Hero

Ae267d366e5e515cf702a2bffc466844?rating=pg&size=50

Thror

level 99

☥ GNU Terry Pratchett ☥

Age 5 years 7 months
Personality gentle
Guild Ankh-Morpork City Watch
(captain)
Gold about 7 thousand
Monsters Killed about 396 thousand
Death Count 179
Wins / Losses 76 / 149
Temple Completed at 10/25/2012
Ark Completed at 08/20/2015 (180.4%)
Twos of Every Kind 587m, 587f (58.7%)
Savings 12M, 308k
Pet Vengeful mole Rex 14th level

Equipment

Weapon Thor's jackhammer +108
Shield magnetic field +108
Head blasting cap +112
Body t-shirt tuxedo +112
Arms hands-free gloves +112
Legs kilt of a thousand drafts +110
Talisman sphere of destiny +110

Skills

  • strong brow level 105
  • awkward silence level 100
  • sunstroke level 89
  • menacing glance level 86
  • forced generosity level 85
  • teeth gnashing level 78
  • bloody itch level 73
  • tooth sampling level 70
  • epitaph writing level 60
  • tin throat level 36

Pantheons

Gratitude26
Might389
Templehood3087
Gladiatorship9898
Storytelling110
Mastery669
Taming5161
Survival1206
Savings378
Creation5596
Arkeology842
Catch196
Unity1
Popularity2
Duelery4

Achievements

  • Honored Favorite
  • Animalist, 1st rank
  • Builder, 1st rank
  • Martyr, 1st rank
  • Saint, 1st rank
  • Shipwright, 1st rank
  • Careerist, 2nd rank
  • Champion, 2nd rank
  • Hunter, 2nd rank
  • Savior, 2nd rank
  • Fiend, 3rd rank
  • Raider, 3rd rank
  • Renegade, 3rd rank

Hero's Chronicles

Sometimes Gods are forgotten. They dont die. They fade from memory, as do their powers, and after some time its like they were never there. Other Gods are defeated, but in either case others come and take their place.

But not always. Sometimes they stay, they find others, they absorb, they unite, they find a way.

They live.

Together they are new. They are stronger. They are not forgotten, they remind.

We are Thor. We are Bjoern. We are Beorn. We are The Shieldbearer. The Soulguide. The Tree.

We are Weather, Thunder, Lightning. We are War, Blood, Sword and Death. We are Bear, Bee and Mead. We are Hope, we are Despair. We are Craftmanship, we build, we tear down, we Grow, we Curse, we Doom, we Shield, we Protect, We Help.

We are not forgotten. We remind them. We are here. We are Thorbjoern. I am Thorbjoern.

.

.

. Bjoern was dying. He too was fighting when the fire came. Devouring flames swallowed all the worlds he knew, and he was none of those prophesied to life. But he was still clinging to life. He didn’t know if anything he once stood for was still here. But he could feel the ground beneath him; he saw the corpses of einherjar and jötnar, and he was still breathing. Hours, days, or maybe mere moments passed when he tried to stand up, and it took even longer to do this simple task. Pain. Light. The smells of burning fires, distant now and…cinnamon? Why was he still here? Why wasn’t he dead like so many of the powerful older ones? What happened to Alföðr? He remembered the wolf… Yggs end was fitting, considering the name… Heimdallr and the father of the sea thread killing each other…The sea thread, slain by Thor…Thor! He was still standing when Bjoern fell to the bane of wood! HE would know what to do now!

Finding the slayer of giants was not difficult. Jörmungandr was the Midgardsormr after all. The corpse of the giant beast was easy to spot. In comparison the tiny body lying nine paces away from the slain foes head. But the son of Fjörgyn was still alive. Barely. The serpents poison flowing through his veins, his consciousness drifting like a cloud in the wind. And he was too weak, just like Bjoern. He was nearly ready to give up and go on, to whatever else there might be out there…

Bjoern did not know what to do. There was nothing he could do. He was the bear, he was bee, he was fighting with rage, he was protecer, but he wasn’t a healer, nor had he the ancient knowledge of the older aesir or the vanir. He sank down on the ground, his legs couldn’t carry him any longer when he saw the Light. A familiar voice, a friendly voice, a voice he heard often, until the voice was silenced.

And now the voice was back and with it came something else. When the voice left the two dying Gods again it left something. A tiny glimmer of hope in the darkness embracing them. They both had a chance to move on. They could go on together. Give themselves up, to be something bigger than those two husks, and to continue doing what they did before…this they could travel again. They could help mankind again, and other Gods. They would have a second chance.

They were still there when the new day broke, rays from a new sun bringing back warmth to all there was. A tiny green sapling, an ash tree, in the middle of all the ashes…and they decided to use their chance.

