NG Warforged Fighter
TANK is large, even for a Warforged. Almost 7 feet tall and nearly half as wide, it is physically deformed, its once humanoid features almost indistinguishable under masses of rough, uneven adamantium that cover its entire body. The spot on the forehead normally reserved for the indicative Warforged rune – the ghulra – is instead covered in a gnarled mass of adamantium. Due to these deformities, TANK appears less humanoid and more like a soulless war machine. Despite these deformities, TANK is surprisingly intelligent, with a wide array of knowledge kept inside its twisted skull.
TANK has a strong distaste for magic, especially the kind that warp and twist reality, or create something from nothing; Transmutation and Conjuration, specifically. As a Warforged, TANK has a hatred for slavery, and those who would abuse or use the downtrodden or the foolish. Has a personal vendetta against those who would oppress or abuse the disfigured.
TANK has a highly articulate clockwork tropical bird toy found within the grand chamber which it keeps as a pet. It has to be wound daily. It is slightly magical, but is only capable of flying, singing, and returning when called.
TANK’s signature ‘Earthbreaker’ is less a refined weapon, and more a twisted hunk of metal on the end of a sturdy rod.
For 3 years the Cannith Grand Music Hall sat buried in the heart of the Mournland, secreted away from the world under a mountain of rubble and debris. An elaborate, massive chamber, it once held the greatest concerts in all of Cyre, but was reduced to dust and ruin with the rest of the once-great nation.
Then, one year ago, four Warforged discovered the chamber and the riches held within. They scoured the great hall from top to bottom, unearthing secrets and treasures alike. Hours later, their expedition complete, they were preparing to return to their leader with their newly obtained goods.
Among their findings was a small, intricately built clockwork bird. Each multicolored feather was painstakingly woven from the finest silks, its hollow bones carved from delicate ivory, each eye a precisely cut emerald. The leader of the group wound the toy, and without hesitation it came to life. It flew gracefully, as if it were alive, flitting between the dumfounded Warforged as it sang a beautiful song.
For a few, beautiful moments the hall was silent save for the tiny toy’s mechanical singing.
Suddenly, with a rumbling roar, they found that the halls were not entirely empty of life. A horrifically disfigured Warforged, covered with warped and twisted layers of adamantium, rushed the group, severely wounding two of them before the rest could take him out. They removed him from the womb of the chamber, bringing him forth from the dust of the old world and into the ashes of the Mournland.
They brought the disabled Warforged to their leader – the Lord of Blades – who soon discovered that the Warforged had indeed retained its consciousness, but was lacking any long-term memory. Without a name and without a past – trapped for years with nothing but the rubble of a once great civilization and a small clockwork bird to keep him company – it retained only sadness, an appreciation for beauty, and a loathing for those who created him and cursed him with a twisted life.
The Lord of Blades gave him the name TANK in honor of the sheer size and horrific appearance, and gave him purpose. For weeks TANK was trained in the art of war, using its sheer size and nigh-unstoppable momentum to its advantage. But over time, the disfigured Warforged slowly began to see the renegade Warforged’s revenge-driven insanity. On one dark night TANK fled, killing two guards in the process, and has been on the run ever since, seeking purpose and travelling from one job to another. Whether menial labor or mercenary work, TANK strives to remain forever busy, the tiny bird its only companion.