Name : Fognar Longebeard
Race : Dwarf
Age : 37
Sex : Male
Skills : Axe-wielding, Bargaining, Drinking, Brawling
Appearance : 
History : Born in one of the many families under The Black Mountains, Fognar lived the life of any upcoming warrior that would bring fame to his home as soon as his training was done. It was harsh, living as a dwarven soldier : long training hours, harsh commanders, a small number of short pauses. He did not like any of it but it isn't like he had a choice. Fognar was among the less obedient, and apparently less capable pupils. In truth he was not incapable of becoming a warrior, he just did not want it. He wanted a longer, quieter life, perhaps the one of a merchant. This all led to mockery and ridicule from his other peers. A
" good-for-nothing " they called him :
" What honor would you bring to us dwarves as a damned merchant ?! You'll probably end up as a beggar in Thereatin ! " The commander told him this in front of everyone else, and that remained as a nickname :
beggar.
It infuriated Fognar. He wanted to prove that it was not true, that he was capable, even more capable then the best of students, and he tried, but in vain. As hard as he worked, as much as he learned in the art of warfare he remained
" The Beggar " in everyone's eyes. It nearly drove him mad. Time and time again Fognar was insulted and just as many times he kept his calm, until the evening he was deemed ready to go out of training and in to the world. His hole generation finished training that day, one at a time. In the evening everyone was to be present at the largest tavern in town, a pouch full of gold brought by every one of them. They were supposed to drink all the money they had on them and Fognar knew that not being present would lead to even more ridicule.
He walked in last, after every other dwarf he knew, sat down at an unoccupied table in the corner of the large room and drank as much liquor and ale as he could off the 25 golden coins he had on him. He was never so drunk in his 20 years of life. As he was standing there quietly, drinking from his mug of ale a group of three dwarves came towards him, probably twice as drunk as he was. They were his colleagues just the day before, while they were still in training, the most annoying one was with them. He would mock Fognar any time he had the chance and he did so now aswell :
" Beggar ! What are you doing drinking ale ?! You should be drinking piss, like all beggars should ! Would you mind drinking mine ? " As he said this he came close to Fognar and spilled hit his mug of beer, spilling it all over him :
" Turn around and go away ! " Fognar demanded :
" Or what ? We all know you can't do shite as well as you do. Good-for-nothing ! " Fognar brought his axe with him, as was custom of any dwarf, to bring his weapon along anywhere he goes. All the insults, the spilled ale and the fact that he was drunk infuriated him so much that he let out all the anger that he had built in him in the years before. He grabbed his axe by it's hilt, raised it and swung for one of the dwarves neck. In an instant the dwarf was beheaded and his companions followed. That night Fognar showed everybody that he was capable enough to take down three well-trained dwarves all on his own. The bartender hit Fognar in the head with a chair before any more blood could be spilled and sent him unconscious.
The following morning Fognar woke up behind bars in the town's prison, with a strong headache and a vague memory of what had happened the night before. Slowly he got up from the cold stone on which he slept and started remembering what had happened. Even though he only recalled fragments, Fognar managed to figure out why he was in prison. Murder. He knew the punishment well enough : execution. it had happened before, to his father no less, in similar circumstances. He knew he had to escape.
His mouth was as dry as the air in his cell, but he managed to devise a plan. The guard that had the key to his cell was enjoying a loaf of fresh bread from the outside and a mug of ale , not far from Fognar's cell :
" Guard ! I need water ! " Fognar called in the most desperate tone he could conceive :
" So ? What am I to do about it ? " The guard responded, seemingly not caring :
" I'm so thirsty, I feel like I'll die. Do you want me to die before execution day ? " After giving it some thought, the guard decided it would best to get Fognar some water, just so the blame for his death wouldn't fall on his shoulders. As the guard neared the bars of the cell and handed the bowl full of water to him, Fognar grabbed his hand and pulled with all his strength. He followed up by grabbing the guards head and forcing it face-on against the metal bars. Fognar's strenght was enough to send the guard unconscious and getting the key was rather easy. Through a lot of force, some stealth and a bit of cunning Fognar managed to escape in the open world with his clothes and his axe, still bloody from the night before.
Being outside Fognar headed for Theratin and began freelance mercenary work, as fighting was the only thing he knew, and was rather succesfull in it.
