Meet the Salt in Wounds Iconics - Briddu Yittano, (Fighter - Mutated Warrior)

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Briddu Yittano

Race: Human, Male

Age: 33

Affiliation: God-Butchers (Journeyman)


Description


Briddu Yittano is a large, heavily muscled man with brown skin, black hair and gray eyes. His face is well lined from a hard life, his most notable feature is his right arm which is an enlarged wrap of throbbing muscle, purplish and scaled where it doesn't have the look of exposed flesh. Briddu has a near-permanent scowl on his face.


Early History


Briddu grew up poor in the Hind Quarter (what would become the modern day Tail Stones District). During the 12th Meridian crisis, Briddu’s family’s hovel was one of the innumerable residences smashed by stones sent careening by the Tarrasque's tail. While his family was gathered around the dinner table, a large boulder crashed through the roof. Briddu's mother and sister were killed instantly, while the stone settled upon his screaming father’s legs. This was only the beginning of his trials.
In the days to come, as the God-Butchers worked to get the beast back under control, as leaning buildings collapsed and ankhegs stalked the Tail Stones district unchallenged; Briddu would do his best to care for his trapped father and little brother. He tried to get help to move the large stone that pinned his father, but no one would listen to the scrap of a child crying for aid amidst the cacophony of the grieving city. The boy shifted focus to just getting enough food and water for what remained of his family, on just getting through the day. When his father’s legs began to sour, Briddu assisted the older man in cutting himself free, gathered the maggots to eat away at the diseased flesh till the stumps bled again, and finally sewed and sealed the flesh with fire. After, his father was never the same and a fifteen year old Briddu vowed that he would die before he would ever be diminished in such a fashion.
After, he spent every dawn waiting for hours in the long 'relief' lines, trying to get through the crowd of panicking refugees to beg for his family’s ration of water and gristle-hard Tarrasque jerky.
As the monsters and brigands were (mostly) cleared from the streets and the Tail Stones District was returned to a semblance of order, Briddu found work where he could. In an effort to rejuvenate their tarnished image, the God-Butchersbegan a large scale recruitment drive, specifically targeting the lower classes. The teenaged Briddu leapt at the chance to join.

The Development of a God Butcher


Even on an apprentice’s salary, Briddu earned enough to provide for his maimed father and sensitive brother, and he has continued to support them ever since.
Briddu quickly rose through the ranks of the God-Butchers; getting up sooner, working harder, striving to be better and always pushing through the hardships like a man possessed. If he became strong enough, then he’d never have to feel the fear, the vulnerability of being that beggar boy from the Tail Stones ever just three days away from watching his little brother die of thirst. By the time he reached journeyman status, Briddu had gained a reputation as a tough-as-horn burke who worked without quitting and terrified his underlings while deferring to his betters. He spent some time serving on several different meridian details until he’d finally gained enough ‘yay’ votes from other God-Butchers to attempt the Rite of Mutual Recognition.

The Great Failure

Everyone expected Briddu to pass the Rite of Mutual Recognition without incident. But when he stared into the eyes of the Tarrasque he saw the boy he was; trembling, afraid in the ruins of a home while his father wept. In the beast’s pupil, the scared child he’d denied so long stared back at him. He tried to ignore his fear, charged forward to sever the tongue anyway. But his footing was off, and the delay of a single stutter step caught him in the beast’s jaws.
The Tarrasque tore off and consumed his right arm and shoulder, tossed him away like he was nothing more than the Tail Stones trash he always secretly believed himself to be. As Briddu bled out, struggling to use his greatsword to prop himself up to stand, his God-Butcher brothers & sisters rushed in to help him; screaming for the surgeon-alchemists.
Applying a pancreatic poultice to his ruined shoulder, the healers only intended to staunch the bleeding. While limited regeneration is not unknown when using Tarrasque derived alchemy, it many Briddu included, when the limb grew back in its current form. Briddu Yittano is the most successful such recovery to date, so much so that he was able to resume his duties as journeyman God-Butcher, dedicating himself to retaking the Rite of Mutual-Recognition.

Behavior

Briddu has a tremendous chip on his (disfigured) shoulder, due in equal parts to his personal history, his failure in the Rite of Mutual-Recognition, and his sensitivity about his appearance. As such, he uses his status of God-Butcher as well as his own obvious martial prowess to bully his way through life deferring only to Master God-Butchers. Briddu regularly picks fights, is belligerently drunk on blood wine much of the time he’s not actively working.

