“Outside of Oppara, no one gives a damn if I wear a beard.”
Dreloc said it to the guard, and he meant it. He was just barely whiskered, a boy of fourteen years who couldn’t even afford a razor.
It can be hard. Even in the cities of Taldor, the old adage applies. If you grow up poor, you grow up tough. You cut a few corners. You make due hand-in-hand with your family to get by.
My father, he was a mercenary. Hell, in these parts anyone with a claim to Ulfen blood can dance a merry jig with a bloody sword. Sends the hicksams to their knees right and quick. That’s how we made it by as long as we did. Dad knew a trick or two. He was more hardy than me, but he didn’t make it.
My brothers are in Cassomir. They want to get Navy contracts. Takin’ care of Ma for us all.
La Dee Dah I says. I’ve got the old gift. I’ve got the tongue, like ole’granda did. real magic.
I can make more than enough money in the Border Wood. I can go it alone. So I told the ole hicksam brothers good riddance in proper Ulfen fashion. They didn’t like that.
Personality: He’s a little rash, and a little strange. However, there is no mistaking his bravery. It’s not the usual thing. “Ulfen man tears apart gnoll with his claw-like hands,” the town crier would say.
Well, it’s fascinating to watch. You have to admit.
He’s not greedy, or keen on Taldor. More than a little, he wants to know how these… these powers came into his family. He’s itching to get out of Taldor and be more like the Ulfen man his father pretended to be.
