Do not let my appearance frighten you. Your eyes do not deceive you, though; I am Hobgoblin, and the symbol of Tyr that adorns my shield is there legitimately, for I serve him, body and mind. My soul is already his. You would hear the tale? Are you a bard, then, looking for more tales to spread? (Slight chuckle) I shall tell you, then. It is not my custom to boast, but your tales might spare me a few crossbows aimed my way.
I was born to the Crushing Hammer tribe of hobgoblins, in the Marching Mountains. I was the son of a minor chieftain, Gorjjt, noted for his bravery and skill. Our tribe was small, as we had been fighting a constant battle with the Ogres from higher up the mountain for the past generation, so each birth was welcome. From the time I could stand, I was drilled in the use of the hammer and sword; the first to crush the skeletons sent against us by the Ogre Shaman, the second to cleave the flesh of any other who would stand against us.
I was stronger and smarter than many of my fellows, and few could stand against me in the practice field. When it came time to venture onto the field of battle, both the Quick and the Dead fell before my weapons; I slew my first Ogre before I had seen ten summers, though it could not have been older than I. This was deemed a good omen by our shaman, and I was given command of the ten Hobgoblins of the Boy's Troop, rather than join the adults at such a young age. That proved to save me.
It was some years later when the Boy's Troop had been sent out to secure a large human farm; their harvest was in, but they had not yet taken it to market in Calimport. We would be able to take it for ourselves, sell those who survived the raid, and gain the spoils of the farm to increase our own tribe's standing. Under my command, the few men were quickly killed, and the women were captured. We amused ourselves with them in turns, waiting three days for the rest of the tribe to join us. Kordek, the Shaman's apprentice, took particular pleasure with the little girl... now, I wake up in horror hearing her screams.
When they did not arrive for five days, I sent two of the youths to find them. They returned in only a day; they had found our tribe, with the Ogres still picking their bones, their shaman calling up our freshly-killed kinfolk to serve him. They had come back to report, bringing with them only the Badge of Chieftancy and the Staff of our shaman. I took the Badge myself, and passed the Staff to Kordek. The next day we took the ten women from the farmstead to a slaver's outpost away from Calimport and sold them there. We made enough that I was able to buy a mount, another sign of our Chieftancy, and assume the post in fact, with Kordek anointing me as our ancestors had done.
The next two years were and orgy of blood, death, and slave-taking. Our small group would descend upon a farm or hamlet, kill any who would not surrender, and sell the rest once we tired of them. The process would repeat once our money ran out again. In all, we destroyed nearly ten farms and two villages in those two years. Then came the Paladin.
We had destroyed our second village, and were still enjoying ourselves, when a sentry cried out that a mounted human was approaching. Our troop formed up in the only street this village had possessed, myself on horseback, and Kordek standing near my stirrup. The six who remained of our troop stood before us, armor and swords glinting in the waning daylight. Before us was a man mounted upon a horse of midnight, barded in chain of silvery steel. The man himself would have stood as tall as a hobgoblin had he been afoot, and his eyes were the same grey as a clouded sky, shot through with a blue like lightning. We did not notice then that his hair was white with age, or that his face was lined, but only those eyes.
I gave the command to attack, and my troops flung their javelins before rushing forward. He rode through them as if they weren't there, his blade claiming four, his horse claiming two with its hooves. I barely had time to bring up my own shield before he was upon me, pressing his attack. I could not strike back; only block myself with my shield under his rain of blows, coming at me so swiftly I cannot to this day count them. I heard Kordek screaming at me to flee, and the sound of him crashing through the brush at the edge of town, but only felt the pounding of this Paladin's sword against my shield. It seemed to be an hour before he drew off, watching me with those eyes. Quietly, in a Goblin untouched by accent, he bade me to lay down my sword, and give up the fight.
My troops... my friends and kinsmen... were dead, with one fled to the woods. My body was sore, my pride was injured, and I was clearly over matched. But, I am a Hobgoblin, so I threw my head back and screamed a war-cry, charging that man upon the coal-black horse. I never saw his sword move, only felt an exquisite pain as my right hand, my sword hand, left my body to splash in the mud. I stared at the stump for a moment, watching it spurt out my life's blood into the cold autumn air, then slumped forward, unable to feel any more.
I awoke three days later, my stump bandaged, the wrapping spotted with blood. The human knelt beside me, his eyes searching my face. "Why did you spare me?" I was surprised; the words barely came out, my powerful voice a whisper. The human, whose name was Tobrian, told me quietly of Tyr, and of his companion Illmater. He told me of mercy for the weak, and how vanquished foes should be treated with respect. For many days he spoke, feeding me, changing the dressings on my arm, all the while telling me of these foreign concepts. He spoke of discipline, not as a way of controlling others, but as a way of winning control of the self, and through control of the self, winning the respect of others.
At first, I mistrusted his words; they seemed too idealistic, and the way of weaklings to fool themselves into thinking they were strong. He answered my questions and my curses, reminding me of the strength that had taken my hand, and how that flowed from his beliefs. As I grew stronger, Tobrian exercised with me, sparring until I could regain my strength and find confidence in my left hand. Each time, he showed me that he was the better warrior, and that my strength could not overcome his skills, no matter how he hobbled himself; even when kneeling, one arm bound behind him, I could not surpass him.
