Born Soldier

Life of a Mercenary

You were born to war. Whether pressed into the service of your homeland at an early age, or raised by the captain of a mercenary company, you have little memory of anything except battle. To you, war is a profession and a calling. Many men and women take up arms in times of trouble, but few live by that same sword and seek out trouble of their own volition. The born soldier yearns for battle. The born soldier thrives… nay… needs the rousing fury stoked in one’s veins by the clashing of arms!

Born Soldier Stories

Roll Event Trait
1-3 Count the Dead Witness to Brutality
4-6 The Early Deaths Vengeful
7-10 The Promotion of the Fool Realist
11-14 We Few... Bond
15-17 The Killing Blow No Mercy
18-20 In These Bodies, I Hide Survival

Count the Dead

The dead were heaped upon the horizon like a hill of flesh. You were but a child as you watched the mercenaries strip them of valuables, pry out gold teeth from still living men, and joke about the brutality of war. Death walks beside you, a constant companion. The world is an anvil, and character is either forged or broken on its iron. Yours was never broken.

The Early Deaths

Your father, your mother, or both were killed in battle. Perhaps you watched them die. Perhaps you merely saw their corpses borne back to the camp on their shields. Either way, you remember well the army which slew them. In time, you will take tenfold violence upon them in recompense.

The Promotion of the Fool

The ranks of an army have fools and men of honor. Often, it is the fool who is promoted or, more likely, given command by circumstances of noble birth. Few such men or women are fit to lead, yet they are an ever-present threat on every field of battle. The enemy is oft not half as dangerous as the idiot who leads you. In knowing this, you’ve become a realist. That alone saved your life on more than one occasion.

We Few...

Women and men become dog-brothers and sword-sisters when blood is spilled together. This bond becomes particularly strong with those who war for a living. You cannot count the times another soldier saved your life, or you theirs. These are bonds and, if honored, reward the soul who keeps them… in this world or the next.

The Killing Blow

You may have hesitated that first time, but now it is second nature to you. An enemy which gives no quarter shall receive none either. A wounded enemy is nothing but a burden, lest they have intelligence. Thus, even a reparable wound is not treated in the field. Men are killed where they lie, their brains pierced by the merciful, their agonies drawn out by the cruel. Kill them and be done with it, you say. Sparing an enemy’s life puts no coins in your pouch.

In These Bodies, I Hide

Your company was decimated. You alone survived, but you had to do so through the most gruesome of means. You pretended to be dead, laying among your brothers and sisters while their bodies were rudely stripped of any valuables. The enemy stayed that night in your camp, and you spent more than a day laying in the festering pile of corpses as the flies gathered and the carrion birds feasted. When the enemy left, the birds that fed on your friends fed you. You walked out of that hellish site, the last and only survivor.
Caste Talents: Sentry, Vagabond
Skill Gained: Discipline