The Blackheart Spire
Ulfgar "Ironhide" of Clan Ironhide
Level 1 Mountain Dwarf Barbarian
Hit Points | 15
Hit Dice | 1d12
Armor Class | 15 (17 w/ Dueling Shield; 18 w/ Dueling Shield wielded 2H)
20 | Strength
14 | Dexterity
17 | Constitution
8 | Intelligence
11 | Wisdom
12 | Charisma
Saving Throws: Strength (5)
Trained Skills: Acrobatics (7), Intimidation (3)
Languages: Common, Dwarvish
Equipment: Cestus, Dueling Shield, Spiked Armor, 1 x Net, 4 x Javelins, a small carved figure of Ironhide given by a young fan of his, Explorer’s Pack
Wealth: 15 gp
Ulfgar of Clan Ironhide found himself in an unfortunate situation: he never much cared for the traditions of his clan. And so he ran. A child of the streets, he found protection in his own combat prowess. It came naturally to him. And while he tried to avoid confrontation with those who sought his harm – or his meal – if he was pushed, an overwhelming rage would see his opponent face down in the gutter.
One night in particular, Ulfgar found himself in a scrap outside of a local tavern. Suddenly he was lifted into the air by his collar, still wildly screaming and flailing at the bloody human boy who was clawing to scurry away in the street below. As the red slowly began to fade from Ulfgar’s vision, he found himself warmed by a small fireplace, with a meal and a pint of ale in front of him. He hadn’t tried it before, but grew quite fond of it. Uncharacteristically so for a boy so young. But in a seedy tavern such as this, what with the women, gambling, and, most infamous of all, the fighting pits, a young boy drinking ale was the least of anyone’s concerns. The tavern keeper who had plucked him from the unforgiving streets gave Ulfgar a home there. His first in years.
As Ulfgar grew, his interest in the fight pits grew with him. He learned to hone his skills in combat by sharpening them against the grinding stone of numerous opponents in the ring. He eventually became somewhat of a local favorite with a small smattering of fans cheering him on at all his fights. He took the name Ironhide as his handle, and something stirred in him when he heard his fans screaming his name over the cheers and jeers of the pits. The cries of excitement when he’d send another gladiator to the ground in a heap. The passion in the fights that broke out between his fans and his opponents the handful that he found himself at a loss. Ulfgar never knew those kinds of emotions: what he could only assume was true love and caring for him. But Ironhide did. And Ironhide could get more of it.
Ironhide’s fame and glory spread throughout the local towns and villages, and as his fights drew more and more, his prize purses grew larger and larger. However, money not being his concern, and the ale he enjoyed in his youth making the numbers confusing to him, the old tavern keeper found it easy to take more and more of Ulfgar’s winnings for himself. That is until Ulfgar caught him gloating about it behind his back. Ulfgar was crushed. Ironhide made sure that the tavern keeper’s body matched.
Alone and betrayed, Ulfgar turned to the only things he knew: drinking, fighting, and finding solace in the admiration of his fans.
Ulfgar, or Ironhide as he prefers, is comfortable in the battle harness he wears in the pits. Adorned with small spikes and buckles, it looks well worn and stained with the blood of many skirmishes. The shield he caries on his back has similar spikes covering the front, clearly used to add a bit of insult to the injury of a shield bash. His hands are wrapped tightly with what appears to be combat bracing and coverings to protect his knuckles in battle.
He is muscular, toned, and built like an ox. His skin bares the scars of battle, some even lining up with marks in the harness he wears. His red beard is shaved, unlike many dwarves, to remove a potential handhold for an enemy in the ring, but left to grow along his jaw and over his lip. His hair is a mohawk, which sets him apart. His skin is tan, and is an unusual sight on a dwarf. This all adds to his persona.
Ironhide presents himself with a thick air of arrogance and cockiness, is always looking for a drink, and is a bit perturbed upon finding out that his reputation has preceded him in a social circle – something he is quick to correct and hopefully garner more of the fame he seeks.
Ironhide, like many fighters, worships Kord and seeks his blessing to guide his hand in battle and bring him more fame and honor through glorious combat.