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| I 'aint afraid of no, P.I.T.C.H.F.O.R.K! |
Sacked by a horde of marauding
outriders as early as 153AL, the tiny sea-side town of Strathburl lay abandoned
and neglected for centuries, until a small group of exiles made it their home. It grew, albeit slowly, into a haven for
refugees; those who had no chance of ever returning from where they were driven.
It was a beacon of hope in an otherwise darkened land. A place where people could try and put their
lives back together. They became known as the Free Folk, and the town a haven
for those who had ever suffered at the callous hands of others.
Out of this sense of civic
wellbeing grew the will to turn the tables on the oppressors, and so rose
P.I.T.C.H.F.O.R.K, a loose collection of individuals united in their quest to
overthrow the yoke of tyranny everywhere. No madman, vampire, despotic
overlord, mad scientist, or evil conjurer would ever feel safe again…
The
Founding Members of P.I.T.C.H.F.O.R.K
Piter
He was seven when the war finally came
to his village. Piter only survived by hiding in the barn under a huge pile of
hay while feral dog-soldiers searched the village for believers. He was lucky.
His family, and the rest of the farming community were marched off to the
castle and imprisoned until either death, or the rats took them.
He never saw them again.
Piter was saved by an iterant ranger who had
been dogging the steps of the war band looking for survivors. After three
hundred miles, seventeen hamlets, and one large village, Piter was the only one
he came across. They escaped on foot heading north, travelling only at night
and hiding during the day. They arrived eventually at their destination, the
village of Strathburl on the coast of the Ageless Sea; and it was here that
Piter was trained in the art of combat by a retired Fighting Man called, Sir
Bellush the Angry. Because of his agrarian background and skill with farming
implements, he chose a rather unconventional piece of kit as his weapon… a
pitchfork. Piter modified it heavily of course, adding several fiendish
innovations to its simple form. Tipped in purest silver with a haft of ash
wood, it could pierce a steel breastplate as if it were the shell on a soft boiled
crab. He smeared the prongs with the fermented residue of the hunter bush,
guaranteed to cause paralysis in even the largest of opponents. Piter grew up
to become the leader of this motley bunch of do-gooders, and is exceptionally zealous
when championing the underdog.
Isla
Sold into slavery at the tender age
of six, she spent her formative years in the vile clutches of the Bishop of Barton
Hollow, a corpulent, slothful, pederast, whom she dispatched one evening with a
dagger ‘borrowed’ from one of his bodyguards. She sliced open his more than
ample gut and strangled him with his own quivering intestines.
No one was sad to see the bastard go, not even
his guards.
They packed young Isla off with a bag of coin,
a weapon, and a map on how to get to Strathburl. Despite their supposed ‘kindness’,
she returned later that evening and did for them as well. It was retribution
for years of sitting idly by while she and a host of others suffered the
pawing’s of the lecherous cleric.
When she had wiped the blood from her blade
she set fire to the church and razed it to the ground. She danced wildly as the
carven effigies of fallen gods exploded in a shower of sparks and hypocrisy.
Isla loathes the clergy. Hates
them. She wields the fallen Bishop’s mace and wears boiled leather armour,
daubed in the blood of her fallen enemies. Isla wears the heads of her enemies
around her belt, and on the bridle of her horse. She enjoys the noise they make
when she is in full gallop. Isla makes it her mission to steal from churches,
and she uses the purloined loot to fund their enterprise against the unjust.
Her war cry is ‘Fides Amplius’ which
means, Faith No More, in the common tongue.
Tanner
Chained to a rowing bench since he
was old enough to hold an oar, Tanner found his freedom when his galley was
sunk in the Ageless Sea. He survived by clinging to a piece of broken hull. For
three weeks he was at sea, living on rainwater and whatever fish he could catch
with his bare hands. Eventually, when he was just about to give up and let the
water roll over his head, he spied a light to the west. Tanner gathered
whatever resolve he had left and struck out toward it. He made landfall four
hours later and staggered into the firelight of the local tavern, collapsing at
the tavern keeper’s feet. When he was better he began his training under the
firm hand of Sir Bellush. Years of constant rowing have left Tanner
exceptionally strong. He prefers the feel of wood in his hands so he has chosen
the staff as his weapon of retribution. His years at sea have given him a keen understanding
of the weather and its ever-shifting patterns. Tanner can predict rainfall
almost to the second. Oh, and he hates boats. Vehemently.
Coleen
A living blood-bank for a
half-vampire, half-thrall, Coleen spent her youth in the rat infested cellar of
a châteaux, halfway between the Free City of Cologne and the Port o’ Fears.
