Sertor Kerostriarius Potens

[Sertor Potens]

Player Name: James

Character Name: Sertor Kerostriarius Potens

Age: 102
Race: Kerostriarii
Height: 9'2"
Weight: 1780lb / 807kg

===Physical Description===

If it walks like a rhino, talks like a rhino, wears platemail like a rhino, sings barracks songs like a rhino (not worth an encore, honestly), you've either been smoking something interesting or met one of the surviving Kerostriarii. Either way, kudos for not being all judgemental.

As a nine foot behemoth of grey hide fashionably attired in expensively fitted platemail, Sertor is always the talk of the town. Sometimes, that talk is 'Fetch the militia, this could be trouble'. Other times it is more along the lines of "Oh shit, hide the parsnips". Sertor couldn't hide from his reputation if he tried. Or hide, for that matter.


===Possessions===
Heavy Scutum
Kerostriarii Gladius
Glaive
Equipment for armour/weapon repairs
Firestone
'Backpack' - Sodding huge steel-reinforced thick canvas pack, specially harnessed to attach to his armour. Essentially a Kerostriarii improvement of the Roman Legion's Sarcina. Sertor is his own packhorse most of the time. Containing travel rations, tent materials and entrenching tools, it weighs more than most men could carry.
A big chunky Monocle. He has bad eyesight, alright? How else is he going to read the contracts?!

===Powers or Strengths===

=Have I Mentioned that our Protagonist in Platemail is Not Small?=

Sertor is, it has to be stated clearly, a nine foot 800kg ambulatory platemailed siege engine. And, not to put to fine a point on it, designed by his race's creator to be tough as nails and unyielding in battle. Several centuries ago his kind, the Kerostriarii, were a pretty big deal in the Roman Legions.

His kind may not have been seen in any kind of numbers for many centuries, but the template of their creation still holds true in the remaining enclaves hidden in the savannahs far south of Semerkhet.

He's big, he's strong, he's got the carrying power of a packmule, a punch like a mule's kick, and a face like a mule's kicked it.


=Successful Mercenary=

The world is full of mercenaries. When things go to the privy, there are inevitably people who grab a weapon and say 'pay me to make trouble and I'm your man/woman/what-the-hell-ever they are'. Most of them end up dead within a year, five at most.

Some, however, are good at it. Sertor's been a mercenary for a few decades, and the last three in partnership with one downright crazy lady who has expanded the options available to Sertor in his line of work. Not always for the better.

His success, though, has allowed him to accumulate the finest fighting equipment, and a standing tab in many cities for repairs and replacements for his armour and weapons. He can do his own basic repairs, but only to the extent of beating bent armour plates back into place, repairing/replacing leather straps, replacing ruined buckles, and re-dishing a dented helm.


=Reputation=

Both blessing and curse, Sertor is fairly well known among mercenary circles. Partially for his size, partially for his skill, partially for his successes, partially for surviving for so long, partially for his unusual partner, and partially for the embarrassing stories about his interactions with fragile furniture and structures.

Sertor: certified non-breakable.
(Disclaimer: certification applies only to Sertor himself, and not to anything within his immediate vicinity)

=Comes From a Warrior Culture=

Once, back in the bad old days, the Kerostriarii were simply soldiers. In their semi-seclusion in the southern reaches they turned their way of life into something resembling a spiritual path. Faith in the rightness of bearing arms and dying in battle makes the Kerostriarii an implacable and unyielding foe. Fear of the tangible is not part of their vocabulary. (Fear of dying without honour or glory is another thing entirely)

The Kerostriarii train rigorously with scutum, spear, and gladius as a part of their daily devotions.


=Animal Traits=
The Kerostriarii share many of the traits of the creatures from which they were originally created.
* Poor Eyesight: Honestly, if it wasn't for their brilliant sense of smell, it's a wonder they don't constantly walk into trees or buildings. Hell, if it wasn't for his monocle, he'd have no idea what his partner even looked like.
* Did I mention Brilliant Sense of Smell?: It turns out you ate stewed rat for breakfast, not the goat you were promised. And you should probably see a doctor about your groin. That smells itchy.
* Their Ears are Radars: Seriously, Rhinoceros ears rotate like little radars, filtering in sounds with an incredible precision. Yes, that WAS you sneaking up on me, don't lie. Your boots squeak in a distinctive fashion.


