"Do I get ta kill shit?"
User: Hoffendyke
Race: Human (Araldite)
Gender: Male
Role: Defender
Class/Level: Fighter/Barbarian/4/1
Fearghus is a hulking 6'3" Araldite from Struthancloch with long dark hair and beard and green eyes. His hair and beard are partially braided and have bone beads randomly interspersed throughout. He is clad in furs and kilt of the proper Turnbull tartan. His cloak is the hide of a dire weasel and he will be more than happy to regale you of the tale of how he acquired it. Due to the, albeit short, time spent with the Dran of the southern plateau and his acceptance into their clan Fearghus has ritual scarification on the right side of his face and chest and right arm. Any in his path when the scars turn bone white against his ruddy complexion would find it in their best interest to flee the charging Turnbull. Fearghus is also never without his warmace.
Since being the third son of a minor landholder in Aral meant that he would inherit the kilt around his waist and the shirt on his back (if he was lucky), Fearghus figured that the only way he would have anything to call his own to retire to in his old age would be to either take it or earn it. Being a mercenary means that he gets to do a little bit of both. "Acquiring" enough gold to be able to outfit himself and get on the road, he made his way to Salpia where good, strong Aral mercs are always needed, if not entirely welcomed.
Always ready to share a drink and a war story or clear the room in a brawl, Fearghus can most times be found in a tavern when he isn't putting his martial skills to use in the field. Although he more than lives up to the stereotype for an Aral merc in size and muscle, he's much smarter than the typical Salpian gives his people credit for being. However, Fearghus is content to keep that to himself, even playing into it a bit, and is quietly amused at the lengths some people will take to "put things into terms he can understand."