Height: 6' 10
Weight: 310lbs
Hair Color: Pale Blonde
Eye Color: Green
Inventory: Iron Bastard Sword, Iron War Axe, Chainmail Armor, Plate Helmet with Broken Horn

Bio: Starken born into a nomadic tribe, born in the harshness of the mountains, was raised by steel. His father shaped it, created steel to harness in battle. Weapons were blunt, heavy, but shaped to cleave the head of a boar in one stroke.

His body was shaped and marked to wield the weapons of his people. Most prized of his weapons being a broad sword which had belonged to his father. There was nothing intricate about the blade. It was simple in design, tightly wrapped leather handle, and thick worn steel, dull in color but with unrivaled strength.

As with most tribes, war came often. Very few remained in a position of power for long. It was the first of many harsh realities which fell upon him.

He was left to die in the bitter cold. Starken awoke, enraged. He could not place the feeling which surged in every muscles, he only knew he was awoken and had an insatiable thirst for vengeance.

The screams that came from the mountains that night still echo. The blood of the aftermath still believed to stain the grounds of the tribe that had taken everything from him.

He had stepped into the tavern, horn broken from his helm, arrows pierced through his armor, the steel of his armor and sword stained artistically with the dry, frozen blood of the fallen.

Sitting in the dark corners of the tavern, broad hands taking up pitchers of ale like one would a pint, Starken brooded. Every day the warrior stomped in, every day sat and drank.

There was nothing for the man except his ale, passing women, and his steel. The broken horn on his helm and statuesque frame had the locals dub him "Stone Horn".

Once a proud tribesmen, he spends his days hunting, and lending his sword to parties in need for hefty coin. He is a man of few virtues and fewer desires.

For the correct price he is blunt weapon, a wall of power for those in need of such.