Goals

To pass the Rite of Mutual-Recognition, either by growing strong enough or by gaining some unknown advantage.

Plot Hooks/GM Uses

1. Briddu is best encountered by the party when they are at much lower levels than him. Perhaps he does the classic shoulder bump, pushing past a PC to demonstrate his power; maybe ignoring them or demanding an apology.
2. The party might be hired to abduct Briddu, the miraculous recovery of a limb stronger than what he had before is of great interest to several local alchemists who would like nothing more than to dissect him.
3. Briddu could hire the party to help him pass the rite of mutual recognition, alternately this contract may be arranged by a benefactor looking for leverage over a Master God-Butcher (this could be accomplished by stealthily reflecting sunlight into its eye with a giant, hidden mirror or secretly suppressing, wounding, or distracting the beast when Briddu is supposed to be facing it alone).
4. Briddu might be involved in the criminal underworld, using his status as God-Butcher to engage in ‘light’ smuggling or using his fearsome appearance for enforcement. In such a role, he could be either be an obstacle or questionable ‘ally’ for the party depending on their activity.

Art by Jeffrey Chen

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Meet the Salt in Wounds in Wounds Iconics: Toman (Rogue - Thug)

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Toman always enjoyed the feel of cracking a tender’s nose. A lot of places you hit a face and you can break your own knuckles if you ain’t careful. But catching them just right -unsuspecting like- in the snoz, you always got a satisfying crunch and the give of cartilage as you flatten that buldge below their eyes. And then it’s all blood and blurbing and disorientation; this time was no different. A hit like that, a smack just right, catches them off guard, makes them unsteady on their feet…. Which is doubly ‘portant if they’re properly salted and further persuading is called for. Toman didn’t think this scrap of a bully was the sort, but she hadn’t lasted this long by thinking nobody was nothing short of a killer in waiting.

She bent a bit and a smooth motion that happened before the broken nose drueger could react she drew one of her daggers -chastity- and let it sink past the coarse, bushy beard and nip into the soft flesh below his neck pear. Pushing gently, she used his natural inclination not to have his throat slit to drive his back against the filthy walls of the alley and up on his tiptoes in such a way that her body shielded the scene from onlookers; her steady and stable on her feet, him further offbalance.

“Now my friend,” she whispered. “We’re gonna have a nice, friendly chat about your dealings with 4^th House…”

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You can preview the Thug Rogue class customization included with the setting for 5th Edition here.

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Meet the Salt in Wounds Iconics: Narku the Marrow Miner (Commoner)

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Digging.

Narku knew digging.

He knew digging in slurry and mud and sand, digging pits to sleep in and digging traps to catch something to eat. He knew digging in every callous along the pads of his seven remaining fingers, knew in the ache of his back, knew it on his tongue and in his bones. He was slave caste, told by his tribe that he was half-born and good only to dig. So he’d dug, lived on scraps, and tried to avoid notice and the beatings that came with it. Until after the battle that had smashed his people, left him to wander, till he’d heard tale of a city that had a place for him; that would feed him for digging.

So he’d come to the city, this place called ‘Salt in Wounds.’

And then Narku had learned new things, about ‘money’ and ‘pay’ and ‘debt’ but also something new about digging; how to dig into the monster.

Now, when he wasn’t sleeping or drinking, when he was instead ‘working’ to ‘afford’ (novel concepts all) for his sleeping place and his drink, he dug. Here, once the big machines cracked open the armored scales the men would scream, urge him through the pulsing fissure and then Narku and those with him would dig through skin and flesh and even sometimes through bone. Racing to dig to some organ, grand or lesser before the body -ever resentful of holes and jealous to keep its secret wealth- would close up around men and equipment besides.

He knew that every time he dug he could die. Like slurried sand, the tunnel could collapse on you as you dug, the beast would groan and the spanner would buckle and snap, fail; and you would be caught breathless as a river of blood poured down or the meat of the thing grew back together, twisted to rejoin. It was a bad way to go; drowning in a red and throbbing darkness. With a crack of spade or pick, they’d find bodies and tools of the dead sometimes, fused into the flesh in which they dug. But Narku had to keep digging anyway. After, Narku tried not to think about it over drink, tried not to dream about it.

