In our Lords Year of 1185, the Kingdoms of Grymwerth and Anderios are at war. For years now they have been fighting neither side gaining an advantage. Thousands have died and more will soon, but it has also made opportunities for adventerous people to find their fortune their in the un-rest.
One such person was walking down a road towards the town of Lynth, he was not exactly what you would call handsome, but more rougish in appearance. He had chin length brown hair, and at least three day stubble on his face. And a 4 inch long scar running over his right eye from a sword cut many years ago. He wore only a steel becked leather breastplate and vambraces for armor, and a beaten up cloak of green flowed behind him. He had the long ropey muscle of a runner and wrestler, and more scars than one could count on first glance. His name is Folknar.
One such person was walking down a road towards the town of Lynth, he was not exactly what you would call handsome, but more rougish in appearance. He had chin length brown hair, and at least three day stubble on his face. And a 4 inch long scar running over his right eye from a sword cut many years ago. He wore only a steel becked leather breastplate and vambraces for armor, and a beaten up cloak of green flowed behind him. He had the long ropey muscle of a runner and wrestler, and more scars than one could count on first glance. His name is Folknar.