Reactionary: +2 Trait bonus on Initiative checks
Iron Liver: You gain a +2 trait bonus on Fortitude saves against poison and drugs, and a +4 trait bonus on Fortitude saves to avoid the effects of alcohol.
FEATS:
FEATS
- Armor Proficiency, Light, Medium, Heavy; Shield: No penalties on attack rolls while wearing L/M/H armour or Shield.
- Power Attack: Trade melee attack bonus for damage
- Cleave
- Combat Reflexes
-Improved Overrun
Greater overrun
-Shield of swings.
CLASS:
CLASS:
Nil
Bravery (Ex)
Starting at 2nd level, a fighter gains a +1 bonus on Will saves against fear. This bonus increases by +1 for every four levels beyond 2nd.
Sir Ulfric re-steadied his sword and steeled his gaze further, readying to drive the blade home.
”Hurry up will ya, there’s ale getting warm and women getting cold” yelled one of the voices from his adventuring party. Ulfric was stuck fast though, to kill or not to kill? He faced the conundrum of so many of his forebears; now he had killed the marauding Ogre mob, was it right to also kill the child? Was it nature or nurture? Would he fall through his lack of compassion? Would Iomedae smile or strike the child?
”Damn!” He grabbed the almost man sized child by the ear, and it in turn held its stuffed bear tight and whined under the rough treatment. ”It comes with us” . His fellows looked at him incredulously, but his black look cowed them all into a low mumble of discontent.
***
The baulking of his fellows was nowhere near as breathless and outraged as the reaction of his wife who wondered what the reaction would be in court to her new foster child. Why she knew she would be the laughing stock of the society women, and demanded that the child be kept under the guise of a menial labourer or servant, and not on their main family property. Ulfric realised that this would have to be the way of it; he was never home long before going off on another adventure, and those times he was home he felt he’d like it to be peaceful.
The Ogre lad was thus handed off to one of the tenant farmers to raise, but quickly the farmer grew impatient with the boy-giant’s daydreaming and lack of focus, so he made excuses and handed the boy to the Blacksmith who was originally delighted with the boys strength and ability to pound out steel and lift objects, but the boy ate like a horse and became too expensive to keep as he started filling out his adult frame (and his incessant day dreaming)... and so the Blacksmith passed him on to the town militia.
The militia grumbled and groaned, but their patron was Sir Ulfric, so under some coercion they took on the lad as the local 'brawl breaker', and did what they could to teach him the use of arms and armour. They quickly found the boon of his size was also a hindrance, as was his apparent unawareness of his strength. Everything around him had to be reinforced, everything resized to fit this rather sweet and friendly day-dreaming giant.
So it was that time wore on, and one day Sir Ulfric never returned from his quest. His single handed charge into the lair of a Great Wyrm saved his allies, but his fate was certainly sealed.
It didn’t take long for the widow to cut off the funding for this ‘bumbling buffoon’, which put the militia in a bit of a bind. As fate would cruelly turn not long after, a brawl at a dockside inn spiralled out of control and the militia responded with their ‘one man gang’ leading the effort... and thats when it happened; a drunken sailor hit him with a rum bottle and left a great wound, a wound that was quickly repaid in a fit of rage and anger with a savage punch that simply killed the man outright.
The militia did what any self respecting lawmen would do when their faithful friendly hunting hound had gone too far; they packed him up with all his gear and said they were taking him on a ”Secret mission” several days ride from town, until he was incredibly lost. They told him to wait by the side of the road for ”a man on an elephant”.
So he waited, and waited, and waited; for so long he waited. Until it dawned on even his good natured soul that he had been abandoned.
And so there he waited by the side of a lonely by-road with nowhere to go, and nowhere to be; crying, alone, dirty, hungry, and in the tattered uniform he was wearing when he was dumped off to fend for himself. That is how he was found as the adventurers arrived.
+++
As is often the case in families, Ulfric had a brother who was a complete wastrel. His brother Hans was always to be found in a tavern and at the bottom of a mug of whatever swill was being served in that particular dive. Bewteen cheap liquor and cheaper women, Hans has found what he considers paradise, and his inherited wealth (far less than he makes out to the harlots he frequents) has saved him from having to eke out a legitimate living.
How it was Hans found himself as a juror is anyones guess; that he could ever be relied upon to come to any coherent views is inconceivable.
All that being said, he is the lumbering Ogres foster Uncle, and family is family...sort of.
