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A gnoll from the eastern mountains who has lost everything and thirsts for revenge and a new pack.

Yrgna Firstborn Character Sheet

Background

The Gheen were special. Better. They knew it. All knew it.

They lived in the foothills of the mountains her people called naharaag-fwa – casters of shadow, which the puny and weak humans called the mountains of iron, and that the foul and disgusting orcs and goblins called the azhiko-hoth in their moronic black speech - the troll tusks.

The females of the Gheen ruled the clan, as they had since time began. So it had been said by the Refnara, She Who Bites The Moon, and so it would ever be.

The Gheen ruled a large territory, one that bordered several other, smaller clans gnolls: the ulunaa-haaf, or long-teeth; the gnaaha’nurkaa, the eaters of bone; and the renesaa-kaalaas, the black-tongues. Debased and foolish, these rabble had fallen from the grace of Refnara and had turned to the false god, Yeenoghu, long ago. Heretics and blasphemers, they had declined to where males actually were allowed to rule the clan.

This of course was why they were dominated by the Gheen, who were superior in numbers, individual combat, tactics, and strategy.

Yrgna was born the sole living pup of the first litter of her mother, Ragna, the rest stillborn. This was as Refnara willed, as Ragna had been and her mother before her, since they had been littered by Refnara in the eternal darkness of her cave den. Her mother’s line was was yaafnr – firstborn. Chosen by Refnara to lead, born to the ruling class of females from which their all-mother was chosen. Ragna was a warrior, skilled with sword and axe, and taught her daughter to fight, that she could follow in her place one day.

She learned to play the m’khurr, the instrument made of the bone and string of the clan’s ancestors, used during the the rites of the clan – the ritual combat that chose their leaders, the sacrifices to the Moon-Biter during the pitch black of the new moon, and the wild mating dances where the females chose the males that would sire their litters, and of course before battle. She was skilled, and the other females respected and admired her for it.

She was taught the confusing and stupid common tongue, to help the clan learn of news from other races and used when they needed to trade for things that they could not produce themselves – mostly weapons of iron, steel, or bronze.

Then one day, a new scent came on the wind, from the north.

A new clan, coming down from the north. Great in numbers. Bearing steel armor and weapons given them from their master and ally: the Great Orc of Âbog, Overlord of all of Ûgozh.

The clan’s name was heard in the howls during the night: Haaragna’tnar rafnir – brood of the butcher.

The Gheen fought, of course.

Bearing Renfara’s symbol – the crescent of the hated moon held between the goddesses’ fangs – yet unseen atop nearby hills, the priestesses called upon the night mother, sowing chaos and fear amongst the great horde of the Brood below them as the Gheen ambushed them.

The curs snarled and barked and whined as arrows and bolts rained down upon them.

Then the main force broke of the Gheen upon them like a wave, her mother in the fore. They attacked from the Brood's rear, swinging their axes, morning stars, and great swords, sweeping the pitiful warriors before them like the fragile grass they were.

Victory seemed near, when the disaster struck.

The Long-Teeth, the Bone-Eaters, the Black Tongues, seeing their chance, had secretly allied with the Brood. They had come, in secret. And now they attacked, pouring over the hills from all directions.

Yrgna saw the priestesses on the hills fall, the beautiful flag of Refnara dragged down as they were torn apart.

She saw her mothers’ band turn to face the new threat, now surrounded and greatly outnumbered.

But still they held their own. Until the chieftain of the Brood arrived.

A massive male, he was a full head taller than any other gnoll on the field, including the females of the Gheen. Spiked plates of black iron armor covered most of his body. In one hand, he bore a great flail, each of the three steel chains ending in a human skull punctured by long iron spikes before being coated in iron. In his other hand, a massive sword nearly as large as the two-handed one his mother carried.

Behind him were his guards, some as large as he, heavily armored, and armed.

They fell upon his mother’s band, and it seemed none could stand against them.

She saw her mother fall, her head first crushed by the grinning skulls of the chieftains’ flail before his great sword severed it from her neck.

The battle became a rout.

The proud Gheen fled, chased by the Brood and the other clans.

The night was pierced periodically by screams, howls, whines, and snarls as they were brought down like so much game, one after the other, over and over.

Somehow, Yrgna escaped.

When the cursed sun rose, she was still running, carrying nothing but her weapons and the family m’khurr strapped to her back. She was heading east, away from the mountains, towards where she knew not.

She was alone on a great steppe littered with clumps of dry grasses, stunted and twisted trees with leaves so dark they seemed black, here and there pierced by a huge boulder of greenish brown rock that erupted from the earth as if it was clawing its way out.

Finally, exhausted, she stopped under one of these boulders. She rested in the shade, thirsty and hungry. She whined and howled quietly, so that none would hear.

She had never been without her clan before. The pack was everything. She was nothing without it.

She found a road of hard-packed earth the next day. The scents were fresh – it was well traveled. She followed it in the direction that led away from the hills, heading north and east now.

She scented groups of other creatures on the road – humans, mostly, but some orcs and goblins too. She would hide, finding a tree or rise to duck behind. They were in large groups, either armed or guarded by those who were – too large for her to attack to take their goods.

Then one group arrived when there was nowhere to hide. She tensed, gripping her weapons, ready for her last fight.

It was a mixed group of humans with a few orcs and a massive half breed mongrel – possibly part human and part ogre, creatures her tribe had avoided that had lived further south from their territory.

The group approached, but seemed completely uninterested in her, giving her a glance and then continuing on their way as she stood there, panting from the stress, her tongue lolling in the cold air.

As they faded from sight, she looked in the direction they had come from.

Something must be there. And if it allowed for such mixing, perhaps she could make a den for herself there.

Perhaps she could find a way to avenge her clan.