=Changer's Creation=

The Kerostriarii were created for a purpose, and designed to be big, tough, strong, resilient, and clever. Their physical bodies are saturated with astral energy, sustaining their large physical forms and providing several specific advantages. Although their greatest powers altered drastically when the seal was restored, shadows of their former glory remain:
* Accelerated recovery: Kerostriarii heal rapidly. A cut which might take a human a week to heal will take a Kerostriarius a single day. However, their minor regenerative powers do not extend to replacing lost limbs or body parts.
* Astral dieting: Kerostriarii typically eat a lot. However, in the absence of food, they can survive on minimal sustenance for a month before starvation begins to set in. However, starvation drastically weakens them, forcing them into a kind of magically-assisted hibernation. If unaided by another, this state will eventually result in death over the course of a year. If brought food and resuscitated, the recovery time is typically equivalent to the amount of time spent in hibernation.
* Changers' bulwark: When the Kerostriarii were created, magic was rampant, and most heavy infantry proved of little use to the magical attacks which could break through military formations with relative ease if not countered. Since the seal was restored, Kerostriarii are still resistant to magics which would directly affect their own physical form directly (such as attempts to alter their biological structure or magically induce toxins into their system), but are still susceptible to someone using magic to drop a boulder on their head, letting gravity and a huge chunk of granite do the work.

===Weaknesses===

=Oath of the Triarii=

The old legions used to say "res ad triarios venit". The understood meaning of that was to fight until the bitter end. The words translate as "Going to the Triarii"

For the Kerostriarii, there was no retreat. If the battle lines had reached them, then it was victory or death. In the centuries since the Changers' War ended, the old ways of the Kerostriarii military life has become ritualised and made into a religion of sorts.

As a devout follower of the Kerostriarii ways, Sertor will never retreat. Ever.
Scream at him, shout at him, pound on his breastplate with your fists, whatever you like. Asking him to retreat would be worse than asking him to voluntarily castrate himself using a rusted spoon.

Though this will likely one day bring his downfall, in Sertor's mind such a death brings honour and glory to all Kerostriarii: past, present, and future.


=Being Big can be a Big Pain=

People might look on Sertor's mighty physique and massive size with envy on many levels. But have you ever tried sitting on a chair made for a single human when you weigh close to a dozen of them? Pro-tip: Even rhino hide can get splinters under the right circumstances. Something not to be repeated.

The fact is, human habitation does not cater to Kerostriarii. Staying at an Inn? Sertor has to sleep in the stables. Entering a house? Those had better be double doors, and tall, otherwise no go. Fitting down tiny alleys all nimble and sly? Sorry, no, that's his partner's job.


=Not a Knitter, nor a Nimble Mumbledypegger=

Kerostriarii have nice, big, functional hands with two thick powerful fingers and a vicelike thumb. Which is great for heavy labour, heavy lifting, and fighting with big chunky weapons.

But you don't want to watch one trying to drink out of a teacup. (Well, actually, you do. The comedy of such an attempt could give a person enough laughter to last them a good couple of years, though at the cost of their teaset.)

Use a standard bow or crossbow? Not a chance. It'd need to be the size of a small ballista to minimise the risk of fumbling the trigger. Use a dagger? Unless by dagger you mean broadsword, no.

A small doorknob? A tricky task. Doing up a woman's corset, or vice versa? Where the hell is your mind going with this, anyway? But no, definitely not.

I think you get the big picture here.


=About as Subtle as a Boulder to the Face, and Just as Welcomed=

Not to over-emphasise it, but there's more problems with being big that really have to be properly covered. Yes, he can't hide except in the kind of terrain you could hide siege engines in. No, he can't surreptitiously walk through a market carefully trailing his prey without being noticed. No, he doesn't feel like he needs to lose weight, you judgemental sod. He's happy to be big.

But other people aren't quite so happy that he's big. Big things are by nature intimidating. Make them inhuman, add platemail and some weapons which look like something used to bisect people in a single swing, and you've a recipe for prejudice right there my friend.

Fact is despite (or perhaps because of) his reputation as a successful mercenary and companion to walking nightmares (his partner) Sertor's appearance before a city or town's walls has a decent chance of being met by a full complement of city guard or militia with some diplomatically phrased, yet pointed, questions about his purpose there. The welcoming party almost always includes a significant number of ranged weapons. There is something so cheerful about being greeted with a row of cautionary ballistae upon approaching a city.


