|Relatives||Rav' Vijannath (father, deceased)
Medda (mother, deceased)
|Languages||Common, Loxodon (albeit an extremely outdated version)|
|Affiliations||The Meldurnian Rav'vince (Pra'/prince, formerly), The Collective (Emperor, formerly)|
|Aliases||The Cindering Winter King
|Place of Birth||Capital of the Meldurnian Rav'vince|
|Date of Death||Prehistory (revived)|
|Place of Death||Throne Room of the Collective (revived)|
|Species||Loxodon/Musuuth (ancient precursor to the modern Loxodon)|
|Eye Color||Icy blue, with a red tinge|
Wintertusk is the former tyrant of a Prehistoric kingdom in the Northern Mountains that he dubbed The Collective. Having been revived by the violent eruption of shadow energy in the north, Wintertusk seeks to reestablish his dominion, this time cementing his eternal reign by annihilating all lesser life with a global winter. He is a Musuuth (Loxodon) level 8 Samurai Fighter and a level 2 Barbarian.
Physical Appearance[edit | edit source]
Being nearly 5,000 years old, most of it spent slowly rotting away in a frozen tomb, Wintertusk's body certainly shows its age. The ancient king belongs to an extinct (at least in spirit) race that called themselves the musuuth in their tongue. Arguably superior to the loxodons they eventually became, Wintertusk's species resembles a larger, furred version of the loxo, complete with an extra set of tusks, greater muscle mass in the upper body, and a mane-like growth pattern of hair.
Wintertusk, as an individual, stands at an imposing 8 foot, 3 inches and weighs around 400 pounds, although this is known to change while he slowly regenerates missing chunks of his body. Both through natural predisposition and decades of war, Wintertusk's body is comparable in musculature to that of an ogre with his torso almost appearing top-heavy. His gray skin is entirely covered by a thick coat of black, cream and dark brown fur. His chest, underside of his trunk, and belly bear cream colored fur, while his forearms, feet, back, and tip of his tail are black. The rest of his body is covered mostly in the dark brown fur. Growing down from the back of his unkempt head hair, is a large mane of thick, brown hair that follows the back of his neck down to in between his shoulder blades. Some patches near the edges of this mane are braided in a strange method traditional for musuuth royalty. Originally brown in hue, his irises have recently turned a haunting light blue since his resurrection, with them typically accompanied by a red tint. Furthermore, Wintertusk's sclera are a glossy black, likely betraying the way he escaped death. His left eye is noticeably emboldened by a single, deep scar: the reminder of a decision that cost incalculable lives. The other eye is concealed by a blood-stuck bandage that has been tightly wrapped across it, probably in a bid to hide something revolting. Wintertusk also sports two sets of tusks, with one serving as a smaller, vestigial indicator of increased aggression. The larger, primary tusks are about 2 feet long, while their shorter counterparts come in at around 10 inches. Etched into each of these tusks are various runes and titles accumulated over a lifetime; in particular, a larger rune on the inner left tusk depicts an avian skull. His furred trunk seems to be about 2 and a half feet long, and constantly twitches as if it has a mind of its own. Simultaneously, what appear to be small icicles constantly grow from Wintertusk's earlobes, which must be numb to the apparent frostbite. A pair of small, golden earrings accompany the icicles at the base of the left ear, which softly clink against each other whenever the musuuth walks. On a more general scale, Wintertusk's body is littered with old scars; some big, some negligible. Besides the one tarnishing Wintertusk's eye, there is a jagged, three-clawed scar on his right bicep, as well as a particularly gruesome one on his side that nearly goes halfway across his stomach. Accompanying these scars are many open holes in his body, some from the decay over aeons and others from a bloody battle that just couldn't heal. Some of these missing chunks include in his right eye, over parts of his lower ribcage, in his outer right thigh, and in his left heel. The largest hole, however, is the lethal cavity in the center of his chest- the shape of the entrance wound suggests that it was a large blade that created it. Over time, however, all of these injuries have greatly diminished due to Wintertusk's gradual regeneration.
