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About Ragnar Stolen-VoiceInitiative +4 (+2 dex, +2 trait); Senses Perception +6 Defense
Offense
Feats Catch Off Guard, Endurance
Combat Gear 2 potions of Cure Light Wounds, 3 flasks alchemist's fire, 1 smokestick, 1 thunderstone
Experience
Mannerisms Ragnar Stolen-Voice rarely speaks, but when he does it is often in strained mumbles, grunts and almost comprehensible syllables. Though his mouth and tongue form the words perfectly (someone that reads lips could easily understand him), his voice is itself strained and broken. His speech problem has often lead to people assuming he's either deaf or simple. Most of the time, he seems quite calm but his emotions are a storm beneath the surface. First impressions are everything to Ragnar and he either warms to new people very quickly or bitterly despises them until they do something that forces re-evaluation. In the throes of a rage, he's terrifying- screaming in mangled Skald and grabbing whatever happens to be at hand to slaughter his enemies. Background Spoiler:
In Broken Bay, the Ulfen keep to the Old Ways- raiding is the primary sport and means of earning wealth and renown. If you can't raid, you fish. If you can't fish, you die. Ragnar Kolgrimsson was born in the port of Bildt to Kolgrim Redthirst, a powerful priest of Gorum. He never knew his mother. From birth, Kolgrim had sought to mould his boy into a formidable servant to the Lord in Iron. Drills in heavy mail, recitations of Gorum's litanies and brutal sparring matches were meant to build a champion for Broken Bay, the Old Ways and mighty Gorum. But the boy he was given was insolent and disobedient: he ran off and hid in the city, making Redthirst look a fool as he sought him, his recitations were sloppy and incomplete and he showed little improvement when it came time to learn the art of war. As Ragnar grew older, Kolgrim despaired of him. He was average height, not the towering pinnacle of strength Kolgrim had prayed for. The boy had no love of war and bloodshed. Ragnar retreated from his father, becoming a sullen and willful child, resistant to everything the priest stood for but lacking an outlet in the grey and bleak port city. He nursed a deep fury toward his father and the very land around him, gaining solace only on those rare days when he could slip free and hear the skalds' tales of distant realms, dangerous beasts and the freedom of the open sea.
Kolgrim took drastic action. If he could not make a champion, he would settle for a beast. Daily and without warning, he would attack his son with a stout club until either the boy had fought back effectively or was knocked unconscious. When the club ceased to be motivation enough, he used a heavy practice sword. When that lost its menace and Ragnar remained resistant, he turned to live steel. With his fists or whatever he had at hand, the lad fought off his madman father as best he could, finding eventually that the hatred curdled in his heart could be vented and turned against the old man. While he never bested his father, he did give him pause. Ironically, the old man's mad plan was bringing results. One fateful day at age 15, Ragnar decided it was time to turn the tables. He waited for his father to sleep, then sprang on him with his own greatsword. Tumbling in the dark, unsure of exactly what was happening, Kolgrim wrestled the sword away and dealt a deadly blow to the boy. For the first time, Ragnar felt his life leaving him as he fell to the floor... and he wasn't entirely upset. A sharp pain in his chest and his throat woke him back to the world. Redthirst stood above him, intoning a prayer to Gorum and Ragnar watched as his rent flesh and bone knitted on his chest... and his throat, where the greatsword had never pierced him. "Now you have learned properly.", his father said,"But I'll not leave you without a reminder of my victory, nor will I suffer your insolent tongue again." Ragnar tried to speak, to curse his father... but all he could do was cough up the blood in his throat. For the next three years, Ragnar served his father faithfully: carrying and polishing his armor and weapons, aiding in preparing his services and following the old man when he took up with the longship Brine Hag to raid the south. All the while, he stoked his rage and swallowed the slights and invective hurled at him, just compressing it all into a hot little ball in his gut. Raiding as far south as shadow-haunted Nidal, Ragnar got a taste of the lands beyond Broken Bay and the Land of the Linnorm Kings and found them to his liking. He was in his 18th year when the Brine Hag had bit off more than it could chew and found itself in a losing battle with a well-armed ship of Riddleport smugglers. Boarded, the Ulfens fought off the attack as best they could and drove the Varisians to a stalemate. Of greater importance to Ragnar, his father was gravely wounded. Leaning against the rail, panting and bleeding, he called for his son to bring him his last healing tincture. Ragnar complied. Before the old man could take a swig, his son grabbed him by the hair and buried a gaff hook in his throat. Ragnar took a moment to watch the alarm, horror and rage register in his father's eyes before heaving the madman over the side and into the Deep. Not a good idea, wearing such heavy armor on a ship. The other raiders roared a curse and moved to cut him down, but Ragnar had launched himself from the ship and began swimming furiously for the coast. After grueling hours of swimming, Ragnar pulled himself up trembling onto the docks of Riddleport. Exhausted as he was, a feral grin split his face- he was free. For the next several years, he scraped by doing odd jobs in Riddleport as hired muscle, assisting on crews and lending a silent hand on a number of shady dealings and hush jobs; after all, his late father had made certain it was all he would be good for. With painful practice, trial and error, he managed to coax some small form of speech from his ruined throat. The outlaws and pirates of Riddleport often had sport with how he sounded and Ragnar was more than willing to offer a retort with his fists. His ability to take a beating and dish it out lead to a short-lived job as a bouncer at the Gold Goblin... but after a heist went south and the owner's business practices caught up to him, the Ulfen decided to abandon dry land for a while and see how far south he could sail. A caravel from Magnimar brought him to Westcrown, a ship from Westcrown brought him to Bloodcove. He settled for a few years working for the Aspis Consortium for several years until he grew a conscience and began feeling sour at how they treated the natives in the Mwangi- some honest raiding and thievery was one thing, but systematic exploitation? He wanted no part of it. With the freedom of the open seas once more calling him, he lit out for Port Peril and made his first stop at the Formidably Maid to seek new employment. |