanted iron waraxe. An entire year of regular practice enabled him to wield the waraxe with the same skill he had previously used his battleaxe with. It was an accomplishment he was proud of, it was a Dwarven axe, and it was gratifying to hold a Dwarven weapon. His quest to name the axe had not been a simple one. Again his mentor Varka had posed him a riddle to find the name for the axe, 'when she cuts the air in the rage of madness, then she will tell you her true name.' However, the answer had come from an unexpected direction.
Jacrum recalled what he knew of the story. Sharlin had been a human woman, a herbalist and mother. With her daughter she had been collecting garlic deep within the Silkwood, past the Vale of Folian. There she had been ambushed by Gnolls. She was murdered and her daughter captured and sold to slavers. Sharlin's rage had reached from beyond the grave in her quest for vengeance. For justice for those who had harmed her daughter. The enormity of her thunderous rage had stunned Jacrum. Here was the essence of the battlerager in the form of a dead human woman. With the righteousness of vengeance Sharlin's murders received bloody justice, her daughter was rescued, her spirit finding rest. Jacrum's talent for investigation had lead to the slave-bounty money being recovered and donated to the young girl's family. The story of Sharlin was etched into Jacrum's memory and her name into his waraxe. The Flame of Sharlin. The axe was named in memory of her Sharlin's passion, the love for her child, and her rage at those who did harm her child.
Rested now, Jacrum's sturdy frame had healed enough to continue. He rose looking into the depths of the cave undaunted by the path ahead. He had entered the cave eight hours ago. But he had chosen this path two years ago.
I walk the path of the kuldjargh Jacrum though to himself.
Quests
Post Master Vale, Shadow. Jacrum and Grena rockbasher fearlessly tackled the bear needed for the Post Masters new topee
Nola Tudor - Impromptu, Tanman. Jacrum caught and interrogated a traitor trying to spy on the rebuilding progress of the bloody gate... Or so he thought.
Rebuilding of the Bloody Gate, Dezza. Jacrum organized the shipping and delivery of materials around the construction site.
16th Skirmishers, Mixafix. Survived! First clues of the Lich.
An opportunity or two, Mixafix. More clues to the location of a Lich.
A good day! – Dezza. Jacrum prevented a thief making off with the money. Jacrum encountered the essence of Rage in this quest, a mother's love for her daughter. Jacrum named his waraxe the Flame of Sharlin as a result. He also gained an alignment shift towards GOOD for his deeds.
Dark Beast I - Impromptu, Makashi. Jacrum, Gothim and Bee assist a bounty hunter to slay a demon.
Dark Beast II - Impromptu, Makashi. Another demon is found. Jacrum fearlessly charges the Demon, only to be killed by the party's mage, whose comment was 'I didn’t think the fool would charge a demon!'. The demon escaped.
The Battle Rager, my thoughts, ideas and observations
Battle Ragers are much like the axes they wield, powerful, ugly and brutal. Battle ragers must be non-lawful; there is no time for niceties in battle. Honour is for outside of the battlefield.
The Kuldjargh or Axe Idiots are not fools. They are cunning tacticians, generals and warlords. However, they have no fear of death. This comes from their faith in an afterlife; there can be no greater reward then to die in battle for the glory of God. Vorax, the Father of Battles is the most common god worshiped by Battle Ragers. The legends tell that the Battle Rager gains his strength from the belief in his God. And that they enter this state of rage through ritualistic chanting.
However, this is not true in all cases. Varka Cleaveson, Warlord of the United Clans of bloody and one of the most famous battle ragers in the game uses prayer to access his 'inner strength'. Jacrum believes he hears the Father of Battle in the pounding rhythm of his heart. He draws on his 'inner strength' through the passion of love and the passion of anger. His waraxe, the Flame of Sharlin is a reminder of this.
Unlike, fighters whose abilities come purely from training and discipline, Battle Ragers can only be guided and mentored. Conventional training will only produce skill with the axe, but not access to the Battle Ragers 'inner strength'.
Battle Ragers are not barbarians. Unlike barbarians whose rage is uncontrolled, battle-ragers gain control over their 'inner strength'. The heighten state of mind granted by their faith means they do not loose control of their skills while raging. They do not have the -2 penalty to AC while raging that a Barbarian does.
Battle Ragers are typically independent and loners, sometimes they are great leaders. Often they are seen as mad or foolish by others. However, they all achieve glory and greatness in act of battle itself.
I believe that Jacrum has been traveling on the path of the battle rager for some time now. Taking the PrC would simply be a natural progression.
I have in this resubmission tried to boil down the important points from Jacrum's two character development threads. This post should contain everything you need to approve this PrC and hopefully speed the process instead of having to comb through several months of character development thread.
Cheers,
Stragen
Jacrum Shieldbreaker - Original Submission:
http://www.layonara.com/character-ap...ldbreaker.html
Jacrum Shieldbreaker - My Player Notes, Character Development Thread 1:
http://www.layonara.com/development-...yer-notes.html
Jacrum Shieldbreaker - Investigations, Character Development Thread 2:
http://www.layonara.com/development-...tigations.html
Jacrum Shieldbreaker - PrC Battlerager 
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