Guðlaugur, Mythender

In role-playing games on May 20th, 2011 at 11:59 am

Like your humble authour, my friend, Ryan Macklin (from the internet) has perfectionist’s disease. One result of this is that he’s been working on his roleplaying game, Mythender, for several years now. Mythender is, well, pretty much what it says on the tin. The players create characters who, for one reason or another, seek to destroy mythic  creatures and gods in Norden, a mythic version of Scandinavia. Unfortunately, if you look deep into the abyss, the abyss looks into you, and these Mythenders are doomed to perpetuate the cycle of myth, becoming new gods themselves, eventually. Nevertheless, they continue on their quest to destroy all mythical beings, clinging tenaciously to their last shreds of humanity.

Mythender is beginning to see the light of day, and Ryan’s recently posted a beta draft of the character creation rules. I need to point out a few typos and vague wordings to him, but in the meantime I want to encourage him – and help spread the word – by posting an example character. Nothing breathtakingly original, but he’s got a bit of punch, and it’ll give you all some idea of what a Mythender is all about.

Without firther ado, here is Guðlaugur, Mythender.

(you pronounce the funny-looking “d” (called an “eth”) as a voiced “th” like in them or those)


Heart: Commander

                Heart’s Connection: Endangered

History: Mourner

Myth: Judgment


What did you lose? The women and children of my home village were slaughtered by dwarf and troll raiders.

What should you have done to prevent this loss? Not fallen for the raiders trick of sending a small skirmishing force to draw the village’s men away on a goose chase, leaving the women and children to be raped, slaughtered and eaten by the main force.

How has losing this maimed your soul? My wife was one of the victims, and instead of eating her, her broken and violated body was left in the centre of the village square to tell me how much I had lost because of my error.

Who follows you into battle? The rest of the men of my village, all of whom have sworn a blood pact to avenge the death of our wives and children.

How did you gain your companions? They have been my lifelong companions and brothers in battle, defending our village and occasionally going to war together when our liege demanded it.

Do you still try to act human around [your companions]? Why/why not? Yes. While they share my pain, none of them have been cursed like me, and if they knew of my curse they would abandon me as no better than the monsters that slew our families.

My Dream of Judgment shows me meting out punishment on the souls of those who bring chaos and destruction, pain and horror into simple lives. My anger is unabated, even though the heads of those who destroyed my people adorn my throne.

The Presence of Judgment causes those around me to air their grievances against me loudly and with impenetrable self-righteousness.


My brothers are my weapon. [Sky-sundering (5)] I use them to end myths by unleashing their wrath against the raiders that destroyed our lives, whether the target is the raiders themselves or any other barrier that stands in our way.

Sætarspillir, my sword, is my weapon. [God-slaying (3)] I use it to end myths by spilling their blood upon the ground.

A lock of my dead wife’s hair is my weapon. [God-slaying (3)] I use it to end myths by looking upon it when I need to steel my heart and summon my courage in the face of overwhelming danger.



They say two blows are better than one. You can draw from your Mythic Heart to strike with prenatural speed, your foes suffering twice the onslaught and you gaining twice the power.


Paragon Form

I appear as myself, except Sætarspillir drips with inhuman fluids that have no apparent source

Supernatural Form

I appear as a grim presence, leeching all levity and warmth from his sight, wearing a cape of black bear fur whose sword perpetually drips monstrous fluids.

Godly Form

I appear as a grim presence, draped in enormous black bear furs and wearing a black-enameled full-face helm. I wield Sætarspillir, perpetually dripping with the blood and ichor of the cruel.

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