Apr 052013

In years past, Sgt. Vorell was just a lad tagging along with an adventuring group – a henchman, really.  Throughout his younger years he’s seen and done a great many things.  There were goblins and orcs, zombies and werewolves, and even dungeons and dragons – he has seen and done quite a lot indeed.  As a henchman, however, he rarely received any notoriety or fame, but no matter – he did his job and he did it well.  He liked being part of a team, a group of heroes.  Sure, he was “just” a henchman, but that in itself is still an important responsibility.  He’s not just helping to protect his heroic patrons, but also helping to protect the land and populace as well.

In fact, while his particular actions and deeds did not garner much attention among the population, there was one deity who did take notice, and began following his exploits in the latter years of his career.  It wasn’t his hardiness, or skill with a weapon; it was his actions and words themselves that made such a deity pull interest.  Vorell had a kind heart and a steadfast set of morals, the kind any man or woman could aspire to have for a lifetime, but never fully attain – and he had them in spades.

In a bit of irony, though, he ended up being the last to survive amongst his band of mighty heroes.  Where his great warrior and wizard patrons fell gloriously, he barely survived, only to mourn and bury them.  In his battered heavy armor and bloody long-axe, he set off for the nearest town.

With the loss of his patrons – his friends, he decided to retire.  Well into his middle age, he took up a post as a town guardsman in Sandpoint.  The sheriff welcomed his experience, but Vorell really just wanted to relax in an easy job… he was tired.  He’d run the gauntlet of heroic adventures for twenty years and felt it was time for the younger lads and lasses to take their turn.  Of course, his post of choice was that of a town guardsman, as he still had a little trouble shaking that need to protect others.

Within a month of his new post, his patrol came across a small pack of orcs.  For some reason, this pack had a lone orc (possibly from another tribe) shackled, and was being led by another.  A fight erupted, and Vorell warned his younger partners to leave their prisoner alone, that he was not a target unless he picked up a weapon.  However, it wasn’t long into the fight that Vorell swung his long-axe wide, decapitating both his target and the prisoner.  This immediately caused his peers to give him the nickname, “The Axecutioner.”

Vorell didn’t like the events of that fight.  And he certainly didn’t want to be called “The Axecutioner.”  He knew full well that even if they let that orc go, that orc would kill them if given the chance.  He didn’t pity the death of the orc; just his error in letting the orc die.  “Betrayal, whether it is against others – or your very own morals and ethics, is still betrayal.”  Just two days later, Vorell cleaned up both his heavy armor and long-axe, bundled them carefully, and then put them away into storage.

The sheriff flat-out told him, “You are not retiring.”

To which he replied, “No sir. I’m promoting myself to Sergeant.”

Sgt. Vorell has been at this position for the last nine years, and every year he feels that he’s one year closer to bringing out his old armor and weapon, because a storm is coming, and he can feel it…

He just hopes his nickname doesn’t follow him out there…


Vorell is a character that was made up for our Pathfinder game.  Mechanically, he is a Paladin/Bard Multiclass, but most of his magical abilities are flavored as skills and leadership.  Divine intervention (thematically) is minimal.  Still, there is a divine presence in relation to Sgt. Vorell.  His patron deity has accepted his atonement, and (as soon as Sgt. Vorell is needed again) this deity is prepared to make him a Paladin.  All Vorell has to do is choose to get back out there…

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Chris Stevens

In Chris's opinion, the very best vices are dirt bikes, rock music, and gaming, while the very best medicine is fatherhood. If he could just learn to balance them all, he'd live forever. He's much more creative than intelligent, often wakes up belligerent, and ponders many things insignificant. Lastly, in an effort to transform his well-fed body, P90X, Roller Blades, and Food are all laughing at him. And the pain continues.

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