Sometimes he even succeeded.

Narku thought his whole life would be digging. Until he saw it, the secret wealth.

Shoveling back another scoop to the blind bucketeer behind him, there it was, nestled in the floor; a gray orb, waxy, just visible through the dancing shadows cast by his tallow lantern light. Ambregris, worth more than many miles of meat; a little perfect gem of it. He knew what it was because he’d watched an overseer shove many aside for a much smaller piece, watched the commotion outside as they’d argued over who it belonged to while work stopped. After, drinking in the hall, another miner had told him what it was worth.

He knew what he should do, call an overseer and then keep digging as he was told.

Almost as if his hands had a mind, a will of their own; Narku snatched the reagent from the tunnel floor, shoved it into his apron. Claimed a chance to know something beyond digging. In that moment he prayed to all the gods; they had never smiled upon him… not before in his life of hunger and fear and certainly not now in his life of toil and terror. But he prayed all the same, that none had noticed what he’d done. And it seemed, for once, that the gods were kind. No one said anything, so he kept working like everyday, letting himself be soaked by the creature’s blood and his own sweat.

Wealth beyond measure, sitting safe in his front pocket. Later, maybe he’d find a burke who knew some alchemist, their walls full of twisting glass, who would pay a tribe’s ransom in gold for it. Maybe he would learn new ways of being, something beyond digging; a life of water dens and vegetables and ease. But for now, he couldn’t betray a twinge of anything the matter, anything 

different. For now, all he could do was dig, and see what the morrow would bring.

But that was fine, because Narku knew digging.

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Meet the Iconics: Yurin Silvenei - Cleric of Macinfex, God of Butchers

Yurin Silvenei sat on the towertop. He greeted the morning by miming the ceremonial movements of his faith sharpening his pairing knives & cleaver. Below, beyond, the city stretched out in its leagues… waking now and just beginning to shake the sleep dust out of the corners of its eyes (not that the city, nor the bounty at its heart, ever truly slept). Merchants hauled out their wares to their stalls -many ritually counting their stacks- to ask for blessings upon their day.

The gates of the fortress Salzinwuun below him opened to allow for the changing of shifts, granting admittance to the next crew of God-Butchers who chose to sleep in the city at large rather than their order’s barracks. The rich copper smell of blood filled Yurin’s nostrils (they must have opened a vein he mused). Idly, he considered the dangers he might face before turning his mind to gratitude as was proper – he loved his city and said aloud the prayer of thankfullness for the bound Tarrasque, great bounty of Macinfex that had delivered so much to so many.

“Flea!” came the cry from below, echoing from near the beast’s flesh and ending several stories below Yurin. A two hundred pound insect landed on the ground. God-Butchers drew their weapons and approached cautiously while lesser laborers and a handful of merchants fled, scattering.

From atop his tower, Yurin raised the implements of his faith to the sky, calling on Macinfex to bless the mortal butchers below. He knew from long experience, from a hundred battles with the unclean carrion feeders that first and foremost he’d need to keep the men and women alive – only after securing them would he move to calling down aggressive, disruptive magic.

Besides, the day was only just beginning and he’d need to conserve his strength. 

Art by Jeffrey Chen.

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Cult of Renesec: Lord of Mutation

Renesec is the obscure, largely unknown God of Change who is said to have no fixed appearance, house or location of worship. His/Her/It’s few devotees meditate on their god’s presence in the growth of crops, the aging of a face, the overthrow of a government. Renesec’s most ecstatic worshippers adopt radically different mannerisms, behaviors, and even personalities at an irregular schedule and hence are despised outcasts as individuals who are not able to function in society writ large or even writ as small as an adventuring party. However, Renesec has a thriving cult in Salt in Wounds who seek to understand and grow close to their God as the ‘Lord of Mutation’ whose power and majesty can best

Sage's Row

Sage's Row is a series of interlocking streets famed for its preponderance of alchemists as well as other researchers of the arcane and mundane alike. By city edict, every other building sports tall smoke stacks - venting clouds of colored fog and ash of variable toxicity. Most times, a breeze takes the offending miasma and disperses it harmlessly... though if

The Marrow Miners & Mirayda of the Five Cask Clan (GM Knowledge)

Note: this post includes *excessive* 'secret' information about Salt in Wounds. GMs welcome. If you ever plan on *playing* in a Salt in Wounds game you might want to skip this post.

