level 74

Só aquell qui es diu! ƒ

Age 1 year 11 months
Personality gentle
Guild The Forsakens Lament
Monsters Killed about 148 thousand
Death Count 58
Wins / Losses 31 / 31
Temple Completed at 10/01/2018
Ark Completed at 02/01/2020 (102.4%)
Twos of Every Kind 27m, 21f (2.1%)
Savings 4M, 917k (16.4%)
Pet Grounded hog Spot 27th level


Weapon sea saw +83
Shield political correctness +84
Head frame of mind +84
Body armored tank top +83
Arms motion-capture dots +83
Legs plumsoles +83
Talisman green thumb +84


  • seasickness level 54
  • bad breath level 47
  • battle chess level 46
  • foot massage level 46
  • drunken rampage level 46
  • tin throat level 44
  • glance of Kaa level 44
  • street magic level 41
  • bloody itch level 40
  • sword-swallowing level 33




  • Honored Favorite
  • Builder, 1st rank
  • Shipwright, 1st rank
  • Animalist, 2nd rank
  • Fiend, 2nd rank
  • Hunter, 2nd rank
  • Martyr, 2nd rank
  • Raider, 2nd rank
  • Careerist, 3rd rank
  • Champion, 3rd rank
  • Coach, 3rd rank
  • Moneybag, 3rd rank
  • Seadog, 3rd rank

Hero's Chronicles

Worry not, my former tomes will live in our hearts, and also in my godwiki page.

The Case

A few weeks had went by since the replacement of Danuit. Aran went on his journey to be an atheist hero, helping out whoever he could all avoiding to be related to the ones above. His quest brought him to the high course of the Mainstream, where he worked as a caravan guard for all manners of deliveries in the triangle between Beerburgh, Herowin and Los Demonos. Danuit, sources claim, kept being a hero and is doing well we assume.

Their paths were unlikely to cross. It would seem that luck was loaded to get them two together, it wouldn’t take much luck to get a drunk hero to cause a mess though. And a mess they did in the fish market of Herowin, a tilted tugboat served now as a drinking spot for a bunch of heroines, laying in the middle of the river and blocking any traffic. One of the barges waiting to keep on with their trip was a coal barge guarded by Aran.

Even if godless, old habits die hard on former heroes, and the quick reckless decision process was still the main way he operated. Without any further ado ran towards the blocking drunkards to clear them quickly, and it would have gone well wouldn’t the guard stop him dead on his tracks. In no time all the offenders were cuffed and had a nice looking grain sack on their nice looking bone heads, all brought to a riverside cellar that was nearby, the mayor was summoned to partake in the interrogation.

One by one the captives were identified, unveiled for the mayor’s amusenent, which his face reflected clearly. This lasted up until the two last reveals. Their ressemblence was not just uncanny, but even exact. This worried deeply everyone in the room, the mayor gave instructions fit for the worse and dangerous crime. A trial for heroic crimes was summoned. The captain of the guard and the priest of choice appeared and started barricading the whole place. Danuit and Aran shrugged before the assembled tribunal.

The mayor produced a rapier and proceeded to read the charges: “Anti heroic behavior, by impersonation of a hero through means unknown”. Remarking every part with the steely sharp tip of the sword making it meet with the tiles on the ground, he stared at them two trying to figure out which was actually the perpetrator. As it couldn’t be solved like a murder or any other lesser crime, the three judges decided to impose each a trial on both suspects so the true (and innocent) hero could be told apart from the impostor. Needless to say the penitence for attempting against heroism in the town of Herowin is death.

First Trial, enter the mayor

The first trial was posed by the mayor as he was the first in the room. He served himself a glass of wine from the casket he was sat upon, slowly gazing into the suspects hoping to spot anything worth mentioning. It was no good as he realized both were equally unasauming. Finally he decided to question them with something allegedly all heroes would do right, which is bragging about their feats. And so faced Danuit to hear his best and hopefully redemptive deed.

He gave an enthusiastic retelling of how he ventured deep into the bowels of the earth looking to sack a treasury, heroic business as usual. All of a sudden he slipped into the coven of a Nachomancer right in the middle of their ritual. The burning souls raced around the walls throwing a light on the eerie murals of hot spice, depicting a dreadful yet somehow tasty prospect for the alleged hero. The monster noticed him and conjured a gleaming red wave of spicy hot sauce that swept the bones and almost our protagonist, who lept away to climb the cheese cauldron. Chips were falling like arrows all around the rocky bowl, Danuit vaulted below it and tilted it with his back, drenching the Nachomancer in their own mixture. In the aftermath, the defeated foe ended up simmering beside a Key to Success and a hefty amount of gold coins. The champion celebrated by writing and drawing in the diary to immortalize his glorious performance.

Eyes tumbled upon the competing narration Aran would give. He relayed one of his latest routes, bringing food and beer to Beerburgh in a wide cart pulled by two ox. The farmer who hired him was obviously unfit for any kind of fight. The route was thoughtfully planned in order to avoid any possible ambush, mugging and what not. The plans didn’t account for a pack of wild mongrels who spent the last fortnight subsisting on scraps alone, even less on the scarcity of scraps those beasts were facing, but their lust for the cart’s contents was to be expected. Aran produced not a weapon but a bundle of jerky sticks made out of monsters, adequately cheap and better chewed than examined. With the help of a small and slightly sharp knife the chunks of meat were distributed to the famished chasers. The trip was uneventful after that episode, the cart stopped in its proper place and the necessary pay to sustain himself until a new caravan needs protection.

The judges took a small break to assimilate and form an opinion on the whole thing. Luckily heroic matters answer better to guts than wit and thus the trial was back on track in no time. The captain of the guard was weighing her poleaxe trying to figure out exactly what could it do to tell the two captives from each other. A mice was weighing the weapon as well but from a safe distance and between two caskets, seemed to the captain that it would like a closer look at the blade, maybe a top down view would suit the rodent’s aesthetic sense.