=Fpeaking if hard when your lipf are goddamn huge and your mouf is defigned to munch greenery=

Sertor has a lisp. Oh gods does he have a lisp. Changers didn't seem to think a proper revamp of the vocal arrangements quite as worthwhile as making an ambulatory weapon of war stronger and tougher. It's a bit embarrassing when, having caused people to wet themselves with fear, the sound of your voice makes them want to wet themselves with laughter.

Worse still, the naming conventions from Roman Legion times have become hardwired into Kerostriarius cultural tradition. So whilst the Kerostriarius are comfortable with the slurred fricatives turning every s into an f, for those outside of the Kerostriarii tribe it is a source of carefully hidden amusement.

Just remember though: a lisp from broken consonants is better than a limp from a broken leg. And the latter is probably what you'll get for laughing at the former.


=Black Market Magic=

Not often spoken of is another problem faced by the Kerostriarii: their horns, and other parts of their bodies, have proven to be very useful to certain mages and alchemists.

Because of their magic saturated bodies, they are often hunted by specialist 'Big Game Assassins'. Not many succumb, but enough do that more hunters keep coming to kill and desecrate their bodies. Given the ignominous nature of dying by such hunters' methods, Kerostriarii fear such an end more than anything else, driving some of the more devout (like Sertor) to seek out a military lifestyle where death in battle becomes more likely than death at the hands of an assassin after his bits.


===History===

==Sertor's Childhood: in which it's bigger on the inside==

Once upon a time, there was a tribe of Changer-warped bipedal Rhinocerotini legionaries. Called the Kerostriarii, they fought in many wars for the Roman Empire, but chose a self-imposed exile deep within Ta Netjeru during the Roman Empire's dissolution, and set up camp in a valley under the mountains caused by the great sundering of the continent by Theogios. Yada Yada centuries of hardship, acclimatisation, and cultural evolution later, there was a Kerostriarii born named Sertor Kerostriarius Potens.

Born with an academic mind, the large calf learned well from the Romanic education system adopted by the Kerostriarii. He learned first from his father, was then discipled in turn to the tribe's Litteratus and Grammaticus, before commencing his military training. Upon reaching his majority at twenty Sertor served under the tribe's cultural envoy and principal Orator, whose role it was to collate and teach the languages of their neighbours and the trade tongues of the great empire to the north.

Really, what more do you need to know? Just because he's a bigass rhino doesn't make schooling any more interesting.
Unless you are into that sort of thing. In which case you are a sick bastard, and in need of help.


==Sertor's Adolescence: Cultural Envoy part #1 - AKA the Young and Inexperienced Twit Phase==

Ta Netjeru, or at least the southernmost part of it near the Great Scar, is a wild place of great mountains and natural evolution gone mad. The seal there is weak, and magical mutations among the flora and fauna are common. Interloping Megafauna and aggressive plants are a part of daily life for the Kerostriarii, along with the occasional conflict with the harpies residing in the higher reaches of the Great Scar mountain range.

Most Kerostriarii never leave the tribal homeland, content to maintain the security of their village. The strongest of their kind assist in maintaining the trade of quarried stone with the Nehset people of Ta Seti, but travel no further. Cultural envoys are the typical exception to this precedent. It is their role to travel around Ta Netjeru, Tinariwen, and Mandinia to refresh Kerostriarii knowledge of the local languages and potentially forge new trade relationships. It is a dangerous and prestigious role.

As a youth, Sertor wanted to travel. He wanted to bring home new knowledge for his people. In between his lessons with the present Envoy, and his daily devotions with traditional Kerostriarii warfare, Sertor romanticised the notion of travel as a grand adventure. He was, all things considered, a naive little (figuratively speaking) twit. And besides, his people had not refreshed their knowledge of the Eyropan language for at least a generation or two.

Sertor began his first attempts at travel without the proper consent. They ended within a week after falling foul of a spiny-tailed lizard as tall at the shoulder as Sertor was in total. A badly injured Sertor returned home to receive both medical assistance and the stern admonitions of his mentor. It was enough to convince the young Kerostriarius that rules were made for a damn good reason. If he was going to successfully reach Ta Seti and beyond, he'd need to be properly prepared.


==Sertor's Adolescence: Big Game Hunter, poking things in the eye for fun and profit==


It was unseemly to let wildlife obstruct his lofty goals. To gain the experience necessary to survive, Sertor volunteered with the hunters of Castrum Kerostriarium. Charged with the task of proactively reducing the number of megafauna close to their home, these warriors would travel the wilderness along two intersecting three-day patrol routes.