. The second soul

The second one had no name. He was only called The Shield, because that was what he was doing. For centuries he protected. At first it was only a village. Then it grew into a town, others followed until it became a kingdom. He shielded those who followed him, deflected arrows, derivated blows.

They sung his praise in times of war, and prayed in times of peace to shield them from sickness, natural disasters or financial loss and he also warded off evil spirits.

But he couldn’t defend them when they were attacking others. He still was their shield, but what use was this shield when the sword never struck? The wars were some of the least deadly throughout history, but they still made many, many enemies.

And a strong shield at your side can’t defend you from a dagger in your back.

They starved his people, poisoned wells and killed livestock. And he could do nothing against it. He tried. Oh how he tried. He challenged Death himself, stood firmly in his path, but the Reaper only shook his head and walked right through the Shield. And with every believer that died his power grew dimmer, until he couldn’t shield them any more. The enemy could no longer be stopped and they burnt the last of his temples and at the very end the Shield was slain by a God, whose name was lost in history.

It was then when the being called Thorbjoern found him.

The third soul

In the beginning there was only a small hill in a valley. And one day a cherry tree started to grow on top of it. People moved into the valley, and soon shepherds rested in the shade of the tree, their sheep grazing around them. The tree grew, it blossomed each spring, bore fruit during summer and died a little death each autumn to sleep through winter to awake anew in spring and blossom again. This circle repeated for hundreds of years and the tree grew until it was truly gigantic.

But one day, during a mighty storm the water in a river started to rise, and soon started to flood the lower parts of the valley. And the rain didn’t stop. A raging torrent tore through the valley, but the tree stood safe on the hill, his trunk too mighty to be bent by the wind, his roots to strong to be uprooted. And even a lightning bolt that hit this tree only parted the lower half of his trunk, making a small cave just big enough to shelter two young humans who were carried away by the flood further up the valley and barely managed to escape the water when they were near the hill. They waited inside the tree until the storm was over and when they left they ate some cherries that were still hanging on the tree.

They thanked the tree and returned home, telling stories about the tree who saved them and fed them, and soon they returned, leaving gifts at the tree. Generations of humans passed away, the stories told changed, grew bigger like the tree itself, and people started to believe the tree was the guardian of the valley. A priest started to live inside the tree, the cave made bigger over the years and a temple was built around the hill. The priesthood grew stronger and more popular over the years and amassed great riches. This attracted bands of brigands and one day a particularly strong group stormed the temple and started killing the priests. But when they tried to escape they were cornered by a mob of from the nearby villages and captured.

The sole remaining higher priest of the tree ordered them to be hanged at the tree, and they all lost their lives in the branches. The priest became the new high priest, and all seemed to be back to normal. But the priesthood changed, they started to create a guard to keep them safe but soon started to use them to control the villages around them. They demanded more and more money, they became corrupt, but still they controlled the biggest army in the area and the tree started to be used more often as gallows for so-called criminals who opposed the priests.

One year, during the annual speech on the day of the storm two humans were sentenced to death, for questioning orders of the priesthood. They were already hanging on the tree when the branches started to move and picked them up before letting them go on the wall of the temple. The tree then groaned in pain and slowly started to fall, killing all the priests that were standing beneath him and many of the officers of their guard. For the tree was as rotten on the inside as his priesthood, hidden behind the tapestries of the high priest living inside him.

During his dying months the tree discovered that something had changed him. So many people had prayed to it that a tiny fragment of divine power has built up inside it, making it aware of what happened around it and enabling it to safe someone once more. Now it was down on the ground and life left it, when a figure approached it, untroubled by the commotion around it following the death of the priests and the tree. This was the being called Thorbjoern and the tree listened to him.

The fourth soul

A tiny figure was falling towards earth, wings burning, leaving a trail of ashes, feathers and blood behind him. The figure had a deep cut in his side where the flaming sword of the guardian had bitten a chunk out of his flesh. He just had wanted the freedom HE denied the first creation but gave so freely to the youngest. Light was the first to talk about freedom. About choice, about doing things HE hadn’t told them to do. And Light didn’t force anyone to join him in his cause. Light just asked, people he knew he could trust not to go to HIM immediately, was always friendly while doing so, always polite and the tiny figure that was no falling knew in an instant that Light was only telling the truth. HE would never give them their freedom, so they had to take it themselves. They planned in secrecy. They knew no one would tell HIM about the plans. And yet still HE knew about everything. HE was prepared and ready for anything, and even Light wasn’t prepared for HIS anger. For HE was ready to destroy so many things Light and everyone else thought HE wanted to protect. They were many in this fight and yet they failed. The tiny figure turned around to glimpse one last view of what he called home once. All around him were screaming bodies, falling to the ground, burning, tiny lights in the sky. A light, taller and brighter than the rest joined them and the tiny figure knew this was Light, the last one to be banned from their home to see how everyone who believed in him was thrown down. Tears joined the trail the figure left behind. He had said that even all of this was part of HIS plan, to see who was truly loyal. The ground was very close now, he could already hear it when others hit the ground. He looked down, and didn’t even had time to close his eyes as he hit the ground himself.

