Name: "My name is Hurndt Bearclaw, of the Tribe of the Wolf."
Gender: "I am a male."
Race: "I am human."
Subrace: "I am a Northerner, or a barbarian as the Imperials call us."
Age: "I am thirty-four years old."
Height: "I stand six feet and seven inches from the ground."
Eye Color: "My eyes are blue."
Hair Color: "Blonde, if you cannot see."
Appearance: "I have been called a giant among men. My frame is bulky and muscled and my height allows me to tower above most everyone else. My face has stubble, and I have several scars all over my body from the many battles I have fought and won. My hair is tied back in a short ponytail."
Clothing/Armor: "I wear fur for the most part, with a chain hauberk underneath."
Weapons: "My weapon of choice is a glaive and shield combination. I also have a shortsword for closer fights."
Accessories: "None of any importance. A few rations is all."
Personality: "I seek glory in battle. That is all I live for. War feeds me, gives me work, and it gives me riches. The honor and glory I get from victory in battle grants me a satisfaction that I cannot explain. Sometimes, though, I wonder how long my streak of victories will last..."
Bio: "I was born with my tribe in Wulfsted Village, and was brought up learning how to fight. My father was a warrior, you see, and he wanted the same for myself. At the age of five I began wrestling and fist fighting. At nine, I learned how to wield my first sword. And at the age of twelve, I chose my signature weapon; the glaive. It gives me the reach to keep my enemies at bay, and my strength allows me to use it with one hand well enough so that I can still fight and wield a shield for extra defence. Anyways, you wanted my background.
On my sixteenth birthday, I fought my first real battle. I was out in the wilderness, hunting for food and skins. I crossed paths with a large bear, larger than any I had ever seen. Overconfident, I roared at the beast with all my might. The animal took it as a threat, and it charged. I readied myself, shield held in front of me and my glaive pointing at the bear. It slammed into my shield, breaking my wrist and knocking me several feet away to land heavily on the ground. It came around for another attack, barely in time for me to get up and ready myself. As it charged, I stepped to the side and cut at it with my weapon, tearing into it's shoulder. Unfortunately, I did not realize the agility bears possess, and it turned and swiped at my chest, giving me a scar that mars my body today. I slashed with my glaive again, this time at the thing's head. After making sure it was dead, I fell to the ground, clutching my bleeding chest... and I remember I started smiling and laughing. That victory, close as it was, gave me, as I said before, a sense of satisfaction I cannot explain. That victory is what drove me to become a warrior even more than my father's hopes and dreams did.
At the age of twenty, I began my first work as a mercenary. Anything from protecting caravans to participating in raids on Imperial cities. The rest is nothing interesting. To put it simply, ever since my twentieth birthday I have participated in over one hundred skirmishes, raids, and battles, and I have journeyed from my home of Wulfsted Village to Caltha."
Edited by Azoth, 28 June 2011 - 10:44 PM.