This set of armor is made from sandwyrm chitin and is heavily fitted to Harril’s frame. Though it is missing a headpiece, the armor more than well makes up for it with the durability and flexibility of sandwyrm chitin.
The warhammer Harril’s father used before he was swallowed by a great rift, this hammer is exceptionally powerful and perfectly translates strength into power. Made from a metal that Harril doesn’t recognize, his father wielded it long before he was born, in a time that he refused to speak of. It has a bulbous front end and a flat back end, which Harril uses both of to his advantage.
The anvil that his father used to smith, Harril carries this item with him on his back at all times. This is also the anvil that Harril uses almost religiously to create his wares. For a reason Harril does not yet know, he is able to use the anvil to control his earthen magics.
This ragged cloak seems to never run out of sand baked into its creases and folds. Harril carried this cloak throughout his entire nomadic journey from childhood to now, and refuses to get rid of it.
A bunch of innocuous sand from Kazarial in a pouch, what one wouldn't expect is that Harril can use his Earthen magics to form a proper shield out of the dense sand of his homeland.
If Harril lands a strike using his hammer, he may immediately strike a second time at 15% Attack Power as his hammer rebounds with enough force to spin him around to the other side of his opponent.
If his opponent is standing on loose ground, such as non-packed dirt, sand or gravel, Harril causes the ground underneath his opponent to destabilize and swirl, sucking their'down and decreasing their Dodge Rating by 20% until they spend a turn to escape from the area.
While under Alpha and Omega, Harril is able to absorb a much larger portion of radiation than a normal Solarian thanks to his Nomad heritage. Due to this, Harril has a 10% increase to his Attack and Magic while outside during daytime.
Harril rips a chunk of earth out of the ground using his magic. Using this ability he can either block incoming attacks, increasing his Deflect Rating by 15% for two turns or throw the earthmote, dealing 150% of his Magic damage.
Taking cue from his father, Harril launches himself into the air, before coming down to strike Solaris below, causing the ground to ripple like water. If an opponent is caught by the blast, they are thrown by the earthquake, taking 50% of Harril’s Melee damage. Whatever poor soul is struck directly by Harril as he screams down from the heavens takes 2.5x the normal damage they would’ve taken from an average hit by Harril, as well as the damage from the earthquake as they are crushed into the ground.
Harril Anvil-Striker was born a whelp of a lad to a family of five nomads. Unusually small even as he grew up, his father –a Blacksmith– shunned him for it. Traveling the Kazarial Desert, his father protected their family, cutting down any beast that stood in their way and selling his wares to travelers in his stand he put up week to week. Nights were spent in dead silence, his brothers, Arrig and Maller slept in the tent with mother, while Harril spent his evenings and nights with his father, outside on the sand, sitting under the stars, constellations endless in the black expanses; he liked to watch them, pass the time while he sat, wide awake with his father, a massive man.
See, they sat outside, in the dark, in the sand, in the cold, cold, contradictory night. Deserts are cold at night, see, and that’s what bothered him most. The cold. Harril didn’t – doesn’t like the cold. His father would tell him, night after night, the reason they were out there.
Looking out for monsters – sand beasts. The sandwyrms dug under them constantly, but they weren’t bothering them. No, they were looking for the ones who surfaced, “young ones”, as his father would say. The old ones didn’t need to surface apparently. They were too large to bother with the small prey, the Solarians were small, you see? Even his father, big man he was, was small. All of them were – small in the face of nature’s predators.
But his father could kill them. All of them. Massive creatures they might be, but his size in comparison did not make his power lesser. Harril had watched it once, himself. His father drew his hammer that one time – not a sword, no, swords are for the small folk who need a blade to augment their power. Hammers are for real Solarians, his father would say. His father would also say that blades were the chosen weapons of Man, the humans, small folk from another world. Ironic.
That time his hammer was drawn, he had faced three of the sandwyrms, two from beside and one from in front. He merely jumped. Harril’s father would also tell him that “the man to take a hit for no reason other than to show off is the man to die to a weapon for no reason than to brag.” His father jumped high, into the air, his hammer shone in the suns, reflecting the light of the very thing that let Solarians be the great race they were. He would then bring his hammer down, as the sandwyrms – babies but massive – collided below him, he dropped, his hammer screaming as he brought it down on all three of their heads at once, they would explode into a river of brains and sandwyrm blood-goo.
His father may have shunned him, as small as he was, but Harril still idolized him. His muscles caused his envy most of all. What he couldn’t attain. No matter how hard he tried, the poor boy couldn’t get any larger than the average Solarian. At first he thought that he wasn’t getting enough radiation, so one day, while his father and brothers were out hunting, and his mother was whistling into the wind, he laid himself flat onto the sands.
When his father came back that night, he peeled himself off the sands, ready to help his father meet the hammer and its wife, but he wasn’t any stronger than he was before, his father appreciated the attempt, which gave him hope for a change.
But it wasn’t to be.
No no, the day after, they had arrived to a new spot within the expansive desert. “An interesting spot.” His father said, walking far from their caravan to look for the materials he had told them they were coming for. As he did so, Harril noticed a sign, something innocuous, but something strange. A wooden sign in the middle of a desert? Placed by who? For what purpose did it serve?
He would find out sooner than he would think, as before he could approach the sign, his father let out a shout. A shout. From his father? Something Harril had never, and had never thought he would ever hear. Harril’s head snapped over to watch his father, along with his brothers, who had come with, disobeying his father, disappear into a great rift, something out of a nightmare. It tore from the ground into the sky, the space of stars he loved so much.
The rift opened to a maw of horrors – a green expanse of clouds of red lightning. A deadly cacophony of powerful blasts took his brothers and wounded his father before swallowing him whole.
Harril’s mother screamed – or so he would later tell others. He didn’t truly know if it was him, her, or both of them.
Most likely both of them, as Harril’s mother rushed into the Riftspace, she too was taken, though this time it wasn’t within Harril’s vision, as he dropped to his knees and dug his hands through the sand.
It all took a moment to happen. His mother, brothers, his father. All gone, likely dead. His horror immeasurable, when he regained his senses, he scrambled away. The sign was the only thing in his thoughts as he ran into the desert. The only thing he could make out on the sign was the name of whoever had signed it, “Krauser Killener”.
He would find this Krauser, and he would find a way to bring back his family, through force if he had to.