“Everyone has a role. Not everyone gets the mic.”
Minotaur society does not sort itself by birth, bloodline,
or prophecy. It sorts itself by what you do when things get loud, weird, or
dangerous.
Bands are families.
Tours are migrations.
The Coliseum is a crucible.
Classes are not careers so much as recognized ways of
being useful.
ADVENTURER
Jack-of-all-trades, roadwise problem-solvers
Among Minotaurs, Adventurers are known simply as Fixers
or Road Hands. They are the ones who make tours possible.
They:
· scout
routes
· negotiate
with locals
· acquire
supplies (legally or otherwise)
· handle
problems quietly so the show can happen loudly
Minotaur Adventurers are respected not for flash, but for reliability
under pressure.
“If they’re smiling, it means the hard part already
happened.”
Prowler Path
The quiet professionals of Minotaur society—the ones
who move through the margins while the amps are still warming up. Where Bands
negotiate with volume and presence, Prowlers handle what must be done before
anyone notices there was a problem at all: covert talks, subtle intimidation,
sabotage that looks like bad luck, and the retrieval of stolen gear without
escalating into open conflict. They dress plainly by Minotaur standards—dark
jackets, practical denim, horns angled back or capped—not to hide who they are,
but to avoid drawing attention. Prowlers don’t brag, don’t shout names, and
rarely take the stage, yet they are deeply trusted because they understand the
culture’s unspoken rule: protecting the crowd matters more than personal glory.
In a society that prizes loud declarations, a Prowler’s restraint is itself a
declaration of mastery.
Scout Path
The Pathfinders of the Road and the Maze, those who walk
ahead so that others don’t walk into disaster. They read the Road and the Maze
the way musicians read a setlist, sensing shifts in terrain, mood, and
resonance long before danger becomes obvious. A Scout maps corridors that
refuse to stay still, tests Gauntlets that rewrite themselves, and chooses
routes through hostile territory where timing matters as much as direction.
Their gear is practical and layered—maps, rope, compass charms, dust-worn
cloaks—and their horns bear scars earned from learning what not to force.
Scouts rarely raise their voices, but when one says, “Don’t play here,” Bands
listen without argument. In a culture built on volume and bravado, a Scout’s
authority comes from responsibility: they are trusted not because they are
loud, but because they bring everyone home.
Scrap Foot Path
The drivers, riders, and pilots of Minotaur culture—the ones
who turn distance into destiny. To a Scrap Foot, a vehicle isn’t just
transport; it’s a sacred companion, tuned with the same care as an instrument
and spoken to with the same respect as a bandmate. Losing a ride is a personal
tragedy, maintaining it a quiet act of devotion, and being forced to stay
grounded is an almost physical discomfort. Scrap Foots are most alive in
motion, carrying Bands between cities, Gauntlets, and shows that would never happen
without them. While the path was once dominated by old road-warrior myths and
loud male legends, a new generation—spunky, fearless Minotaur women tearing up
the Long Road on bikes and rigs—has claimed it with undeniable skill. They’re
fast, meticulous, and utterly unromantic about danger, and many Bands quietly
admit that without their Scrap Foot, they’d never make it out of the parking
lot, let alone onto the stage.
Troubleshooter Path
The Rig Doctors of
Minotaur society—the calm hands working while everyone else is shouting. They
specialize in fixing what should not be fixable: blown amps, sprung traps,
unstable explosives, and the kind of dimensional nonsense that happens when
reality is pushed just a little too hard. Where others see imminent disaster, a
Troubleshooter considers a problem to be stabilized, bypassed, or safely
delayed. They work compact and focused, tool belts heavy, gloves scorched,
rewiring systems mid-crisis with a patience that borders on uncanny. The path
leans female and nonbinary, not by decree, but by temperament—improvisation,
restraint, and the ability to juggle incompatible solutions under pressure.
Minotaurs rarely sing their praises on stage, but everyone knows the truth:
Troubleshooters are the ones who keep the Band alive between songs, and their
quiet competence is a form of heroism the culture only fully appreciates when
it’s gone.
CHANNELER
Those who bend reality because it listens
Minotaurs believe Channelers don’t control power—they
negotiate with it loudly.
They are respected, slightly feared, and rarely interrupted.
Faustian Mechanic Path
The Minotaurs who look at a perfectly stable situation and
ask, “What if it screamed?” Equal parts gear shaman, mad scientist, and
techno-wizard, they build experimental instruments, spell-driven machines, and
prototypes that blur the line between music, magic, and controlled disaster.
Their workshops smell of ozone and hot metal, their bodies often bear the marks
of self-experimentation, and their gender expression is as fluid as their
designs—because identity, like machinery, is something you tune over time.
Minotaurs tolerate their explosions because every so often, a Faustian Mechanic
accidentally invents a new Gauntlet, a breakthrough containment method, or a
sound that bends reality just enough to matter. Even within Minotaur society,
they are half-outsiders, but when something impossible needs to exist right
now, everyone quietly steps back and lets the Faustian Mechanic cook.