It took time for her to adjust to Blackport.

She had never seen any settlement so massive in her life. The walls, the towers, the keeps and mansions and temples – it was bewildering at first, and she shrank from it, finding dark alleys and dilapidated ruins to rest in, unable to make sense of the smells and sounds and chaos that was the city.

But in time, she began to find her way. She met other gnolls – they were few in the city, and no two seemed to be of the same clan or pack. But after the traditional required ritual of exchanging their scents, she would speak to them. It felt good to speak in the language of her own people, even if with a stranger.

She learned her people were small in number here, not large enough to form even one good sized clan if they wanted to. Many allied with other factions and races here, something at first she felt she could never do. Accept a human as her pack-mate? It was preposterous.

They were food!

But she learned too that Blackport had rules – rules that were efficiently and brutally enforced by the Chieftain here, a mysterious and terrifying figure known only as The Sovereign.

Fighting was certainly not forbidden. But who you could fight without calling down The Sovereigns forces on your head had nothing to do with their skill in combat. It had to do with their place in this strange pack – their status, their station in the hierarchy. It could not be seen by scent or by sight or by sound. Only by talking to people and learning things that were not available to her senses.

And so she did.

Now, over a year later, she felt at home as she probably ever would here. She still missed her clan and yearned for revenge, but she could bide her time here until the right opportunity presented itself.

Remarkably, she found her skill with the m’khurr was useful here, especially in the places they called Goblintown and The Maw.

She preferred the later, especially a tavern called Tusks. She played there often, and while it was a dangerous area, where huge ogres and even bigger trolls walked the streets at night, the numbers of any one race were small, the crowds very mixed. She felt about as out of place as the others there seemed to, in terms of being amongst her own kind.

Goblintown was easy money and convenient, but she found it irritating to play among the tiny, filthy goblins there. She had been offered a regular appearance by the owner of one of the largest and most expensive inns there – The Shaved Dwarf – by the proprietor, a fat goblin named Thaalk, who always was dressed in bright yellow clothes that made the stains and grime they bore extremely visible, clenching a smoldering rolled stump of pipe-weed between his sharp yellow teeth. Thaalk had heard about her from his cousin, Ratmirt, who owned Tusks.

The place crawled with goblins and goblin-kin – the heavier, more muscular hobgoblins, always singing of battles or starting a fight over someone’s honor, as well as the huge bugbears, as big as Yrgna herself but heavily muscled, who usually sat in special sections with heavy benches and taller tables, drinking from flagons and horns large enough to drown some of the true goblins in. Thaalk charged his patrons extra when she played her ‘exotic’ gnollish music that was advertised as an aphrodisiac that would make the lady goblins swoon, mad with desire.

Rubbish, of course, but her wage for an evening was good money. So far as she could tell, lady goblins were born mad with the desire – they coupled constantly, with little concern for privacy or the lineage of their mates.

She had found some that year she felt she could trust as well.

Vaaghra, the eldest and most respected amongst the gnolls of Blackport, resided in the district called Roughtumble. He was an attractive gnoll – his fur a deep black, with no spots, turning slightly grey around his snout – but far too old for her. His clan in the north in Ûgozh had been destroyed, like hers.

Vaaghra told her that the Great Orc of Âbog had been bringing all the clans and tribes under his sway – not just orcs, but goblins, ogres, trolls, and yes, even gnolls. His power was growing, and rumors were rampant that he prepared for war. The only question was: against who?

Vaaghra held gatherings of some of the other refugee gnolls in Blackport from time to time, where they would sing the songs of their clans to each other, and feast on man-flesh bought from the markets of Bone Dust, the product of those warriors who had lost their matches in the last games of the nearby Arena.

Amazingly, she also found a human who she finally had to admit was not altogether unpleasant to spend time with, even if she did still find herself wondering what he would taste like from time to time.

His name was Hunnar, and he frequented a tavern in Hero’s gate called The Valkyrie. The Valkyrie sponsored various forms of competition on different nights, and Hunnar was a champion at something called “arm-wrestling,” having beaten a number of others that evening, including a half-orc that was nearly a foot taller than he was. After too many ales celebrating, he had ended up falling into a chair across from her. By the end of the night, she had won two of five bouts of arm wrestling, and found out that the ale these humans drank was not altogether terrible. A poor replacement for blood, but one made do.

Hunnar was a quick wit, and she had to admit that she stole some of his jokes and tales to use in her performances. They did not meet often, but when they did, there was certain to be a tale about it after.

One of the bugbears at the Shaved Dwarf had befriended her also. Mögur, he was called. He greatly appreciated her singing and playing, never seeming to miss a performance as time went on. He bought her rounds of snoz, the bitter, salty, highly alcoholic brew of the bugbears, and they would typically end the night trying to sing the song’s of each other’s clan, laughing hysterically at what the other came up with trying to pronounce the words that would have been impossible stone sober.

Important NPCs

Ragna – Yrgna’s mother (deceased)

Hunnar – male human (vulkul); warrior, patron of The Valkyrie in Hero’s Gate, champion arm-wrestler;

Vaaghra – elder male gnoll; lives in Roughtumble, periodically has gatherings of the gnolls of Blackport

Thaalk – fat male goblin, proprietor of The Shaved Dwarf, a large expensive Inn in Goblintown outside the city gates

Ratmirt – older female goblin, proprietor of The Tusk, a tavern in The Maw.

Mögur – male bugbear, patron of The Shaved Dwarf in Goblintown

Refnara – gnoll goddess of Darkness, Fear, and Dread; “The Moon Biter”; “She Who Bites the Moon”; symbol is a crescent moon held between sharp teeth. Holy days are the day before and after the full moon, the half-moons, and the new moon, the holiest of days.