Ragnarun, son of Harbard

Tribe and Clan
Ragnarun hails from the Tribe of the Grey Fox. This small tribe, finding favor from neither the radical nor the traditional tribes of the Arzhel due to its relative neutrality, lives mostly in isolation from the others amongst the cold mountain peaks. They communicate with other Arzhel tribes only in extreme cases of need and even then, they'd rather take care of the hardship alone. Most of the Arzhel tribes have forgotten its existence. This isolation has let to the tribe being more intolerant/racist of other tribes and peoples of the world.

Ragnarun was born to smaller, less wealthy (lower end of moderate by Arzhel standards) clan within this tribe. His father was never considered a great warrior and was a leatherworker by trade. Although not shunned, the family wasn't held in high esteem. Still, the family agreed with and abided by the laws of the tribe.

In short, Ragnarun was from an unimportant clan in a forgotten tribe of bigots.

Birth
He was born the fourth child of six. At his birth, the First Mother, Eiren, was first to notice being born with strange markings. He was immediately brought before the Gothi. Upon being unable to divine the child's destiny from the stars, their suspicions were confirmed. The child was born with a Sigil of Fate. Normally, the birth of a hero would be celebrated and embraced. However, due to the tribes already prejudice views, this struck fear into the hearts of not only the elders and other clans, but of his mother, Alda, as well. A hero would bring unwanted attention from the other tribes and peoples of this world. In addition, the sigil would have its own plans for the baby that the tribe could not interfere with. He was fearfully given the name Ragnarun.

(NOTE: This is a blend of the Nordic event Ragnarok ["Doom of the Gods"], and run [Germanic for "rune"] ).

Childhood
As it is, Ragnarun's clan was generally looked down upon due to their status in the tribe. This turned to fear and disgust once news of Ragnarun's sigil spread. He became a black sheep and generally wasn't offered the favor that other children his age enjoyed. He'd often find himself at the wrong end of some child fist and was not often seen without a visible bruise. Ragnarun always made sure he returned the favor, however.

Due to a lack of possessions of any real value, Ragnarun began collecting any number of things that caught his interest; Broken pieces of chainmail, interestingly shaped rocks, glass beads or trinkets he'd find, interesting broken toys, etc. He'd often combine them to make trinkets or toy weapons. The more useless items were kept in a small pouch he kept at his side.

Most of his time was spent outside of the view of the tribe. He'd explore the neighboring wilderness. Venturing out on such a frequent basis allowed him to learn every square inch of his surroundings. He'd study how the flora (evergreens mostly due to the frozen climate) grew, how the animals hunted, fought and moved. Since he was only allowed access to the most basic of combat training (which is still better than most cultures), Nature became his teacher.

When he was allowed, he'd watch his father craft leather armor and pouches for the tribe. On special occasions, he'd be allowed to try working the leather himself with the scraps from other projects. Mostly, Ragnarun would make pouches to keep his collectables in.

Coming of Age
By this time in his life, he was now working in his father's leather crafting shop (behind the scenes of course) to help make and repair armor. He would still find himself making more trinkets than anything useful. The hunters and warriors of the tribe only went to Harbard's shop if the other more prominent leather workers were too busy.

The time for Ragnarun to prove himself came on his 16th birthday.

Regardless of his differences, Ragnarun was still an Arzhel. As most underdogs would, he determined that he would bring back a beast that would solidify him as a viable and useful member of his tribe. Wielding a two-handed axe, he set out. Nine days into his trial, he was un-able to find a beast he considered suitable to prove his worth.

He made his way towards a wolf den he had come across in his youth. Although not beasts of legend, the wolves of the area were known for their larger size and ferocious nature. He approached what seemed to be an empty den. Discouraged, Ragnarun turned around and started heading back to his village empty handed. Mere seconds after turning his back, a great force and pain stuck him from behind; one that would knock the breath (and will) out of most his age. Lucky, due to relentless fights as a child, he was more prepared for that sort of blow.

Knocked over, he quickly spun on his back to see what had stuck him. Before him stood a great wolf, not quite the size of a horse (slightly larger than a bull mastiff). A battle ensued for hours. The two forces exchanged blows until, with fury that Ragnarun didn't realize he was capable of, he took up his axe and came down atop the wolf's head, splitting his skull. He skinned part of the wolf on the spot, taking that section and wrapping it around his shoulders to help fight off the cold (an item he still owns to this day).

The dragged the rest of the wolf to his tribe (which took the better part of a day). It was the 10th day of his ordeal by the time he arrived back. Most had given up the hope of his return. Others bet against his victory. Even so, his homecoming was not the glorious return he had hoped for. Actually quite the opposite. He was greeted by his father at the front gate, a rough leather sack in his hand. In it were all of Ragnarun's possessions.

Now that he was considered an adult, he was no longer required to care for him. The Gothi and the Vala were in agreement. He was to be banished from the tribe. He left the wolf where it laid, but not without taking one more trinket (as he was used to)… a tooth from the wolf's upper jaw. Later he would craft it into a necklace the he continues to wear.

No words were exchanged.

Current
Taking up work as a mercenary when he can, Ragnarun ( now 25 ) wanders the world. He fights when he is needed, generally without care of who is at the receiving end of his two-handed axe. Just as long as there is payment in the end, your services are his. He's unsure of who to trust and doesn't lend his easily. Generally, he prefers solitude. If you get him to speak more than a few words at a time, you're among the few. In addition to his traditional Arzhel garb, he can be found sporting a seemingly random collection of trinkets and armor pieces. These are a collection of prizes he's claimed from fallen foes, a habit he picked up as a child.

Through this facade, he longs for some sense of normalcy. But due to his up-bringing, he doesn't allow most people to come close. He is seen as cold and uncaring. It's hard to call Ragnarun a racist since it seems he hates his own culture more than everyone else's. Unlike most, he avoids those of his own kind and refuses to lend his services as a mercenary if other Arzhel are to join him.

He continues on without much regard for the mark he was born with, seeming to be more concerned where his next meal is coming from.