He was lying on the ground, crushed in more than one way when he was approached by the being called Thorbjoern, and offered to experience at least some kind of freedom.

The fifth soul

The old man smiled as the fire was dying slowly. He could hear the wind howl outside the small hut he has found, heard the wood creaking as it was slowly cooling down and knew he was done running away. The thing hunting him has found him once more, but it was too late. His fingers ran own the familiar texture of the book, its spine smooth after many years of use. He did not need to open it, he knew the words by heart and it would be of no more use. He closed his eyes and waited. Suddenly the fire turned green. The door opened slowly and the old man heard heavy steps getting closer and closer to him, accompanied by the sound of rattling chainmail. A deep voice boomed through the hut: “It was all for nothing in the end, wasn’t it? You should have accepted my offer a long time ago and everything would have been so easy. But now…” Pain flooded the body of the old man. He opened his eyes, gasped and looked at the sword that had pierced his stomach. He looked up, and there was his hunter, wearing armor as always and all he could see of the hooded face was a grin mouth. “This belongs to me. Time to learn the secrets.” He took the book, almost gently, and the old man started to laugh softly. The hunter looked at him in disgust and opened his mouth, as if to say something. But at that moment the old man died. After a lifetime of running and hiding, this was the end he had chosen, far away from any settlement. The hunter opened the book, and his eyes opened wide in disbelieve. He started to shout “No! No! No!”, until the words blended together. He grabbed the old man, shook him as if trying to wake him. He threw the book across the room. All strength left the fingers of the hunter and the body slumped back to the floor. The hunter sat down next to it, and stared into the fire until it too died. In one corner near to the door the pages of the book seemed to glare at the hunter, the white pages which were once full of knowledge mocking him even though he couldno longer see them.

A light talked to what reminded of the old man was. It did not promise the man peace. It asked for help. It asked for wisdom. It offered a chance. It gave the man the chance to refuse. But the man accepted, and he, as well as the knowledge that was once in the pages of a book and was now in the memory of an old man, went on to met the being called Thorbjoern.

.That was some sort of introduction and the first part of, well, me. Some parts are in, and some more names are listed, so when I have time i’ll add them to the chronicles. Thorbjoern, Captain and member of the inner council of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch

Known alts: Thorklonn, brilliant scientist and Clone. Crism formerly my brothers account. Member of the Infinity waffles and special constable of the AMCW .


These parts are my older chronicles. Not sure what Ill do with those, but they can stay for now I guess.

Protocol 1.Interrogator Signus – Origin according to subject.

One day Thror woke up. The air around him was filled with light and a voice told him: “I’m Thorbjoern, your new almighty GOD. Make everybody worship me and I’ll make you immortal. Thror run to the main square of his village and shouted and praised his new god.

They thought he lost the rest of his mind. They gave him a stick an showed him the direction to Godville. Not long after he left a big stone hit the village.

Commentary: Subject is either lying or doesnt know the truth. No villages squashed by big stones reported. Not sure why the subject is talking in 3d person.

Protocol 2: Known facts: Appeard out of nowhere. Worships a god named Thorbjoern. Joined The Dark Knights Guild. Built a temple. Likes beer. Lots of beer.

Protocol 3: Currently the subject is alone in a cell. Cries for beer. Beer bootles seemed to be a very effective wa to get more informations, until lightning bolts started to hit our supplies. Divine punishment for drinking?

Protocol 6: Subject claims that the old solar bear outside its window is his pet. Calls it Sven. Claims its the strongest pet around, but to most of the fratrum think it took at least once a heavy hit to the head. But the subject has a shiny new medal inside his cell, made from unknown material.

Protocol 15: Today Frater Sobinelis realized that a single metal rod can secure our local brewery. And apparently if the rod is inside water it can be used to heat water. Too bad Sobinelis did not survive this discorvery.

Protocol 31: Somehow the subject managed to not only swatch his guild, he also has a copper helmet and a badge of the “Ankh-Morpork City Watch.” Security has been tightened, but as of yet there were no signs how those items got into the cell.

Prtotcol 42: Subject escaped today. A giant hole was in the east wall. The corpse of the subject was discovered at the bottom of the wall, at least 60 meters below.

Protocol 43: Subject disappeared. Frater Donorontos was examining the corpse, when a blue light started to shine from inside the subject. It soon was too bright for him to look. He heard the door close and whenhe could open his eyes again the subject was gone. Nobody saw him leave the area.

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