Braker "Daddy" Ironsides

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Braker Ironsides
Posts: 9
Joined: Sun Jun 10, 2018 11:49 pm
Race: Human
Renown: 0

Sun Jun 10, 2018 11:52 pm

Braker Ironsides
Name: Braker Ironsides

Age: 52


Date of Birth:Ymiden 35, 666


Factions Joined:N/A

Languages Spoken: Common (Fluent)



Braker “Daddy” Ironsides isn’t the sort of man to brook an argument. He views the world in black and white, all other colors being of little importance to his world view. He is stern, his face often a mask of imperceptible intimidation. He might as well have large print tattoos reading ‘Fuck Off’ stamped on his forehead. Braker thinks carefully about what he says and does before he does them. When he gets up and moves, he does it quickly and with at least five steps ahead of his competition.
This doesn’t make him a humorless man. His sense of humor is brash and often twisted. He is more than happy to share a chuckle about a dead man, or murder victim. He is at his best when drinking, becoming a jovial and rough character. He is happy to offer a drink or bawdy song (often at the expense of someone else in the room). His thick lowborn accent usually drives off anyone with a sense of taste, which is all well and good because he has none himself. While flair is a distinct part of his personality it is often heavily mixed with utility.
What makes Braker dangerous is his temper. Seething underneath the surface of whatever facet you happen to see first, it is explosive and violent. A friend can turn into an enemy in a flash of ill-concealed rage, or if you happen to be a good friend, rage on whatever object happens to be standing next to you.
Despite his faults, Braker can be sensitive. He has a weakness for old-fashioned romance, and the burst of poetry directed at a prospective lover is often unexpected.

Braker was born in Athart. The gigantic city built for both Avriel and Humans was an odd place to grow up, filled with tension and uncertainty. Humans there thrived with the understanding that the bird people could rain down stones or collapse the pillars high above them at any moment. The Avriel understood that humans were keen archers and much stronger than they were. Braker was a fine example of that. He grew up under his slaver father’s thumb, and while the old man wasn’t too keen on raising a squealing brat he definitely grew interested when Braker was older. Scrawny little boys didn’t fetch much on the market, but with a decent diet and a boyhood of bullying and causing fights had turned Braker into a muscled preteen.
At twelve he was showing signs of being built exactly like his father Clay; short, stocky, built to gain muscle. Clay Ironsides was used to picking out cheap slaves like horseflesh and knew exactly what he was looking for. Braker was put on a heavier diet, and made to run around the streets of the city. Braker didn’t have time for his usual bullying or troublemaking when he was being run ragged four miles a day. Then five miles. Then six. Then the sadistic fuck had him run up and down flights of stairs, which were prevalent in Athart to allow humans to get up to Avriel-run shops. Avriel, much like birds themselves, weren’t too comfortable on the ground.
Braker was a troublesome brat. Fighting, refusing to help with the business and with no interest at all in taking it over. That turned out to be his doom. The second he turned sixteen, and had started to put on his father’s impressively muscular frame, he’d been sold. It hadn’t been out of nowhere; Clay had openly talked about ‘building him up’ and haggling outright with a few other slavers over a price. His father was well-respected among slavers for his willingness to put money into them. Sick and dying slaves earned no one any money. Clay fattened them up, put some muscle on them, taught them a few basic skills and sold them for twice what he’d bought them. His son, being from his own loins, netted pure profit.
His son also had his temperament. It was only out of respect for Clay that he didn’t get himself killed. He’d lose his temper with every buyer, refusing to be shackled properly or disciplined. The scars mounting on his shoulders and back lowered his price and branded him a trouble-maker. Frustrated and losing money every day Braker was both eating and on the market, Clay sold him to a lower bidder. Better some nel than none at all.
A mercenary company, The Golden Tines, seemed to be just the spoonful of medicine Braker needed to beat the bully out of him. Unlike his childhood companions, Braker couldn’t simply beat up on anyone he liked. While the food was plentiful and his muscles grew, he was beaten on a regular basis. Unlike the other mercenaries there for glory and nel, he was there as property. A combination cooking, cleaning, lugging, wood-chopping, beating, and getting frustration-fucked-into-him slave. His new master, a wiry creature by the name of Hillbrack he could have strangled with a pinky, jokingly referred to him as the pocketknife of slaves; able to be used for whatever was needed.
It was a hard life, but it wasn’t difficult to gather some worth for himself. At first his chores were done poorly and balefully. Hillbrack assured him he’d pay for doing so, but it took half a season for Braker to realize exactly what the punishment was. When he gathered wood poorly it was himself who froze. When he didn’t wash pans correctly they all got sick and were unable to feed him. Spitefully leaving a piece of gear behind meant someone got killed and the rest of the company hated him. Fighting a rape made it more painful and took longer to recover. Braker was rebellious, but he wasn’t stupid.
He began to throw his back into his work. Carrying more wood, offering to help, cleaning the cookware until he could see his reflection in it. He learned armor maintenance from offering to clean and repair the rest of the company’s armor. They weren’t stupid enough to let him near weaponry…but they did let him handle their shields.
Braker was instinctively drawn to the tower shields. Long, rectangular beasts of iron or wood that could cover a man’s entire body like a wall. They were achingly hard to hold up, and Braker began cleaning and repairing more of them on purpose. Any excuse to use a shield. Wood had dry rot or needed polishing? He could lift and maneuver the shield once he’d done the work. Iron showed signs of rust? A little oil and buffing, then back to lifting the weights. He had no formal training in weaponry but any man could use anything as a weapon with enough time…and Braker had found his. A shield could both protect and be sharply slammed forward into an opponent. It could be protection, it could be a spined wall of death to be driven down someone’s throat. It wasn’t as swift or elegant as a blade but it made up for it with sheer power.
His little activities didn’t go unnoticed. Hillbrack urged one of the older mercenaries to teach him to use one. Not just to prevent an expensive young man from getting himself killed, but to see if he could actually use it. Braker was starting to fill out. It took more effort to take advantage of him alone in his tent and most of the mercenaries started not to even bother. When he got strong enough to land a sufficient punch, they left him alone to sleep. That was enough encouragement to drive him down the path of physical strength. Namely, by pursuing his shield training.
Every gap in chores was an opportunity to bug the others to teach him something. How to hold a shield. How to lift it properly so he didn’t hurt himself. How to face a man with it. The proper moment to slam it into the ground and hide behind it…and the proper moment to break someone’s face in. He learned the advantages of having spikes and the tradeoffs between wood and metal. Everyone had their own opinions and Braker listened to them all with the voraciousness of someone eager to prove himself.
Progress was slow.
By his early twenties Braker had become competent in the use of a shield. He’d learned all he could from the small mercenary company. The day Hillbrack turned up with a younger boy and demanded Braker teach him chores was the shield-bearer’s cue to leave service as a slave. Surprisingly, given his newfound physical strength Hillbrack was loathe to see him go. The man’s plan had been to incorporate him in as a mercenary. However, it was unlikely the rest of the company would see him as little more than their personal bitch. After agreeing to teach the new him some ropes, Braker was set free. Too expensive to feed, too explosive to keep around. He’d been bought cheaply, so the Golden Tines suffered no great loss.
Surprisingly, he’d gained the affection of one or two of his teachers, who set together a cheap traveler’s package to send him off with.