Sentinel Path
The living walls of Minotaur society: oath-bound guardians
who plant their feet and decide, quietly and finally, that nothing is passing
without permission. They serve as bodyguards, pit wardens, and champions in
disputes, trusted not because they are gentle, but because they are consistent.
A Sentinel’s word matters more than written law; once they take a stand, it
does not move unless the oath itself is fulfilled or broken. Their gear
reflects this philosophy—heavy armour worn plain, a single iconic weapon (often
a halberd reimagined with brutal, concert-grade weight), and no excess
decoration to distract from purpose. Inspired by mythic power-metal ideals,
Sentinels embody endurance, restraint, and certainty. When a Sentinel blocks a
doorway, the argument is already over.
Witch Path
The ones who remain after the amps cool and the crowd
disperses, tending the psychic and spiritual residue left behind by loud
choices and louder victories. They negotiate with aftereffects, soothe restless
spirits, and stitch reality back together where summoning echoes have scorched
it thin. Where other Paths chase glory in motion or volume, Witches work in
stillness—marking boundaries, closing doors, and making sure nothing unwanted
follows the Band home. Adorned with talismans, herbs, wires, and decorated
horns rather than sharpened ones, they read the unseen currents of a place with
the same fluency as others read a crowd. Minotaurs trust Witches not because
they command attention, but because they stay when it’s over, ensuring that the
mess is handled, the debts are paid, and the silence is safe again.
COMBATANT
Those who hold the line
Combatants are everywhere in Minotaur society, but not all
Combatants are equal.
Brute Path - New Age
The Minotaurs who chose the road after it became unsafe.
Where older Brutes carried tradition like a shield, these warriors strap it to
engines and ride it screaming into the future. They favour bikes, chainsaws,
and brutal patchwork armour scavenged from wrecks and old stages, each scar a
receipt from a fight that mattered. To Minotaur society, New Age Brutes are not
subtle and never meant to be—they are shock troops, enforcers, and living
warnings that some problems are best met head-on at full throttle. They thrive
in motion, grow restless when parked, and are most at home when the ground
shakes beneath them. Feared by outsiders and respected by their own, a New Age
Brute isn’t looking for glory so much as momentum—because stopping, in their
world, is how you die.
Brute Path -Traditional
Traditional Brutes are the old gods of the pit—silent until
movement is required, patient until restraint becomes impossible. They do not
posture, boast, or chase spectacle; their presence alone draws a line in the
dust that others instinctively respect. Where New Age Brutes roar forward on
engines and chainsaws, Traditional Brutes advance on foot, carrying weapons
older than the road itself and scars earned through ritualized violence rather
than reckless fury. Among Minotaurs, they are trusted with the worst moments:
stopping fights that should not escalate, ending threats that refuse to back
down, and standing firm when the crowd turns dangerous. Gender means nothing in
the pit—only whether you can hold it. When a Traditional Brute steps forward,
the music usually stops, and whatever is happening next will be final, fair,
and remembered.
Commander Path
Commanders are rare among Minotaurs, not because leadership
is shunned, but because accurate coordination is more complex than conquest. A
Commander doesn’t outshout the chaos—they shape it. They serve as tour
marshals, militia liaisons, and the steady center in crises where Bands, crews,
and civilians would otherwise pull in different directions. Their authority
isn’t rooted in brute strength or mystique, but in clarity: calm eyes,
deliberate gestures, and the discipline to listen before giving orders. Minotaur
culture quietly acknowledges that the best Commanders tend to be those who hold
space for others, guiding rather than dominating, and stepping forward only
when the moment demands it. When a Commander raises a hand, the noise doesn’t
stop—it aligns.
Many suspect Axel Thunderpipes qualifies.
Deadeye Path
Deadeyes are the quiet certainty at the edge of Minotaur
chaos—the ones who solve problems before anyone else realizes there was danger
at all. They cover perimeters during shows, provide overwatch in Gauntlets, and
eliminate threats with discipline so clean it feels inevitable in hindsight.
Deadeyes favour clean lines, long sightlines, and minimal ornament; their
stillness is deliberate, their focus absolute. Among Minotaurs, missing isn’t a
sin—it’s embarrassing—because the path is built on patience, restraint, and
respect for distance. Many who choose the Deadeye path do so to escape the
loudness arms race; they don’t compete in volume, only in results. When a
Deadeye lowers their weapon, the problem is already over, and the music never
had to stop.
PSYCHIC
The soul of Minotaur culture
Psychics are everywhere among Minotaurs—but one path stands
above all.
Eruptor Path
Eruptors are walking warnings—Minotaurs whose emotions bleed
directly into the elements and refuse to stay contained. Among their kind, an
Eruptor’s power is not admired for its size, but for how well it is held
back. Cold-fury Eruptors, in particular, are unsettling: their rage
manifests as frost, silence, and creeping ice rather than fire or thunder,
freezing the air around them when their concentration slips. Young Eruptors
often struggle under the weight of this expectation, having been taught early
that losing control is not just dangerous but also disrespectful to the Band
and the pit alike. When an Eruptor moves with purpose—ice cracking beneath
their feet, power leaking from clenched fists—it is a reminder that Minotaur
strength is not always loud, and that the most terrifying force is the one still
choosing restraint.