Regarding his attire, Wintertusk is adorned in a greatly damaged breastplate, which seems to be made of a strange, organic metal, but now lies cold and dormant. Beneath this armor, a padded undershirt is left tattered and bloodied. More bandages are wrapped around this shirt at the sternum, likely hiding the hole in the shirt, as well as the torso beneath it; one can see the bandages through the hole in the armor. While most of his arms is left unprotected due to the limited nature of breastplate, Wintertusk does keep his right shoulder covered at the joint with the preserved skull of supposedly a large bird. Used as a grisly pauldron, he keeps the remains as a reminder of what happens should one disgrace him. Attached to his breastplate at the back and waist are an assemblage of different straps and sheaths, which the musuuth uses to carry his weapons- no matter how short those times may be. Beneath his belt are a pair of leather shorts layered with scales of iron, with the polish having long since been weathered away. Wintertusk possesses no footwear, as his calloused, pachyderm feet alone have seen him through many harsh campaigns. Strung across his neck is a cord bandolier of assorted teeth, minor bones and marriage rings, which are arranged in such a way that they purposefully clatter together to announce his approach and monstrous intent. There are several other strange qualities about Wintertusk, such as the presence of untouched snow powdering his shoulders, as well as the blatant visibility of his breath when in a lukewarm space. Wintertusk also walks with a subtle, but noticeable limp: something he actively works to conceal.
Personality[edit | edit source]
"The last time someone disrespected me, Quelmar lost a race- I recommend you choose your next words very wisely."
Wintertusk is not someone who takes insults lightly. Having been a self-imposed dictator, he carries great pride in himself as well as his Collective; something he considers his magnum opus. The musuuth believes himself to be the only one deserving of power, and that all other "rulers" simply lack the ability to rule at his level. Despite his overbearing ego, the true danger emerges when it gets bruised. While Wintertusk isn't stupid, as he won't attack someone in a blatantly unwinnable situation, he will still take a slight against him extremely poorly, even to the point of violence. Wintertusk also holds the belief of genetic blame, causing him to punish innocents simply for being related to the offender.
Outside of his retributive tendencies, he is generally a reserved person when dealing with associates. Few could accurately guess what thoughts fester in his head amidst the silence that almost always seems to permeate his presence. As of now, Wintertusk works to be on the downlow of most organizations, even if he despises the lack of fear among the civilians around him. Wintertusk does seem to be a reliable ally of those he works with, although this is largely to develop an unassuming reputation with the people he eventually plans to annihilate. The few instances where Wintertusk seems to have been able to form true relationships were with his father, uncle, and the loxo he feels a general sense of pity towards.
Deep down beneath an avalanche of hatred and self-righteousness, lies a fragment of innocence that not a living soul on Quelmar would suspect exists, including Wintertusk himself. Something within him weakly begs him to stop his crusade and return to the grave each and every time he acts, perhaps to enjoy a better rest this time. Though he could never admit it, his truest wish is to talk to his parents again in the Rav'vince he tore down, one last time.
History[edit | edit source]
Wintertusk was born the bastard son of the Meldurnian Rav'vince's king, Rav' Vijannath, and the peasant Medda. While Vijannath was willing to bring his love to a higher state of living, he wasn't nearly as generous with his reputation on the line. Medda's status and name were kept secret and she was consistently dressed in only the most distinguished of attire, all for fear of the people discovering the truth of their son's lineage.
As for the young Pra', Wintertusk's childhood was filled with running through the kingdom's sparkling winter gardens, learning combat with wooden swords and poles, and delectable meals of peafruit. While his status as royalty certainly afforded him a worry-free life, he still endured many injuries and harsh climates in his tribal Rav'vince of the north. There were many times where Wintertusk had to save his fellow noble-born from fierce snowstorms and Frost Recluses. At one point, he even suffered a grievous wound to his side that threatened to bisect him, all in defense of his personal instructor from a rampaging barbarian. Despite his bravery in the face of physical harm, Wintertusk was easily manipulated in the face of social combat. He was more than capable of protecting his friends from a battleaxe, but too insecure to stand up for them when a foreign baroness disrespected their pedigree.
