Modri
Hill Dwarf Outlander Wild Magic Barbarian
AC: 16 (+1Dex + 3Con + 2Shield ) | HP: 41/44 (3d12+9+6+3) | Speed: 25'
Senses: passive Perception 11, Insight 11, Investigation 10
Str: 16 (+3) | Dex: 13 (+1) | Con: 16 (+3) | Int: 10 (+0) | Wis: 12 (+1) | Cha: 8 (-1)
Languages: You can speak, read, and write Common, Dwarvish, Elvish
Hit Die: 2/3d12 | Rages: 1/3 | Magic Awareness: 1/2
Modri listens intently to Ser Michelle as she shares her story. It all seems to add up, why someone like her would end up with an army like that. He could see himself being caught and asked to join or die. Of course, in his case he knows what his answer would be. "Modri is just fine, and that's quite the tale. Hopefully we can make it longer, he?" He gives a half smirk, considering what feats of strength she might accomplish if given the chance, if given the time.
"As for me, mine's a simpler tale. Grew up in the wastes north of here, a father and mother who lived off the land. Made nearly everything themselves. Most folk would call that uncomfortable... hot summers, cold winters, take most the day just to hunt, and fix things, cook, and clean. Taught me to be my own man. Much as I have a soft spot for the people of Vogler, can't say their comfort's made them ready for a war."
The others might catch a bit of an edge to his voice. There is some judgement there, of his thoughts on the trappings of civlization.
"I've fought my share of beasties and ne'er-do-wells who call the area home too. When I set off on my own I probably managed to get bitten, scratched, and poked by every poisonous critter and plant out there. Not to mentioned I've slipped on my fair share of stones and rocks. Each made me stronger, each made me tougher. Things changed when I got some friendly advice to try out a rare flower from a cactus plant that only grows on steep cliffs. Well, had quite the vision from that one, that's where these came from." He gestures to a few of his tattoos. "Values in Dwarvish, insults in Elvish, all connected by old Primordial concepts... heh, think it finally paid off with a touch of the old magic. Er... sorry about your horse. Oh, and don't get too hard on yourself for the pride and all that. You just got unlucky. See... we don't actually hail from Vogler. An old adventurer we all know just passed, name of Ispin Greenshield. We all came from different parts to bid him farewell, were all a day or two from leaving again. Otherwise, the whole mercenary betrayal, the demands, bet you it all would've worked out just fine. Speaking bluntly, I think you're luckier for being unlucky. I think your honor looks better on you fighting off that jackass trying to take you back then making declarations against a small town." Modri looks further towards the wharf at the trouble ahead. "In fact, think you'd be right breathtaking if you help us out here."
As they make their way down, Modri immediately spots a wagon that's been tipped over and is blocking a part of the street, making it awkward to get around. Grabbing one of his axes he makes quick work taking a few swipes to break off the wheels jutting out, using his shoulder to shove it a few more feet to the side, which makes a difference.
To the side a large, angry goat is hopping up and down and butting into people, the Dwarf managing to just calm the animal with a quick, "Shut up, goat!" Likely it's just the stern voice that does the trick, more than the actual words.
However, he's less successful with people. "Oy! Duck! Run low! Serpentine you fools!" However, the people he's yelling at aren't familiar with the term 'serpentine', nor can they hear him clearly through all the chaos, and if anything are doing the opposite moving slower, upright, and in a straight line...