If you ever manage to get Sertor drunk enough (it'll be a costly endeavour) he might tell you about the cockroaches the size of a lion they once had to eradicate. Or the ridiculously large crocodile which had strayed far from the river - they lost one of their hunters taking that bastard down. He probably wouldn't tell you about the spiders, though: that was a bad week.

Sertor served for a full five years with the hunters whilst still keeping up his language lessons where possible. When he was about twenty-five years old, he was given formal permission to travel to Ta Seti, alongside a convoy of Kerostriarii quarried stone.


==Sertor's Adolescence: Cultural Envoy part #2 - That's a lot of walking==

It was a tough journey. Not because of the terrain: years ago the Kerostriarii had stubbornly carved out a massive Roman-style road directly from Castrum Kerostriarii to the Ta Seti capital. No, it was simply that even with the prodigious strength of the Kerostriarii, hauling those large stone slabs was bloody hard work.

Oh, and the swarm of bat-sized mosquitos were a bloody nightmare as well. On some nights, the sound of a mosquito is still enough to make Sertor clasp his gladius.

Kerostriarii stayed and studied with Nehset scholars for a year, learning the trade tongues of Tinariwen to the north, and a few months learning the basic knowledge required to survive a trip into the savannah and deserts of the nomads' lands.

There was a lot of walking, a lot of travel, a lot of talking, and the occasional being caught in the middle of someone else's fight.
A good ten years passed, with Sertor having achieved his principal duty of refreshing Kerostriarii knowledge of neighbouring languages and customs.


==Sertor's growing pains: What do you mean I am a delicacy?==

At age 35, there was nothing which hinted to Sertor leaving the comfortably dangerous routine of his work as an apprentive cultural envoy. Until he made his second visit to the Port of Good Hope.

Sertor had never believed that there could be people who would try to hunt down Kerostriarii as they might some exotic animal. However, the Port of Good Hope is a stationing point for those traders who travel to Ta Netjeru in the hopes of finding and obtaining rare magically infused materials from the wild lands of the southern province.

Presented with a choice of a trip down the Cursed River, or the sly murder of a 9-foot rhino in Romanesque crocodile leather armour and desert robes, the choice was as clear as day for any of that ilk. A 9ft rhino wins out any day over having to spend more than a few hours near the Cursed River. What saved Sertor from an inglorious end was the assassin's attempt to subdue him first with magic. It was only after beheading the man with a clean cut of his gladius that Sertor considered it might have been clever to question the man. Things got a little tense with the Eyropan Militia around that time, but the dead man had a reputation which lent credence to Sertor's explanation

Sertor wasn't caught offguard by the second attempt on his life that month, and had the foresight to bludgeon the man unconscious instead. Presenting the not-decapitated would-be assassin to the Eyropan Militia like a peace offering, Sertor learned from the barracks captain that apparently these kind of people earned good money to come down to Ta Netjeru and find magical reagents. It was dreadful, of course, that they had targeted a legitimate citizen of the empire ...Sertor -was- a citizen, wasn't he? He was? Affiliated with the Ta Seti? Oh good, let me just note that down, moving on then... but there was nothing they could do unless, like Sertor had done, the culprits were apprehended.

Sertor had been so confused by the Eyropan's explanation of the laws pertaining to assault that he'd stayed on further to gain a better understanding. It was hard for a man to say 'No' to a 9-foot 'cultural envoy', so the captain took the expedience of making 'teaching the big rhino' punishment duty for minor misdemeanours among the ranks.


==Sertor's early life crisis: of Rhinos and Men, or Alvaro at the very least==

There was one guard, a Corezan of Quijan heritage named Alvaro, who found the 'punishment detail' more of a holiday compared to his regular duties. Coming from a province where magic was encouraged, he was as curious about Sertor's people as Sertor was curious about Imperial practises.

Communicating with Castrum Kerostriarium only occasionally via messages sent with Nehset merchants, Sertor stayed on in the Port of Good Hope for a couple of years. In that time he had five attempts on his life from people whose job it was to find rare and exotic bits and pieces from Ta Netjeru. The fifth attempt almost succeeded, had not Alvaro been present at the same time. It was lucky for Sertor... not so much for Alvaro, who had moved at the most inopportune moment to intercept the poisoned bolt. He died instantly. The crossbowman did too a moment later when a javelin impaled him against the wall he'd been using to support his posture while aiming. Sertor couldn't see the man, but he could pin-point the man's location from the click of the bolt and the post-shot recognition of the scent. It was still a lucky throw, but that had been a night characterised by weird displays of unlikely fortune.