Wintertusk's uncle, Cinderrath, took notice of this early on. Greatly disgusted by his nephew's weakness, he vowed to "fix" him up into an adequate ruler, since he himself had no path to the throne as the kingdom's In'fith'. Wintertusk began talking with his uncle in the capital's garden, discussing the nature of those below them. Cinderrath explained to him how the world really worked- how only those strong enough to demand what they wanted would get it, how fear was the ultimate weapon against the weak, and how he would be the last true ruler the Rav'vince would see. Despite the refutations Wintertusk offered in defense of his innocent convictions, Cinderrath shot all of them down. How could those below him expect to thrive when he always had to be there to bail them out? Why would he need to worry about a lowly baroness, or even other rulers, when he was the one true king? Days turned to months as his uncle's notions took root in his head. Four months later, Wintertusk was denouncing the corrupt nobility in his father's court. A year later, he was demanding an alliance with the local barbarian tribes, using threats of the Rav's dangerous musuuth armies to coerce them. No one dared contest his overstepping, save for Vijannath who simply tempered it with approval. Nineteen months since the start of his influence, Cinderrath was satisfied that he had crafted Wintertusk a strong and dangerous personality fit for his physique and position.
Over the next decade, Wintertusk slowly watched his family rot away. Cinderrath passed on soon after the Pra's mother, both of them to an enigmatic illness that threatened to overtake the entire royal palace. At age 20, Wintertusk found himself burying his father in an unmarked grave next to his mother's. Despite his hardened attitude, he still found the capacity to grieve over his parents, staying by their graves for nearly a week straight. By the time Wintertusk returned from his retreat, the Rav'vince was on the verge of revolt in anticipation of his coronation. The moment the crown touched his brow, Rav' Wintertusk conceived his ambitious plans for the kingdom: a grand web of alliances strung together into a beautiful empire worthy of his leadership.
His first act was the assimilation of the barbarian tribes he had allied with, planting rebellious elements in their ranks in order to usurp their kings and queens. As his forces expanded, Wintertusk eradicated resistance in the neighboring kingdoms with fear of war- the weak always bent in the face of the world's ultimate weapon. By the age of 24, he dissolved the Rav'vince and erased centuries of musuuth culture and tradition during his infamous revolution. The people would bend to his will or be cowed into submission. In place of the old titles and customs, the ambitious king inserted his own: the title of Emperor, an empire called The Collective, a people ruled by the one true king. Propaganda was verbally spread like a bioweapon; fear was fostered on the streets with regular brutality from Wintertusk's enforcers. He soon gained a moniker, the Winter King, as well as an image to uphold. The selectively bred blacksmiths of The Collective's dictatorship were ordered to craft a deadly longsword in coldfire fit for the feared Winter King. The powerful artifact, comparable to a frostbrand, Snowdrift, shone with the power of a full-blown snow squall and its ruthless wielder.
It didn't take long for Wintertusk's radical leadership to invite a violent uprising among his oppressed subjects. The culmination of the riots was the arrival of the outsider rebel leader, Renedell. It appeared that a rogue tradesman at the fringes of Wintertusk's Collective had begun stirring up this rebellion. The phoenixfolk had deigned to announce his presence and purpose at the heart of the Winter King's operation- simple hubris needing punishment was all it was to Wintertusk. Renedell stood his ground as the musuuth king approached with Snowdrift in hand, the challenger thought he had Wintertusk in a trap; kill him and make a powerful martyr or turn down an open challenge and assassinate his egocentric image he had built. The leader was mistaken, though, as Wintertusk was more than willing to cleanse his perfect empire of treasonous rebels. As the king stood there and gloated to the phoenix, Renedell took his chance and struck with his blade at Wintertusk's face, brutally flaying his left eye. Taken aback by the boldness of one so below him, Wintertusk stumbled back as the crowd that had gathered around gasped and screamed. Blood began seeping down the Winter King's face as he regained his poise, beginning to comprehend what had occurred. Renedell's confidence began to falter as his smirk slowly began to drop along with his blade under the dark glare he received. Something within Wintertusk snapped that moment, as he realized that fear simply wasn't a good enough weapon against some. Why was he standing here humiliated in front of his subjects despite all of the power he exerted over them? No- he realized he needed something more than fear to properly show the world his superior guidance. He would need to eradicate all those who would dare reject the rule of the Winter King; that started with the species of this insufferable rebel leader. In a fit of fury, Wintertusk abandoned his famed longsword and took ahold of his challenger's jaws, tearing Renedell's face in two. Phoenixfolk blood ran free in the once-ordered streets that day. Screams dominated the soundscape for hours as the musuuth liberated the rebel leader's heart from his chest.
