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About gantherogue

Hobby Info

  • Tribe
    Boar Lobbers
  1. Anybody up for The Empire: RPG?

    Here we go! Hamilton âme Perdue Ex-Knight of the Realm (warrior), Breton-Born Weapon skill 26 Ballistic skill 22 Strength 25 Toughness 21 Agility 21 Intelligence 14 Fellowship 22 +5 to tests Willpower 20 Perception 17 3 fate points Equipment (hopefully) Full plate Sword and shield Lance Matilda the Horse
  2. Anybody up for The Empire: RPG?

    I was thinking of a displaced brettonian knight, a knight who lost everything when a horde of beastmen came razed his land, manor, and villages. Not one peasant survived the onslaught having been caught unawares. The knight disgraced and broken now roams the land as a mercenary, to protect the weak and regain what he has lost.... His horse, arms and armor are his only real companions. Until now. I will write a better back story for him later,but I will roll up his stats (and maybe a second character if you don't approve)
  3. Anybody up for The Empire: RPG?

    Oh that would be lovely my good man!
  4. Triumph and Treachery

    90.... bucks?.... I'm sure someone has made free and just as good rules on the Internet right? Right? .... Guys?
  5. Anybody up for The Empire: RPG?

    Good to see someone has the dedication to run an Rpg! I hope it goes well!
  6. Tribe DataBaste - Introduce Your Tribe!

    (Redoing for better written fluff and achievement) Tribe Name: Boar Lobbers Tribe Symbol: Boar Head skewered on a BBQ fork Tyrant Name: Morkatch Swineswallower, Elfbeater, Fortressbreaker In the Mountains of Mourn, every creature is larger, tougher and more ferocious than those who dwell in the low lands. One of these creatures are the Ram-Horned Boars, a beast that looks like a cross between a massive swine and a hearty mountain goat. These creatures are able to charge down a mountain slope no matter the obstacles that would trip a lesser hog, ethier by crushing it flat Or with pure sure footedness. Morkatch gained his name and tribe name/"tactic"from these irritable beasts. The first being gained from wrestling an alpha male down to the ground bare handed and the eating it alive. The latter gained from when one a potential challenger for came in the form of a sabretusk. Morkatch, still holding the squirming boar simply gave a look at the sabre tusk and hurled the pissed off porcine at the soon to be dead sabre. Since that day, The Boar Lobber tribe have bred and used these boars as live ammunition. Either through throwing them, launching them from catapults, or firing them from specially made iron blasters. The boars (usually) will survive the landing, and the midst of their bloodrage will charge the thing in front of them, I.e. the enemy. This tactics has laid waste to many oppenents and entire camps and settlements have been found crushed with hoof and boot prints indented into the corpses and ground.
  7. I would expect that they would talk relatively slowly and deliberate, like the ogre on the now dead game Wrath of Heroes. Sort of like a rumbling advance of thunder. But excellent story nonetheless.
  8. Pet Gnoblars Guide and Records

    To animatone for making awesome new big names for da ogres!
  9. More Ogre Big Names!