Mentalist Path
Mentalists are the
Minotaurs who end conflicts before anyone realizes one has started. Where
others rely on volume, presence, or spectacle, a Mentalist applies pressure
with thought, timing, and emotional leverage, bending rooms, crowds, and
enemies without lifting a hand. They calm riots, dismantle threats mid-breath,
and steer negotiations by knowing exactly which thought to nudge and when. This
precision breeds resentment as often as respect—no one likes discovering the
argument was over before they spoke—but results are undeniable. Overconfidence
is common early on; survival teaches restraint. Among Minotaurs, Mentalists are
trusted like loaded weapons left on the table: dangerous, invaluable, and
watched closely—not because they’re reckless, but because they’re usually
right.
Psi-Warrior Path
The Minotaur myth made flesh: protectors who step forward
before anyone asks and stay long after others would leave. Where Bands chase
glory and volume, Psi-Warriors answer instinct and pressure, interposing
themselves between danger and the vulnerable with frightening certainty. Their
psychic power is not flashy sorcery but disciplined, bodily force—Ki, grit, and
will forge into shields, strikes, and impossible endurance. Many never wanted
to be heroes, yet Minotaur culture considers that reluctance a virtue; the best
Psi-Warriors act because someone has to, not because they seek applause. Over
time, some embrace the role fully, donning costumes, symbols, and names that
turn them into walking legends of the road. Others remain anonymous mentors and
guardians, known only to the people they saved. Either way, a Psi-Warrior is
recognized instantly—not by volume, but by the way chaos seems to slow down
around them.
Rocker Path (The Cultural Core)
Rockers are the
living heart of Minotaur culture, the ones who remember Minos not as a place,
but as a sound that still echoes through stone and blood. Through psychic
resonance and raw performance, they do more than entertain—they anchor reality,
pulling fractured timelines and unstable emotions into something the crowd can
survive. A Rocker’s music carries memory, authority, and warning all at once;
when they play, Bands listen, enemies hesitate, and even the city leans in to
hear what comes next. Female Rockers in particular often embrace deliberate
excess—volume, movement, and emotion pushed past restraint—because authenticity
matters more than polish, and presence outweighs perfection. If a Rocker ever
truly falls silent, Minotaurs know it isn’t peace that follows, but an opening,
and whatever answers that quiet is rarely kind.
RITUALIST
Scholars of dangerous power
Ritualists are tolerated cautiously.
Minotaurs like results, not dissertations.
Artillery Mage Path
Spectacle incarnate, walking bombardments whose opinions
arrive at the same time as their spells. Beloved by crowds, feared by enemies,
and closely watched by everyone else, they specialize in overwhelming
force—wide-area magic delivered with precision just good enough to be
survivable. Their tradition traces back to the wizard fraternities of
Newfoundland, where ritualized excess, nickname culture, and competitive
spellcraft shaped magic into something loud, proud, and unmistakably public.
Aviator gear, heavy metal leathers, and glowing ammunition are as much part of
the performance as the casting itself. Among Minotaurs, Artillery Mages earn
respect through results and reputation; nicknames are sacred and stealing one
is an invitation to violence. When an Artillery Mage cuts loose, the
battlefield becomes a stage, the spell lights the frame, and everyone knows
exactly who did it—because that’s the point.
Magister Path
Minotaur society’s most carefully managed risk: brilliant,
detached thinkers who live half a step ahead of everyone else—and occasionally
a whole step off the map. They pursue theory for its own sake, blending arcane
scholarship with heavy-metal pragmatism, scribbling sigils between shows and
calmly annotating reality while it misbehaves. Minotaurs value Magisters for
what they understand, not how they act; as a result, they are watched,
fed, and deliberately kept away from dense crowds and high-emotion spaces. An
unsupervised Magister isn’t malicious—just curious enough to cause an incident.
Among Minotaurs, this is accepted with a resigned patience: dangerous minds are
tolerated, even respected, so long as someone sensible is nearby when the notes
turn sharp.
Rainmaker Path
Weather Dealers—Minotaurs who treat the sky the way others
treat an amplifier: something to be tuned, respected, and never pushed past
control without reason. They are hired to protect gatherings, intimidate
rivals, or shape crowds through thunder, wind, and rain that move in deliberate
rhythm rather than raw chaos. A Rainmaker does not rush; they listen to the
storm before answering it, letting lightning frame their horns and rain fall
where it’s needed most. Minotaur culture associates the path strongly with
maturity and restraint—anyone can call a storm, but only a Rainmaker can hold
one. Those who lose control don’t last long, regardless of gender, but the ones
who endure become quiet authorities, trusted because when the sky breaks, it
breaks exactly where they intend.
Final Cultural Truth
Minotaurs don’t ask:
“What class are you?”
They ask:
“What do you do when the amp hums and something comes
through?”
And that answer tells them everything they need to know.
#drevrpg #alberta #ttrpg #hodgepocalypse #apocalypse #edmonton #canada #minotaur #colesium #heavymetal