Sertor was, it is fair to say, incensed. Alvaro had been telling him of his time spent as part of a mercenary group, travelling over Eyropa, seeing the sights and fighting other people's petty battles for them. It had sounded ...glorious. Like the Kerostriarii of ancient times whom his people worshipped as the ideal representation of their race. Faced with the notion of being slaughtered by sneaking assassins, or falling in a grand battle, Sertor decided it was time for a change in career. He'd take a ship north, hire on with a mercenary group in one of the port cities of Tamazgha, and at the same time try to learn more about those who would hunt his kind. Sending a final message to his homeland with two separate merchants to advise his people of the danger the Port of Good Hope presented them, and his plan to travel Eyropa itself, Sertor made his preparations.


==Sertor's epiphany: Yo ho Yo ho, a pir... Mercenary's life for me==

Sertor was somewhere around 38-40 years old when he began his career. He's been a little fuzzy on the exact age ever since that oversized Golem clocked him in the head so hard he was knocked out for a month. That had not been good times.

He'd started out with just a pair of javelins, his dagger, gladius, travel pack, and the crocodile leather armour crafted into a fair replica of the Roman style by Nehset leatherworkers. It was more than enough, it seemed, to get him work. Somehow, hiring a thick-hided behemoth with military training was seen as a good investment. Who knew?

His first couple of years were characterised by violent skirmishes and badly-worded contracts resulting in poor pay for hard jobs. Sertor wised up quickly though, once he realised his own value by comparison to the average sell-sword.


==Sertor's Mercenary Life: Twenty-odd years pass in the blink of an eye==

Or maybe you haven't gotten Sertor talkative enough to tell you all the stories. It takes a good barrel of beer, you know. By the time Sertor and Tagi were lumped together, along with a whole bunch of other mercs as part of an expedition to reputedly haunted ruins, Sertor had earned himself a reputation as the kind of Rhino who gets the job done.

His kit had been upgraded and revamped over the years as his takings allowed him the luxury of hiring the best smiths to tailor-make armour for him. He was a shining epitome of the Kerostriarian Ideal and had long ago decided that he enjoyed this life much better than that of his youth. Alright, so he's a bad son, and a shitty shirker of his duties as a cultural envoy. Get over it already.


==Sertor and Tagi's Mercenary Life: Forty-odd years pass in the blink of two sets of eyes==

"I will tell the ftory of..."
"Your stories are dull and boring."
"I am af eloquent af any of the great Roman oratorf"
"If they were choking on a ball of yarn"
"Very well then, Tagi. YOU tell the ftory in your ungainly, poorly-cadenfed and utterly craff fashion"
"Fuck off. I'm busy."
"Then I will tell the ftory of..."
"How you bored everyone in the tavern to death with one of your longwinded stories."

...yeah, those forty years were good times.
Shame Tagi never lets him tell the story of how they met. Or any story, for that matter, if she can at all help it.

And now it's present day. How time flies.

[Sertor Potens]

To set the scene straight, you have to understand: Tibernum was one of those high-walled, low-minded, mid-priced remnants of the Roman Empire in that magical land of sand south of the Mediterranean. It had bad food, worse beer, and a thriving trade in camels. Spitting was a communal hobby, with the best of the citizens and camels going head to head at the finals.

It took a fool to travel to Tibernum, and a bigger fool to follow them there. Take a moment, if you will, to shake your collective heads at the folly of greed and contractual obligation which might lead to such a blunder. It was the two combined which brought a massive mountain of man-rhino waltzing into town: Sertor Kerostriarius Potens, the big bounty hunter with a bigger pricetag, was there to take in the big bad wolf. Well, one of them.

A certain Giacomo of Keltaris: six feet of pure bad temper, worse sense, and don't bother to ask about his criminal acumen. Anyway, there was money on the hand-biting dog's head. Cannibalism gets all the worst press. A wolf's gotta eat, right? Depends on what's on the menu, was the authority's response. One hefty bounty later, and suddenly it's a trail of mauled bounty hunters only a fool would miss, and the trail led straight to Tibernum. By the time Sertor got there, all the other hunters had decided on discretion, or had become dinner. Giacomo, he had an appetite for violence and red meat. Well, white meat, if you're going to be picky. Giacomo wasn't particularly picky, truth be told: if it bled, he'd chow down. He was that kind of wolf. A bit rabid.