News of the emperor's duel quickly spread, infuriating the rebellious population of The Collective. Close followers of the late leader called for a counterrevolution against the mad king, but none of it mattered as the unhinged emperor personally uprooted and executed every treacherous citizen. What followed was the beginning of a year-long campaign to wipe out the phoenixfolk race in totality. To Wintertusk, their whole people needed to be erased from existence in retribution for the challenger's hubris. He ordered his extensive armies to hunt down and butcher every single member of that wretched species, be they man, woman, or child. When his soldiers began to refuse to slaughter innocent children, Wintertusk took up his longsword and went on a pilgrimage with a handful of militiamen still loyal to his cause- he would kill them all himself, then. The first seven months of the campaign resulted in a slow, but brutal genocide against the phoenixfolk. While he moved from village to village within and out of The Collective, the people of the continent began calling Wintertusk many titles befitting his grim grudge: the White Scourge, the Phoenix Butcherer, the Lord of Ashes. The campaign only began to accelerate once his mages discovered a strange, organic metal uniquely produced in phoenixfolk bones- aptly dubbed phoenite. Only once the metal's manipulative and absorbent properties with fire were discovered were Wintertusk's orders made. All citizens of The Collective, including children, were ordered to deliver every phoenix corpse in the land, even those long since buried, to the capital. While some groups in the empire worked to stop the flow of remains into the palace, as well as to denounce the graverobbing, Wintertusk's efforts resulted in just enough phoenite to craft his ultimate armaments: a uniquely tailored and enchanted breastplate piece and a custom-forged double halberd. Armed with dominion over ice with Snowdrift and control of flames with his phoenite halberd, Wintertusk evolved his old moniker to better suit his dual-sided savagery: the Cindering Winter King. His last five months of genocide had him singlehandedly slaughter more phoenixfolk than all of his armies combined. Panicked whispers would speak of a hulking figure in the distance amidst a violent snowstorm slowly approaching hidden phoenix villages, who would emanate a chilling rattling sound in the wind. A blood-soaked musuuth would emerge from the squall and proceed to murder the inhabitants, then reduce the buildings to ash. Songs of the Cindering Winter King's treks would pass down through generations into the distant future as vague tunes. Ancient bags of holding would feature Wintertusk's atrocities as stylized embroidery. In the end, Wintertusk was successful in his mission, as every phoenix to have lived since Renedell's grave mistake was either slain or a wretched undead, and that was good enough for the Phoenix Butcherer.
As the emperor returned to his capital, he was greeted with an eerie silence. No one dared speak anymore. Ashes seemed to almost constantly be raining down on the city, as the remains of Wintertusk's eradication were still being burned down into nuggets of phoenite. Wintertusk didn't mind this at all, though, as he simply saw the success of his campaign as a major step towards his vision of a perfect kingdom. He would have the remaining phoenite molded into a great sculpture symbolizing the end of treachery in The Collective. Wintertusk celebrated for weeks with his wives, ignoring the rising incursion of outside forces on his precious Collective. Three allied armies headed by a group of five adventurers marched on the capital, liberating all those starving under Wintertusk's rule. The party, Inexorable, assaulted the throne room in no time, finding the Cindering Winter King on his throne ready to annihilate the trespassers and make an example of their loved ones. The five mercenaries fought his thermal magic with their own powerful weapons. A great battle ensued as the capital burned. A violent storm of sleet and ash overtook the northern mountains as The Collective bore witness to the end of Wintertusk's dynasty. As two of Inexorable's member's laid dead, the remaining adventurers sought to finish off the White Scourge once and for all. With a great roar, the party's barbarian parried Wintertusk's halberd and plunged her greatsword deep into his chest, piercing straight through his breastplate. As the adrenaline wore off, the king realized death was getting a grip on him- that he had failed. He realized his Collective was doomed to collapse without the true king's leadership. The weak could not cull themselves without fear and violence. His time was reaching an end as his vision was fading. With a last gasp of defiance, Wintertusk uttered his final decree: to destroy the remaining phoenite and let his kingdom rot. The last three intruders obliged after he was long gone.
Over the next several months of aftermath, The Collective was dismantled and replaced with smaller, independent towns ruled by local leaders. The capital in the far north was left abandoned, save for the tomb that was later constructed for the fallen. Many survivors were outraged to hear that Inexorable wanted to entomb Wintertusk's body with those of his victims. After handing the issue over to a neutral party, Inexorable parted ways after being granted boons for their service to the prehistoric world. Wintertusk and the thousands of phoenixfolk he murdered were all respectfully interred in the grand, sealed tomb. Wintertusk would lay in the center of the cavernous monument, with his weaponry placed in separate, stone cases. For aeons, he would slowly rot away in the mummifying cold; leaked blood freezing his battle wounds shut.
