Beorn Haraldson is proud and brave, and comes from a strong line of men of Linnorm. Granted he has done little other than to guard caravans to date to win him any true glory, but he has trained and is ready. It might be unwise to remind him that he has done little worth of a warrior’s praise of yet. For I fear that what the men that know him say is true. Beorn has a temper, and is want to fly into a rage at times that some say is both a curse and a gift of the gods.
While Beorn has not yet fought in a true battle and cannot claim he has killed a man as of yet, it would be untrue to say he has done no deeds worthy of a song. He has worked hard on the farm of his father, Eric Heraldson, which has made him as strong as a bear. He has hunted and fished and killed wolves and even once an old and mad she-bear who foamed at the mouth.
Raised a younger son on one of the hundreds of small fishing farmsteads that dot the fjords of his northern homeland, Beorn had no expectation to inherit and so went south in search of fame and glory and gold. He is strong and quick and has trained hard to be able to handle the weapons that will earn him his fortune in Varisa and Cheliax herself. If he has a cures its not knowing when to put down his cup, for Beorn likes to drink. He does not drink often but celebrates successes vigorously. It was the celebration of success of a full month of caravan duty that has him in trouble now. These Chelaxians are a lawful bunch and he has managed to break more of their laws that he thought a nation ought to have. He is not sure how bad its going to be for him, but they have him in with a bunch of ruffs no doubt, and he is loosing hope of an early release. Lucky for him he managed to keep his Cestus close, tucking it into his small clothes when the processed him in. He has not had to use it yet, but he figures its only a matter of time.