Races of Salt in Wounds

These are the most common races in Salt in Wounds and what sort of place they make for themselves in the city.




Human Humans are the most common race of Salt in Wounds and dominate most power structures. However, given the incredible diversity of the city, it is important to note that they are not the majority, merely the largest minority. Notably, humans of dozens upon dozens of ethnicities live and work in the city. Common wisdom holds

D6 Random Encounters for the Tail Stones

The Tail Stones district is the lower class area of Salt in Wounds; still largely destroyed following the devastation of the 12th Meridian Crisis. What follows is a selection of random encounters for a party moving through this area of town.

Tuska

There are places throughout the planes where torture beyond mortal comprehension takes place. Devils & demons have their hells and stranger, more twisted creatures have odd pits where cruelties are inflicted eternally. And, there are pockets on the mortal plane where incredible evil and torment exist: the labyrinthine dungeons of a mad king perhaps, or upon the sacrificial altars of a heartless summoner. But pain on the mortal plane is always limited by the lifespan of and resiliency of the creature suffering. However, the hundreds of years of torturing the (immortal, regenerating) Tarrasque has created something new.

Something unique.

Something dangerous.

The agony of the Tarrasque has created

Bakal Filligreen - Master of the Twisted Glass

Spoiler Warning: If you’re playing in one of the Salt in Wounds Tabletop Games this weekend, don’t read the following as it contains potential spoilers.

Bakal Filligreen
Race Half-Elf, Male


Age 120 Years Old

Affiliation Council of Sages

Description


The wiry, smartly dressed half-elf peers at you from behind small glasses, the lenses seeming to gleam with opalescent light.

History


The son of a minor cousin of 9th House and a drunken elven berserker who’d come

Moira Tynheart - Halfling Smuggler

Moira Tynheart

Race Halfling, Female

Age 63


Affiliation None


Description


Moira Tynheart is an elderly Halfling, face heavily lined with age. She dresses in poor, baggy clothing that disguise her shape. Despite her many years and apparent poverty, she moves briskly and with confidence; careful observers always note that she still seems strong and vital. She is missing four fingers, a fact she generally disguises by wearing stuffed gloves. Moira can usually be found sifting the outflow of the Salzinwuun Charnel Sluice Grate, looking for odd scraps of value washed out with the rest of the slurry.


Backstory


Moira Tynheart was born to a family of poor halflings, who split their

5th Meridian Binder-Lady Keolemita & her Consort Merrin Chyn

Kuolemita is a tall, middle aged, female human with onyx black skin. Whenever seen, the powerful aristocrat is dressed in incredible finery; always well-tailored and at the height of fashionability. As Binder-Lady & command word possessor of 5th House, Kuolemita is extremely politically powerful, with the influence and fortunes of her house only growing since the influx of numerous undead into the ranks of 5th. Kuolemita is viewed as being extremely shrewd, unfailingly polite, 'fair' enough although with a ruthlessness to be expected as one of Salt in Wound's oligarchs. However, most can only scratch their heads at her choice of husband.
Merrin Chyn is the non-aristocratic consort of Kuolemita. He is a male human of middling height with gray hair and tan skin. He can usually be found in soiled, ill-fitting clothing wherever drink is to be served, and whether he imbibes to excess in the seediest establishments amidst of Tail Stones or at lordly functions seems to make no difference to the man. Unlike Kuolemita, Merrin is viewed by the town as a drunken fool, infamous for his philandering ways.


Secrets

Lazarius and Kreval - Failed Diabolist and Disfigured Imp

Lazarius & Kreval

Failed Diabolist and Disfigured Imp

Race Human, Male and Devil (Imp), N/A Respectively
Age 24 and 100365
Affiliation 8th House, Hell


Description


Lazarius is a haggard, young male human in fine arcane robes that have been badly laundered. On his face he always wears a pained, plaintive smile. Kreval resembles nothing so much as a flying, ruddy cheeked human baby. His expression is almost always one of fury, which only manages to make him appear cuter.


History


Lazarius is a fourth cousin, twice favored, once removed of