Thousands of years later, a devastating eruption of shadowy energy in the northern mountains would awaken Wintertusk from his eternal rest, inadvertently reinvigorating the ancient king- the king that old nursery rhymes warned children of. The brown loxodon that old pottery depicted dismembering forgotten, fiery aarakocra. Beneath the blazing glow of the mountain's gloaming was a half-rotten musuuth seeking his old weapons- seeking vengeance on the world that had denied him his perfect world so many times. Fine, if the world just wanted to keep burning his machinations to ash, then he would freeze the world dead. There would be no one to stand in his way this time if everyone was frozen solid. He would bring about a permafrost on the world if he had to. For now, however, he needed to find someone to work for if he wanted to get any support or resources, and he knew just where to look.
Languages[edit | edit source]
Wintertusk is fluent in Common, as it was quite widespread even before history. He is also well-versed in Loxodon, it being his born language, although it's greatly departed from its modern-day equivalent (similar to if someone were to speak English in a very heavy Gaelic accent, as well as using archaic terms and idioms to boot).
Powers and Abilities[edit | edit source]
Originally an independent, frontline warrior using the power of fire and ice, the Cindering Winter King now resorts to using his damaged weapons without the assistance of thermal magic.
Being a progenitor of the Loxo, Wintertusk possesses a stronger mind than most, allowing him to ignore emotions that might otherwise hinder his bloodlust (Loxodon Serenity). He also has tremendous muscle mass in his upper body (Powerful Build), as well as thick skin covered in a coat of thicker fur (Natural Armor). The presence of his trunk also effectively gives him a third hand (Trunk) and a heightened sense of smell (Keen Smell).
After decades of martial combat, territorial expansion, and a total genocide, calling Wintertusk a fighting specialist would be an understatement. Having learned from a young age to put every ounce of ferocity into his attacks, he is able to consistently deal devistating blows to his enemies (Great Weapon Fighting Style) and deliver multiple strikes in an instant (Extra Attack). The thrill of battle is a drug he is proudly hooked on- throughout an altercation, Wintertusk reinvigorates himself with a rush of adrenaline and dopamine, stoking his resolve (Second Wind), deranging his attacks (Fighting Spirit) and hastening his capabilities (Action Surge). Being an influential tyrant, he possesses an uncanny affinity for negotiation (Elegant Courtier). Wintertusk's unbound anger further allows him to concentrate his bloodlust (Rage) while keeping his attacks accurate (Reckless Attack). On top of his tough skin is his primal affinity for defense, allowing him to resist physical attacks (Unarmored Defense) and avoid most others (Danger Sense). Lastly, Wintertusk has a particular prowess in the halberd (Polearm Master): his favorite weapon alongside the longsword.
At one point, Wintertusk also came into contact with the soul of Tushello, who granted him and his associates a powerful ward against death (Tushello's Afterlife Boon).
Attacks and Weapons [edit | edit source]
|Phoenite Halberd (Dormant)||
An intricate, double-ended halberd forged from an organic alloy called phoenite. The large blades are sculpted to resemble swaying tongues of fire, although the weapon has long since gone dark and cold.
|Two-handed Melee, Opposite End (Polearm Master)|
A frost-skinned longsword birthed from coldfire. Once enchanted to grant the attuned immunity to ice, as well as dominion over it, Snowdrift now lies absent of most of that magic.
|Melee, Two-handed Melee|
A pair of simple hatchets geared toward battle. They are in the style of Wintertusk's childhood nation though, which reminds him of a more innocent life.
|Double-Ended Glaive||A large, specially crafted glaive bearing two ends. Unlike Wintertusk's double-ended halberd, this glaive is able to deliver glancing blows with the blade in the hands of a master.||Two-handed Melee, Bladed Opposite End (Polearm Master)|
Adventures[edit | edit source]
Feb. 19th, 2023 - Tushello's Return[edit | edit source]
Mar. 19th, 2023 - Hopeville[edit | edit source]
Apr. 22nd, 2023 - A Silent Tale[edit | edit source]
Apr. 23rd, 2023 - The Tale of Sardior[edit | edit source]