The Wild Hunt
Legendary Exquisite weapon (grenade launcher), requires attunement by a Risen class; 1d6 explosive
Properties: Payload, shot capacity (8)
"And so, the hunt begins."
A drum magazine grenade launcher modified to accept magazines containing mini-frags. The barrel is smaller than most grenade launchers with a bronze color attached with a holographic sight. It looks as if to have been scratched mercilessly by a beast, leaving deep scars.
| Perk | Description |
|---|---|
| Full Automatic Bolter | This weapon gains the Automatic Fire property. You can also make two additional extra attacks with this weapon. |
| Slaughter of the Wolves | This weapon consumes 3 martial magazines to reload. The bolts fired from this weapon homes on the target with a explosion radius of 0ft, meaning the damage is focused on the target. This weapon's Payload DC is unique and begins at 12. For every shot fired, the DC increases by 1. On a failed save, the creature takes 1d6 explosive damage for every shot fired. On a success, the creature takes half damage. |
| Lightweight | While you are holding this weapon in your hands, you gain a bonus 10 feet of movement speed. You cannot gain the benefit of the Lightweight perk more than once regardless of how many weapons you are holding with this perk. |
Lore
"And so, the hunt begins."
Ever since the Collapse, the winters were terminal. Even Risen would know to stay away from the frigid air as their power would not be able to protect them. Even the enemies of humanity burrowed deep to escape the cold.
Amidst the current storm stood a makeshift camp. It was woven in stitched fur of whatever beast still lived on Earth, held up by simple yet sturdy wooden shafts. It was crude like a settlement of savages, but it held against the cold almost as if it was willed to stand. It was hard to believe any living being could live in such a place.
A lone of figure approached the settlement. His figure was small, carrying a heavy cloak layered on another cloak and wrapped it tightly around himself as if his life depended on it; because it did. He sheathed in a thin layer of solar energy to battle the frost winds. He was clever. He micromanaged his energy, keeping himself in a bearable temperature while minimizing consumption. He had darted from isolated cover to isolated cover in a long expanse. It could be said that he took the scenic route, yet the fact that he was here meant that his gamble paid off. He would smirk in victory if it wasn't for the fact that his face muscles is barely frozen.
Many would question what type of individuals would settle this far out in the dead frostlands. As someone who would prefer to be left alone, he knew the answer. They wanted to be undisturbed, difficult to track down as well as be in the worst place one would decide to invade. Putting together the necessary resources in order to march here would be near impossible and coming alone is not an option either. Because of this, they have earned infamy, especially due to their... relationships with fellow warlords.
The main reaches the bestial tent. He was shaking, not only because of the cold. Simply standing here was a risk. He would rather die in the cold, as at least, he can come back from that. If he makes a misstep and dies here, they would make sure he could not come back.
Before he could change his mind and turn back, the tent flaps open. A hand reaches out and grabs him by the cloak and pulls in. He was in a headlock, his heavy cloak and obscured vision made it hard for him to even struggle. He was thrown to the ground.
When he could finally see, he realizes that he was in some sort of circle with chairs circling around him. He realized he was warm. On each chair sat a Risen. There were six of them. Not much was known about them so he couldn't name them. But he could name the man that was directly in front of him.
The man was imposing. He was likely two heads taller than him. His cloak was that of a bear hide, but as if in some sort of twisted humor, the man's helmet was decorated with elk antlers. His shoulders were wide, likely the distance between the cloaked man's chin to his hips. His demeanor and barring was beast-like. He had the presence of a king of the forest. He casted a chocking shadow over the cloaked man due to the hearth behind him.
All knew his name. His name is always respected as King Theodore.
The silence was punctuated by the crackling of the fire. The cloaked man was paralyzed. It seemed as an eternity had passed and if it was disturbed, a soul would be lead to its final end. King Theodore sat leaning forward with his arms on his thighs. His hands were clasped together. His knuckles tightened towards each other. Sensing it immediately, the cloaked figure scrambles to unfurl his cape and from it, drops several weapons.
They were not bad of quality. They were not bad at all. Some of these weapons also had exotic materials used in their fabrication.
The king was pleased.
"Who?" his voice was a deep bass that somehow echoed in the fur-wall tent. It visibly startled the cloaked man.
"The... the Iron Lords, Your Majesty." He spoke as if he was breathless. He felt as if the room was boiling and he was at the center of pot.
King Theodore lowered his head. His body did not move, not even twitch. He was still like a statue. The only thing that filled the silence was the cloaked man's heavy breaths. He felt he was suffocating in the heat.
It was after a minute before the air moved. Everyone in the tent felt a rumble and it came from the king. It was small at first, but as the seconds passed, the rumble was fiercer and sharp. His hands were closed tight. Arc emitted from him. The lightbearers felt themselves shaking to the core in response to the rising echo of the king's light. After a few moments, it settled, signaling that he came to a decision.
He stood and stared straight ahead. Holding his hand out, his ghost materialized his grenade launcher into his hand. His party understood and shuffled to slip out of the tent.
The Wild Hunt shall set out for their prey come dawn. The greatest hunt shall be realized.