Every third day she was brought up from her hole in the ground, to give
sustenance to him-who-shies- from- the-sun. She filled his lifeless veins with
her scarlet nectar, rolling back the years on that terrifying face, until he
was but a youngish man in his early twenties with his whole life ahead of him.
He looked almost human too, where it not for the ivory fangs that danced in his
bloody maw. But Coleen saw him for the beast he was when she managed to slip
her iron fetters and rammed a foot of hard wood through the creature’s heart.
Oh, how she laughed as her tormentor writhed and flopped on the once plush
carpet like a fish out of water. When his body had finally succumb to all the
years he had stolen, she scooped his once powerful teeth into her pinafore and
left the house forever. She found her way to Strathburl, just as all the others
did. On her travels she had sewn the teeth into a necklace that she wore
proudly around her ravaged throat. She had a look in her eye that made you
forget any questions you might have about her wounds. Because of her constant bloodletting, and
infection from vampire spittle, she is now able to smell a vampire’s lair from
at least five or six miles away, depending on how the wind is blowing. She can
see in the dark, as well as hear at least ten times better than any rogue could
ever wish for. She is also immune to any gaze/charm attacks a vampire may be
hiding up his foppish, velvet sleeve. She hunts with hammer, stake, garlic,
holy water, and wears a brace of crossbows on her belt.
Hengest
Once a Bard with a melodic voice,
young Hengest ran afoul of Lord Ghasthorne for a supposed dalliance with his
wife. The lovesick Lord had Hengest’s tongue ripped out for his imaginary sins.
Robbed of his livelihood, he fell in with a group of teenage runaways heading
to Strathburl. Hengest no longer plays any instruments and abhors the sound of
music or singing. Clad in a black cloak with the cowl always covering his bald
pate, this silent and stealthy boy tends to do his work in the shadows, forever
fearing the lights of the stage. He is skilled in the art of the quiet kill,
preferring the garrotte and the dagger to do his work for him. He has yet to
pay Lord Ghasthorne a visit and settle the score. But he will…soon.
Farouk
Sold by his father for lotus resin,
young Farouk grew up in the desert. The environment was hard and merciless,
much like his master. He was apprenticed to a sadistic Djinn weaver who beat
and berated the boy daily, until one day, he could stand the punishment no
more. Applying everything he had ever overheard from his master’s lotus stained
lips, he summoned a Dust Devil that promptly ate his master and shat out his
bones. Farouk escaped that evening, running as fast as his young legs would
carry him. He has no recollection on how far he journeyed or where, all he
knows is that he fell in with some kindly merchants, and after many months of
travel found himself alone in the Inner Kingdoms on the outskirts of
Strathburl. He has taken to studying the arcane art of summoning and creation,
and the Dust Devil that slew his master is now a constant companion in their
struggle to right the world’s wrongs. He calls it Faheem, the eater of black souls.
Ostra
Once a hallowed Temple virgin,
Ostra was defiled by drunken priests in a supposed ‘religious’ ceremony. Bloodied,
bruised, she killed them while they snored and spluttered in a drunken heap.
Fleeing the temple she happened across an angelic embassy of her god asking why
she has killed the High Priests of the Temple. She laughed, then laughed some
more, then spat in his face and plunged her curved blade in his eye. They
wrestled, and bit, and kicked, and fought for hours until eventually she won,
forcing the angel to lick her bloody feet before going back to his mistress. She turned her back on her old life, and when
she found the village she fell wholeheartedly into P.I.T.C.H.F.O.R.K.
It was possibly after their fifth or sixth
mission together, that she crossed swords with her angel again. But this time,
after she bested him, he too turned his back on his old life and bent his head
in service to her. He is known to the group as Oculus the Fallen.
Revel
An honorary title given to the
newest member of the party in honour of Revel the Harlequin, who fell in bloody
battle against the Shadow Sorcerer, Bethomet. Whoever fills Revel’s place wears
his colourful armour and mask of bells in remembrance of this once famed circus
performer.
Kincaid
A certified genius, Kincaid fled
the inhuman practices of Victor the Flesh-Joiner before he was to be cut limb
from limb, and reconfigured… Kincaid
brews potions, poisons, heals broken bodies, and assists wherever he can. He
seeks out his nemesis’ creation, a monster built from the body parts of
Victor’s family, and galvanised into living by massive amounts of lightning.
The monster is neither living nor dead, it merely, is. It terrorises lonely pockets of humanity
before slinking back into the shadows. But Kincaid has received word that it’s
been spotted mere miles away in the hamlet of Macsen’s Delve, and so, it is to
this destination that the members of P.I.T.C.H.F.O.R.K are riding post haste,
to see how they may assist. Fides Amplius!
