PmWiki | EnemyUnsure / Tork

Physical

Name: LOS TIBURON

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Age: 20

Race/Ethnicity: Ork, Sothern Ethengaran (izwaldan)

Sex/gender: Male

Height: 6'8"

Weight: 220lbs

Statistics

Ability Scores			Saves	Skills	Proficiency Bonus: +X
STR	xx	+x	+x		Max HP:	xx (X dX+X)
DEX	xx	+x	+x		Max FP:	-- (dX) cha
CON	xx	+x	+x		Hit Dice:	x
INT	xx	+x	+x		AC (xx)	xx
WIS	xx	+x	+x
CHA	xx	+x	+x		Speed: 30ft base

Armor and Weapons:

Tools:

Languages: Common,

(Racial) xx – Medium, 30ft speed

(Background) xx

xxxx

(Feat):
(Skills):
(Tools):

Class Features

barbarian, beast totem (shaaaaaaark)

Belongings

Lucha Mask (NEVER REMOVE), Greatclub, IFB uniform (non-armor version)

Background

Birthday: xxx

Sign: xxx

Cooking Style: Ylari. Signature Dish: Vegetarian chili stew

An ork who wandered into a church when very young, and picked up the morals and tenants of the church. Isn't too bright, volunteered for service, but they couldn't find a place for him in the main militia.

Ambition

 >playing half orc monk
 >decide to play something beyond weeaboo 'i am a master of martial arts'
 >spend 100 gp on inlaid mask with intricate tribal designs sewn on the side with a 'fin'
 >BECOME LOS TIBURON, THE SHARK OF THE LAND, MASKED WRESTLER
 >take feats revolving around grappling
 >grapple EVERYTHING
 >EVERYTHING
 >EVERY. FUCKING. THING.
 >including, but not limited to, a bear
 >final part of campaign
 >OH SHIT DRAGON
 >dragon acts like a faggot, ducking into water and popping up to use breath weapon
 >fuck that, I'm charging his ass
 >brother, playing warforged fighter, assists my MIGHTY LEAP into the air, where I pose in mid-air, shouting about the HONOR OF THE MASK
 >TACKLE A FUCKING DRAGON
 >deal unarmed damage, latch on, take deep breath in preparation for the underwater struggle
 >dragon goes up. forgot they can actually fly.
 >DM gives me option to let go before he goes up. Fuck that, I'm still wrestling.
 >200 FEET IN THE AIR, STILL WRESTLING A DRAGON AND DEALING UNARMED DAMAGE
 >Dragon actually starts hurting me. Have to come up with a plan. BRILLIANCE STRIKES ME.
 >"I roll to pin."
 >Entire table is silent.
 >I roll to 'pin' his wings behind his back, so he can't fly anymore.
 >ENTIRE TABLE IS LEANING OVER SO I CAN MAKE MY ROLL OF DESTINY
 >NATURAL. FUCKING. TWENTY.
 >I pin the dragon's wings, sending it and me hurtling into ground. I have six seconds to make my final statement.
 >"I AM LOS TIBURON! And I am...a lucha!!!"
 >Dragon's neck snaps on impact
 >Through sheer luck or GM fiat, possibly both, I survive with -4 HP
 >Cleric puts me back at one, picks me up, holding one arm into the air
 >My brother immediately bangs his shield twice, making a bell noise
 >Party's bard/diplomancer: "And the winner is....Los Tiburon!"
 >high fives all around