Hero

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Carpool-pathian

level 63

Mmmmm, beer

Age 12 years 10 months
Personality neutral
Guild no guild
Monsters Killed about 112 thousand
Death Count 87
Wins / Losses 73 / 33
Temple Completed at 08/24/2012
Wood for Ark 1.0%
Savings 1M, 440k (4.8%)
Pet Solar bear Toto

Equipment

Weapon sling of outrageous fortune +71
Shield magic mirror +73
Head beanie of elusiveness +71
Body daisy chainmail +72
Arms awkward paws +72
Legs Freudian slippers +71
Talisman unlike button +72

Skills

  • deafening snore level 39
  • menacing glance level 36
  • somersault squatting level 34
  • brainstorm level 33
  • epitaph writing level 33
  • iron vortex level 32
  • instant hairloss level 30
  • spoon-bending level 28
  • tin throat level 25
  • mosquito roar level 25

Pantheons

Templehood1918
Gladiatorship4620
Storytelling368

Achievements

  • Builder, 1st rank
  • Animalist, 2nd rank
  • Careerist, 2nd rank
  • Champion, 2nd rank
  • Favorite, 2nd rank
  • Invincible, 2nd rank
  • Martyr, 2nd rank
  • Renegade, 2nd rank
  • Saint, 2nd rank
  • Hunter, 3rd rank

Hero's Chronicles

Perhaps it is best if I start from the beginning. Or as close to it as I can manage, since I can’t rightly remember the name of the bar. The name doesn’t matter, really; it was, however, the backdrop for one of my more legendary hangovers.

To say that I was slumped over the bar was akin to saying that rabid cat outside had kinda sharp fangs as he gnawed upon my leg. My head felt as if legions of ogres were working as blacksmiths, with my pea brain serving as their one anvil. Heck, I could’ve been the feature story for a new reality show called “When Livers Attack.” Camera pans across the pub. Me: “I was just sitting on my barstool, enjoying a tasty libation, when it came out of nowhere.” Narrator: This young lad was minding his drink when the unthinkable happened. Me: “Suddenly, my liver went bat-crap crazy. Next thing I know, I’m bouncing my head off the barstool as I plunge to the floor, my liver beating me down the whole way. It was… tragic.” But I digress.

It was then, as I cried out for a transplant, that I felt a divine presence. It was the benevolent hand of my goddess, Helen of Troy. Ok, it was actually the mangled paw of the grizzly old bartender, but he confessed that something greater than himself inspired him to make me a red-eye on the house. At that point, sun dog poop would’ve tasted better than whatever was left in my mouth from the night before, so I grunted something I hope resembled undying gratitude (which was the ONLY thing about me that wasn’t dying right then), and swallowed it down in one gulp. It would’ve been two, if this hole in my lip didn’t let half of it leak onto my shirt, but at least it wasn’t my money wasted on a party foul.

Once my head felt a little better, I heard my goddess talk to me from the bottom of my tankard. She whispered sweet nothings in my ear, offering to take the hangover away. I thanked her for her charity, and pledged my loyalty to her. This, of course, earned me some strange looks, as it was not yet noon and I was ALREADY mumbling at people who weren’t really there. So I decided to leave while I was still able to find the door, lest that nasty healer with the thorazine offer to give me “a place to rest.”

I stumbled into an alleyway and fell to my knees in worship of Helen of Troy. I’m not really entirely sure what holy powers come from Bluuuuuuuuuaaaarrrrrrrgh!!!, but it must have pleased her immensely. She offered me riches! She offered me adventure! She offered me companionship! And when I die, she promised that my liver would be buried separately with full military honors. How could I possibly say no???

So off I went! I set out to travel the land, giving eternal thanks to my sweet goddess. Although I can’t, to this day, figure out why she always says “Don’t thank me, thank your recruiter,” and then laughs at me like she was possessed by Daffy Duck.

TO BE CONTINUED