Clay’s possessions are strapped to an old cart the mercenary company was kind enough to part with. A pair of antlers crudely slathered on in gold paint are the only indications of what it once was. The horse is a relatively aged farmhorse with the constitution of a saint; it knows little more than to plod along at the bidding of its master.
Knowledge & Skills

SkillPoints AcquiredTotal Points SpentProficiency
Business Management0/100 (0/250)Novice
Discipline10/100 (0/250)Novice
Negotiation0/100 (0/250)Novice
Unarmed: Brawling (RB)25/100 (25/250)Novice
Strength (FT)20/100 (FT)Novice
Shields (Tower) 10/100(0/250)Novice



Unarmed (Brawling) : Being creative in your selection of impromptu weaponry.
Strength: some weapons are heavier than others.
Endurance: Powering through an exhausting experience.
Shields (Tower): Covering your torso.
Discipline: Controlling your temper.
Business Ventures

Marks and Special Weaponry



Skill Point Ledger

Thread or Skill NamePoints AwardedPoints SpentRunning Total
Starting Package 500050
Unarmed (Brawling) ..25RB
Endurance ..10 40
Shields (Tower)..1030
Strength ..20 00

Starting Package: Traveler's Pack
  • (SP) One Set of Clothing (Coat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots)
    (SP)Weather Gear (Thick coat, thick pants, undergarments, winter boots)
    (SP)Horse and Wagon
    (SP)100ft of rope
    (SP)One tinderbox
    (SP)Set of six torches
    (SP)Fishing pole with (30) hooks
    (SP)A blanket
    (SP)Four rucksacks
    (SP)Utility Knife
    (SP)One toiletry set
    (SP) 2 rags
    (SP)Optional: One set of trapping equipment

Starting Package: Traveler’s Pack ... 0
(SP) One Set of Clothing (Coat, shirt, trousers, and a pair of boots) ... 25
(SP)Weather Gear (Thick coat, thick pants, undergarments, winter boots) ... 25
(SP)Tent ... 25
(SP)Horse and Wagon ... 25
(SP)100ft of rope ... 25
(SP)One tinderbox ... 25
(SP)Set of six torches ... 25
(SP)Lantern ... 25
(SP)Bedroll ... 25
(SP)Compass ... 25
(SP)Fishing pole with (30) hooks ... 25
(SP)A blanket ... 25
(SP)Four rucksacks ... 25
(SP)Utility Knife ... 25
(SP)Waterskin ... 25
(SP)One toiletry set ... 25
(SP) 2 rags ... 25
Total Currency: 0 ON, 25 GN, 0 SN, 0 CN

]Item/ ThreadRenownTotal
Starting 00
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