I want you to hear, for a second, the loud and rhythmic 'Thump-clank-clank, Thump-clank-clank' of Sertor's measured tread coupled with the rattle of plate mail. Run through your mind the gate guard's brave greeting of "Pass by, we don't want trouble of your kind". Imagine that relentless 'Thump-clank-clank, Thump-clank-clank' of a walking monstrosity of muscle, hide, steel and determination. Imagine that dumb-as-shit guard declaring he 'Had a crossbow' and intimate that he wasn't afraid to use it. Do you remember the last time you threw a dart into a corkboard? Loosing off a crossbow bolt into a pavise-like scutum of the size, construction, and thickness of Sertor's was kind of like that, except hitting the centre got you a world of trouble rather than a free drink from your buddies.

Imagine for a moment, the twitching rotation of the Kerostriarius' ears, as the behemoth snapped the bolt off his shield with a feral grunt. You're imagining a bestial bellow, no doubt. Some primal rage as prelude to a good old-fashioned rampage. Well, sorry chum, but you've poked the wrong Rhino for that payoff. Sertor's bloody intimidating when he doesn't speak. But when he does... Well, he's damn proud of his cultural learnings, but that damn lisp ruins everything. Still, you try vocalising with a mouth designed for mashing greenery as opposed to conquering tongue-twisters. What can you do when those big rhino lips get in the way of everything? Complain to your creators? Sorry friend, turns out they're all dead and gone.

"I fay vere, you do realive vatf an overtly aggreffive act? I am here wif a formal writ of bounty figned by officialf in Keltarif for the apprehenfion of one Giacomo, wolf man and man eater. Quite literally, I am afraid. Don't make me ufe violenf, af it would be unwife and detrimental to the ftructural integrity of your townfip"

One anticlimax later, and the bounty hunter par excellence was setting windows proverbially a-rattle with each step into the main street. Not that they had the kind of windows that rattle, mind you. That's the kind of fancy architecture you'd get up north, across the big lake, in Corezo. And seriously, screw those guys and their fancy four-part names. Sertor had single-named fish to fry. Or wolves to whatever-it-is-you-do-with-wolves. Though, if you asked Sertor, it mostly involved a closed fist to the temple.

The guard had, in a bout of unseasonal common sense, pointed Sertor to the taverna where Giacomo was staying. Small town people, man, they know everything about everyone - and strangers stick out in a two-taverna town like Tibernum much like Sertor does in any crowd.

Sertor clanged his heavy gladius against his scutum like a dinner bell. Then came the bellowing lisp. It was impressive and guttural, despite the lisp. Kerostriarii pack some big damn lungs, alright? "Giacomo of Keltarif. Fubmit yourfelf into my cuftody freely, or be carried off af a corpf. I affure you that the bounty applief in eiver eventuality."

Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out how a badtempered sonuvashewolf is going to respond to that. Giacomo certainly didn't disappoint. 8 feet of huge and bristling rage burst out of a second storey balcony, all fangs and claws, the very epitome of 'bad times ahead for your average Akbar'.

It was, perhaps, a sudden and horrific realisation for Giacomo that the figure in front of the werewolf was both over a foot taller, and easily weighed four times as much. Not including the plate mail. Well, needless to say, that day's spitting contest in Tibernum was postponed in favour of the new entertainment. It was relatively short, and remarkably peaceful, after the first few minutes of frantic clawing and guerilla tactics on Giacomo's behalf. Sertor, tired of the games, waited until Giacomo attacked, and grabbed the werewolf mid-rake. The Bounty hunter proceeded to flail Giacomo into the nearest sandstone slab wall until the wolf stopped moving.

Offering a crisp salute, Sertor thanked the gathered audience "Fertor Keroftriariuf Potenf fanks you for your diligenf and aid in apprehending Giacomo of Keltarif." Then, like some big damn hero, the heroic mountain of manly rhino walked right out of Tibernum and into the pages of its legends. Right up there with Gaptooth Gazi and the Longest Spit.

[Metarie]

World Dev will need to go through the regular review process. But, I like Sertor.

I expect you will be a good boy and not abuse his strength and yatta yatta. If you do. You will be banned.

... From playing Sertor.

A-fucking-pproved.