Primalist devolving back into the sea.
Born into slavery Largo became an experiment to the Neothelids and was raised to fight in their pits. Not for the amusement of his overlords, but as a means to conduct hypothesis and results by fighting other creations be them other mutated slaves or bestiaries. Whoever wins are recorded and gets to live another day while failures are often slain in the arena and their organs salvaged for transplants. Years past and his winning streak has given him a blood transfusion similar to that of lesser aberrations.
It was when he was a young adult is where he started to share his cell with other occupants. A gnome and a fox child who both were pushed into his cramped quarters. New blood fresh from a recent capture and were immediately thrown into an everlasting torment from these ever weird and mad sciences. Largo addressed them cruelly at first. Only knowing fighting at the time but eventually warmed up to them over the course of their captivity. The Gnome, Hodgewick, provided both the learning and basic writing skills while the Kitsune, Fletcher, formed a brother-like bond with Largo, and the Gillman himself being the muscle defending the three from other slaves and their attempts to steal their scraps and clothes.
Times were not getting any better, with the Neothelids’ desire for more knowledge means siphoning Hodgewick’s very mind by any means necessary. The first few times were no match for the gnome’s steel will but over the course of constant barrage of dominations his very sanity started to slip away ever so slowly. No matter how much he struggled against the siphon, it was making him lose his grip on reality. And every night after each session resulted in more talks in his sleep that were above whispers, frightening Fletcher considerably.
Fletcher fared no better, the squidfaces had bolted the child down and casting him to keep growing more of his potent tails as reagents for their wands and scrolls. His cries go unanswered with each blade severing flesh and bone that kept rejuvenating and repeating the cutting over and over. The farming would last days and very rarely would he go back to his cell. Largo doing his best to quiet his cries while Hodgewick tried to make him smile with his strange routine of birthdays and unbirthdays.
Largo was still fighting. Winning but still feeling empty on the inside, each death by his hand was weighing his soul down. As usual, he enters the pits with complacency, wondering whether it be another Gillmen, or perhaps a Half-orc, or hopefully some quad pedal creature. At least then he could drag the carcass back to the tents and feed both his friends. The claxton ring and Largo looked up from his thoughts and queried at what he saw.
His opponent was fresh. An Elf, female. She was lightly bruised on her face during her resistance, but she maintained her solid posture and that intimidation never seemed to falter. It was without a doubt that the beakmouths paid a lot to get her. Elven-folk were hard to come by nowadays. She looked worldweary with a bit of sullen without the green of trees around her being, but her stoic demeanor never faltered and it definitely made Largo hesitate briefly; it was only her stare that made him flinch. The Gillman slapped the anxiety out of his head and lunges at the newcomer.
Largo rages on, getting frustrated to how and why this woman was dodging his attacks, ripositing and getting her own licks in. All the while the audience reactions were a a mixed of cheers and demanding blood. For the first time, Largo felt fatigue, his fights normally don’t last this long; but without a doubt this lady was besting him. In desperation, he lifts his warclub over his head and threw it directly at his assailant. The fencer ducked in time to recieve a nicke above her right eyebrow and she ran through him with her short sword right into his side.
The Gillman collaspes on top of her with his face buried in her shoulder. Anticipating the fatal twist of the blade- he turned his head towards her neck and without thinking, thanked her for the fight in elvish through bloodied chokes. He pushed off of his opponent and landed flat on his back whilst clutching his side. He waited for death but felt his vision returned to him briefly, he looked around and saw the audiences’ disproval and jeers and then peered down to see the mix-breed stablizing his puncture with her own magic. She focused more to his cut while he took in the freckled determination on her face before blacking out.
Ears cropped as punishment for showing mercy
Welcoming Motley to posse
Planning the outbreak
Hodgewick’s insane idea for making a bomb equivalence to C4.
The great escape
Side-effects involving Hodgewick’s spiral to madness and Fletcher’s fractal-like tail growth
Start of the campaign