  10. Terrain: The Maw Pit

    And I will be taking that, thank you very much!
  11. Journal entry, Day 17 (late entry due to external circumstances) Author: Telheim Fenwick, Engineer of the college of Nuln It has been a strange two or so weeks since my abduction by the ogres' of the Boar Lobber tribe, and I still amazed by the pure and simple fact I am alive! I attribute my survival to my skill and that is not a simple boast dear reader! It may come as a surprise my dear reader, but my original entourage did not consist of obese and sweating savages, but of proud soldiers of the empire! Oh how the mighty fall! I came into this predicament when in the afore mentioned two weeks ago when I was stationed with a state troop detachment to escort the blueprints of various improvements to black powder and firing mechanisms, designed by yours truly! Alas; we would never reach our destination as our caravan was set upon by my soon-to-be captors in a lone mountain pass. How beings made of two tonnes of fat and muscle managed to evade our notice is beyond my comprehension... To be brief, the survivors were rounded up after the short bit bloody massacre, and brought to the "Tyrant" known as Morkatch Swine swallower; Giantbreaker... He is largest specimen of the rabble, his fat fold grotesquely spilling over his "gut plate", his skin is covered in crude blue warpaint from head to toe (if he could reach) unlike his brethren who use it more sparingly. He holds a massive trident used as a fork to eat his gluttonous meals. He talked to us in a "friendly" tone, he simply stated if we proved his usefulness to him, he would let live amongst his tribe ( I would only notice later, that there were humans amongst the throng). Of course, some refused and were subsequently killed and eaten. The rest who agreed (me among them) were led to a pit of some sort, our challenge, if we could best an ogre in one one combat we would live. I had no doubt that I was a dead man. I felt death approach as one by one, as the surviving troops were hashed into paste and eaten off the ground. The last soldier in front of me was almost in tears as he was led out, his knees shaking and his brow doused with sweat. The fight did not even have a chance to begin as the ogre combatant took his first step, the soldier bolted, leading into a morbidly comical chase scene. The ogre of course grew tired of chasing the meal on legs and made signal to the crowd around the pit. The crowd began jostle away to make room for a massive ogre weilding what looked like a looted Imperial cannon. With a chuckle he lit the fuse and aimed it at the fleeing trooper, leading his shot surprisingly. As the red mist cleared, an Idea came to my mind, one that ultimately would save my life. I was more or less thrown into the pit and landed somewhat less than gracefully on my stomach as I looked at my would be executioner, who was grinning as a bit of state trooper dripped down his chin. He pulled me up and handed me a dagger and said "You ready?". I nodded and said "Yes, but may I say one thing? You know.... before I fall to your superior prowess master ogre..." I don't know if he understood some of longer words but he seemed to know it was a flattery of sorts and he nodded. I looked into the crowd and saw the ogre with the cannon, currently focusing on pouring more crude powder into the barrel. I gave the loudest shout I could to grab his attention. "Excuse me good sir!" I called out to the brute, the other ogres around him prodded him pointed to me, his head turned from his work and he raised his singed eyebrow in question. "How would you like to make your gunnery more impressive than it already is?" I asked with as much confidence as I could muster "My what?" He asked with suspicion as he leaned over the railing to listen more. "Your gun! Do you wish to add more firepower?" I asked with ever growing hope in my heart. The ogre did not respond, he continued to look at me for a few moments and then to his cannon longer a before he abruptly leaped over the pit railing and slowly strode over, his cannon over his shoulder. I began to shake as he got closer, the hope I had slowly shriveling into a dead husk. He reached to where I was standing, his gut the only thing between me and the savage. He kneeled down to me face to triple chinned face, he opened his mouth, foul breath cascading over me and he said with a fearsome grin... "How?" By now I had forgotten about my opponent who had grown quite impatient with my plan and was ready for another human meal. He raised his club and bellowed "LESS TALKIN' AND MORE SQUISHIN'" I cringed and covered my cranium, ready for the blow that would never come. Instead of the wet crunch of my skull caving in I heard a sound not unlike a Cathyan gong. When I openend my eyes I saw my assailant uncouncious with a sizeable lump on his head. And to my left the other ogre held a now slightly dented cannon. The entire rabble was silent, only heavy breathing breaking the silence. A rumbling was heard coming from the Tyrants seat, as it grew louder I recognized it as... laughter? The laughter grew louder as the Tyrant gripped his flabby sides as if they hurt from his merriment. With that, the the entire tribe broke into raucous laughter, their low grumblings echoing off the mountains. The laughter went on for five minutes before it finally began to die down. As the last guffaw left, the Tyrant shifted his bulk and looked down at me and said "Dats it! You're staying after dat little performance!" He growled jovially "Of course..." he continued "youse gonna help da leadbelchers like you said, right?" "Right" I said without any hesitation "Never thought you wouldn't...." he said leering back at me Which brings us to where I am now, a odorous, cold, ramshackle skin hut known as my "workshop"... It's got everything an engineer could possibly want including, a table, low grade/scavenged gun powder, minerals that I more or less requested to create "better" powder, and all the broken/cracked vials and glasses I could carry. In case the reader is wondering the sarcasm is heavy in this past sentence... the only remotely positive thing I gained is my new assistant, a gnoblar named Git-it. The reason I say remotely positive is that he is quite eager to fetch and scavenger any materials that I need as long as I keep to single syllable words. As implied, the problem is he (is it a he?) possesses the intelligence of a mountain weasel and the tendency to take things that are not his. This has been no more apparent as when the little blighter nicked a piece of flint from my back pocket. The end result was "our" workshop going up in flame as the unstable gun powder it suffered Git-it's attentions. By now the reader is probably asking "why not escape?", the answer is simple. I am a coward. The Tyrant has multiple ways of tracking me with his menagerie of savage beasts, that isn't including the prying and wheedling gnoblars that would expose my plans in hopes of raising themselves on their masters eyes. In short dear reader, I don't want to die. The silly thing is though I don't even know if I'll survive to publish this... I assume it would a non-fictional novel... I am tired now though, Git-it is asking for his evening meal and we march tomorrow towards the east, the realms of the dwarves. I will write when I possess the time. From the rotten table of - Telheim Fenwick, engineer of the College of Nuln, and of the Boar Lobber Tribe - AND GiT- It
  12. MANEATER EPISODE II: Rotten Meat

  13. MANEATER EPISODE II: Rotten Meat

  14. MANEATER RPG II: the sequel

    Also I want to say, when I finally got time to post, I felt ashamed for not responding for so long... I tohught you guys would be mad at me or disgusted. I hope we can continue this I have good memories with this.
  15. MANEATER RPG II: the sequel

    WALMART IS HELL If any of you guys still have faith in this... in me... please come back... I'm sorry, I had so much work to be done. I have a week off and a kindle to use so I'll be able to do this again more consistently. Please forgive me...

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