BASED ON NPC LORE: Lokarr, and the Crucible
Frederick Longshore had never known fame or fortune. He had only ever known the hunt. He was a middle aged hermit, who lived off the land in solitude. He would find fame (if his destiny could be considered such) in his new life, however. When the grim dawn fell on Cairn, Frederick found himself awakening as a prisoner in the Crucible- a temporal plane, in an isolated dimension under the control of it’s sadistic master, Lokarr. The Crucible realm was one of horror and barbarism, but also had it’s moments of beauty. Lokarr had gathered hundreds if not thousands of rare specimens- creatures drawn from the Aether and Extracted from Cthonic voids alike. Forced to fight for Lokarr’s amusement, Frederick endured the melees against man and horror alike, fighting his way to freedom against a variety of nightmares in the pits (clearing the first 10 waves in Crucible as his game start).
In time, Frederick earned an audience with Lokarr, and pleaded for his freedom. Lokarr obliged, with but one single stipulation- Longshore would become Lokarr’s logistical middle-man wherever his menagerie was concerned. So long as he would deliver a steady stream of live specimens to Lokarr’s rifts, he would have his freedom. Frederick agreed- a life of taking captives and delivering them to Lokarr was still a life lived in Cairn, far from the horrors of the Crucible realm. For his pledge, he was most graciously rewarded with a masterfully crafted rifle Lokarr dubbed “The Huntsman”, to aid in his quests hunting new specimens. In addition, he was gifted a great horned helmet adorned with the giant antlers of some beast of legend, and a suit of armor crafted from the remains of the wild beasts Frederick had slain in the melees. Lokarr also gave Frederick his choice of a melee weapon from an assortment which belonged to previous “Participants”, as he called them. A brief meal was then facilitated for him before he swore an ancient oath and was loosed into a rift to Lokarrs parting words.
“I shall send my hounds to aid you, to act as though your minions, but do not forget- These minions, as all those you shall gather in your duties henceforth, belong to me. You may be leaving the Crucible, but your service to me will never be over. My eyes shall always be upon you…” The last thing Frederick heard was Lokarr’s maniacal laughter as the rift closed around him.
Frederick returned to reality with a whip and a crash, dropping out of the rift and into the wilderness from whence he had been taken, however long ago. The true duration unknown to anyone, save Lokarr himself. Time was its own puzzle in the Crucible realm. He rose to a crouch in a broken and deformed version of the Cairn he had known before. The surrounding landscape seemed… Darker, somehow. Even the trees had been affected, their trunks nearly the color of onyx. An avid hunter, Frederick knew many ways to track and hunt the beasts of the wild, and yet he failed to find any for days as he made his way to the closest civilization to the South. Ones he did find, he did not trust to be edible, and was unfamiliar with the worth of any materials their corpses might yield. Of civilization, signs of its presence had all but vanished, and those few that did remain along the way were fundamentally changed, each of them overtaken by the shadow of fear given name. Its name? Wendigo.
This name meant little to Frederick, for he was unfamiliar with the Wendigo. His mission was to function as Lokarr’s chief trapper in the physical realm, however. As such, he felt it only prudent that he make note of it, and drew a marker on his map. He would return here in search of the Wendigo, once he had the proper provisions to support an investigative hunt. First he would need to take stock of all the ways in which the land had grown since hed been taken, in order to identify a modernized collection of supplies which he might need for such an undertaking. He found himself wondering about Lokarr’s hounds. Perhaps they would aid him in this venture, but he had no idea where they were or how to call upon them. That would have to wait as well.
Frederick Longshore maintained his southern route for the closest bastion of mankind- Burrwitch. As he made his way south, hoof prints took on new shapes and sizes he had never seen before. Vines twisted into large plant-life, which moved of its own accord, spewing out fountains of toxic ichor that hit the forest floor with thick splatters, every surface it covered sizzling and appearing to decompose before his very eyes. Almost all the birds were gone, save the ravens, who watched him with keen eyes, their calls echoing to and fro throughout the drafty heights of blackened timber. Whole sections of the forest appeared to be rotting in some places, infected by hues of dark purple, deep maroon, and eerie green. The entire foundation of the wilderness seemed to have been shifted by an unknown force, and utterly reshaped, the twisted evolution annihilating more than just the game, but the very way of life Frederick had been privy to. He would need to brave new waters to survive, for there were new beasts that needed hunting now, and he was up for the challenge.
Leather in his gloves creaking with tension, he tightened his fingers around the haft of his bearded axe, giving it a few idle swings and each time feeling more accustomed to its weight and blade.
“Very well, then”. He said, and ventured out from the Gloomwald.
AND SO, THE TALE OF FREDERICK LONGSHORE, MORTAL TRAPPER AND BEASTMASTER OF LOKARR’S MENAGERIE BEGINS…
@Maya this is in honor of all that you do!