ALIGNMENT - Neutral Good

GENDER - Male

EYES - Green (Blue when raging)

SIZE - Medium

HEIGHT - 7ft 5inches

FAITH - Norse Gods

HAIR - Brown

SKIN - Tanned

AGE - 34

WEIGHT - 340lb.

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Personality Traits

Patient, Reflective
One to contemplate about life and the universe between ploughing the fields.

Ideals

A simple life was what I wanted. Now I feel restless and the roots I grew to the earth no longer hold my feet.

Bonds

I am unbound.

Flaws

I can be lost in contemplation at times.

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Background story

I am a simple farmer. Long ago, my ancestors, brave warriors of the sea, came to this land and settled. They traded their tridents for pitchforks, their weapons for tools, and their steeds for cattle. My family have since tended this land, grazing animals and sowing fields beneath open skies and shifting weather.

During a violent thunderstorm, a large group of bandits attacked and tried to steal our cattle. They set fire to our barns as they moved through the farm, laughing as the flames rose against the rain.

My father and I confronted them. We tried to drive them off, but there were too many. I was slashed across the chest and fell, barely conscious as the world blurred into mud and fire.

My father entered a rage I had never seen before.

He threw himself into the fight like a man unbound. Steel struck him again and again, but he did not fall. He moved through the storm like he was no longer fixed to one place—vanishing in the chaos, only to reappear where death needed answering. The bandits thought him cursed, or mad, or both.

They tried to overwhelm him with numbers. He refused to break.

When I regained consciousness, he was still standing.

Long after the last bandit fled, I realized he had never truly stopped fighting. He stood alone in the burning rain… and he was already gone.

I buried him beneath a great ash tree, as is custom for our people.

The farm never recovered. The fields withered. The barns became ash. The cattle were stolen or slain. I remained there for many months after, trying and failing to piece together what my life had been before that night.

It was beneath the ash tree that I began to notice something I could not explain.

At times, I could feel the world around me as if it were layered—close enough to touch, yet never fully aligned. Wind, stone, sky… and something deeper beneath them all. I did not understand it. I still do not.

On a stormy night not unlike the one that took everything from me, I sat beneath that same ash tree when lightning struck it. I did not move. I did not flee.

I let the storm pass through me.

For a moment, I saw my father again.

He looked at me as he once had, but not as a memory. As something present, and distant, and half-removed from where I stood. He looked upward toward something I could not see… and then he was gone.

After that night, I left the farm.

Since then, I have wandered the coasts and wild places. I work when I must, and travel when I can.

Without knowing why, I am drawn always to places where the world feels… thin. Where storm meets stone. Where cliffs meet sea. Where the air feels like it might split and reveal something just beyond it.

I do not yet know what I am searching for.

But I have never been able to stop searching.

When I think back to my last encounter with my father I hear echoes that answer only in moments of violence, storm, and silence.