I found my respect for this man growing. His honor protected me from the freed villagers, and his words were making more and more sense as I saw them in action. Still, however, I could not accept them, not without turning from my ancestors and showing them dishonor. It was near Midwinter when Tobrian finally placed the matter before me in a method I could understand. One night, as I sat near our fire, he said "It occurs to me that you owe Tyr a debt of honor. Through me, He has restored your health, though not your hand. Through me, He has provided you with a home and food for the past season. Because of this, you owe Him your life. Will you pay back your debt of honor, and serve Him?"
Phrased that way, I had no choice but to serve Tyr as Tobrian's squire when the spring came. The rest of the winter, Tobrian taught me of the ways of Tyr, and his servants Illmater and Torm. In the name of Tyr's Justice, I labored hard to rebuild what my troops and I had destroyed in that small hamlet. In the name of Illmater's call for us to suffer for our misdeeds, I was scourged by the villagers, then thrown into the snow. And in the name of Torm's Duty, I served Tobrian as a squire for a season. When Midsummer came, he presented me with this blade, and bade me serve Tyr for the rest of my life. He then rode North, and I did not hear from him again.
Now, I ride alone. I believe Kordek still lives; he had magic enough to survive the winter when he fled from us, and he was crafty and wise when I saw him half a year ago. But, I bear the Badge of Chieftancy of the Crushing Hammer tribe, and he the Staff of our Shaman. I do not relish our meeting, as I know the ancestors will be split on who is the true leader of our tribe; The Coward, or The Apostate.
Drujjt the One-Handed
Hobgoblin 2nd level Fighter, 1st level Paladin
Strength 16/+3
Dexterity 12/+1
Constitution 13/+1
Intelligence 15/+2
Wisdom 16/+3
Charisma 17/+3
Height: 6'6"
Weight: 272#
Age: 18
Hit Points: 28 (10, 9, 7, +1 per level)
Base Attack Bonus: +3
Saves: +8 Fortitude, +4 Reflex, +6 Will
Armor Class: 21 (+8 Armor, +2 Shield, +1 Dexterity)
Armor Check Penalty: -6, -5 without shield
Description: Drujjt is a huge specimen for a human, but only about average for a hobgoblin. Though very strong, he's lean enough that he doesn't look over-muscled. His skin is a dusky red, and his long hair is thick and black, and often restrained in a pony tail that leaves his long, pointed ears visible. He tends to dress well, if conservatively, and favors blues with white or silver trim in his clothing. When he speaks, his voice is quite deep, but still pleasant to listen to. Often, he will wear a face-concealing helm or cloak, so people do not immediately distrust him because of his race.
Special Abilities:
Darkvision, 60'
Detect Evil at Will
Divine Grace (+3 on all saves)
Lay On Hands (3hp/level)
Divine Health
Feats:
Weapon Focus: Scimitar
Weapon Focus: Warhammer (Fighter Bonus Feat, 1st level)
Mounted Combat (Fighter Bonus Feat, 2nd level)
Ride-by-Attack (3rd level)
Skills
Trained Skills:
Ride: 8 (5 ranks, +1 Dexterity, +2 synergy from Handle Animal)
Handle Animal: 7 (5 ranks, +3 Charisma)
Perform: 4 (1 rank, +3 Perform) Storytelling
Listen: 5 (2 ranks, +3 Wisdom)
Spot: 5 (2 ranks, +3 Wisdom)
Heal: 5 (2 ranks, +3 Wisdom)
Knowledge: religion: 4 (2 ranks, +2 Intelligence)
Untrained Skills:
Appraise: 2 (+2 Intelligence)
Balance: 1 (+1 Dexterity)
Bluff: 3 (+3 Charisma)
Climb: (+3 Strength)
Concentration: 1 (+1 Constitution)
Craft: 2 (+2 Intelligence)
Diplomacy: 3 (+3 Intelligence)
Disguise: 3 (+3 Charisma)
Escape Artist: 1 (+1 Dexterity)
Forgery: 2 (+2 Intelligence)
Gather Information: 3 (+3 Charisma)
Hide: 1 (+1 Dexterity)
Intimidate: 3 (+3 Charisma)
Jump: 3 (+3 Strength)
Move Silently: 5 (+4 Racial, +1 Dexterity)
Scry: 2 (+2 Intelligence)
Search: 2 (+2 Intelligence)
Sense Motive: 3 (+3 Wisdom)
Swim: 3 (+3 Strength)
Use Rope: 1 (+1 Dexterity)
Wilderness Lore: 3 (+3 Wisdom)
Languages
Common
Goblin
Ogre
Alzhedo (Calishite)
Equipment
Scimitar, Masterwork
Warhammer, Masterwork
Full Plate, Masterwork (includes a blue surcoat with the symbol of Tyr in the middle, and the symbols of Torm and Illmater flanking it, somewhat below)
Large Steel Shield, Masterwork
Light Warhorse
Military Saddle, Saddlebags, Bit and Bridle, Padded Barding
Mule
Pack Saddle, Bit and Bridle
Explorer's Outfit
Holy Symbol of Tyr, silver
Backpack
Bedroll
2 winter blankets
Flint and steel
Rations for 10 days
2 days feed
Whetstone
2 Waterskins
2 Belt Pouches
3 Gold, 7 Silver, and 8 Copper (local currency)