[hider= Skorrin Halvar]

[b]Character Sheet[/b]
[B]Name:[/b] Skorrin Halvar
[B]Age:[/b] 37
[B]Gender:[/b]Female
[B]Race:[/b]Human
[B]Physical Description:[/b]
[INDENT]Skorrin Halvar is a very tall woman, not conventionally attractive, nearly a head above the average man. Her skin is olive in complexion, tough and leathery, wrinkling in deep laughter lines around her mouth, which is almost always in a warm smile. She possesses strong facial features, high cheekbones and a lantern jaw, but her face is dominated almost completely by her large, sparkling green eyes. Her hair is a bright platinum blonde (she prefers the term “titian”), kept in a single tight braid that reaches down to her waist. Skorrin herself is rawboned, but it would be a mistake to assume her weak- she's corded with muscle, like hemp rope.[/INDENT]
[B]Skillset:[/b]
[INDENT]Skorrin depends mostly on her inexplicably high level of physical strength, which borders on the freakish- she has been observed breaking stones by striking them with her bare hands. She augments this talent with her knowledge of boxing and wrestling, and when in armed combat prefers a long, heavy two-handed mace with an iron head. Skorrin is also a capable rider. Lastly, she is extremely knowledgeable in the area of brewing beer, and twenty years of running a brewery has given her some idea of how to run a business (though her subordinates do most of the actual work). [/INDENT]
[B]Far Ancestry:[/b]
[indent]Far to the north, on the flat, cold plains lies the land known as Ruthen. The people were unexceptional, farmers and nomads- but they were free. They have always been free. The land of Ruthen has no king, no capital, no leaders. They are a simple, hardy people, looking only to get by.

Centuries ago, the Ruthenians tell their children, the sorcerers and overlords arrived and tried to crown themselves kings, threatening these simple peasants with magical annihilation if they did not accept rule. The sorcerer-kings had made an enormous mistake. As the story goes, the Ruthenians always banded together against whatever threat. White-hot with rage, these simple people marched on the magical towers. The panicking sorcerers rained down spells upon them, and here a strange and wondrous thing happened- absolutely nothing. When the peasants were on the march, they were unaffected by even the strongest incantations, walking through them with impunity. And so the brief reign of the northern sorcerers ended, as the peasants simply beat the sorcerers to death, burned the magical books and tore down the towers to the last stone. With that done, the Ruthenians simply returned to their homes and peaceful lives, which has continued unabated and without incident. 

Skorrin remembers quiet winter nights in her family's one-room house, her father telling old stories by the light of the fire. Sometimes, with mischief in his eyes, the old man would claim that so long ago, during the revolt, there had been a Halvar in the front ranks, hit over and over by remarkably ineffective bolts of pure magic. This ancient Halvar had walked away from the revolt as the only one affected, his strength increased to incredible levels, a trait he passed down to his progeny. The old man laughed at this story, always, but the iron horseshoes he absentmindedly straightened while relating the tale suggested that maybe it was more than just a legend. [/indent]
[B]Character History:[/b]
[INDENT]Skorrin Halvar is a simple woman at heart, from humble peasant stock in Ruthen. Her family was notable for only two thing- the beer they brewed from the winter wheat, and the incredible strength they possessed. Everyone knew if you needed your wagon pulled from a ditch, you asked a Halvar for help. She was the only daughter, and naturally her father's favorite. 

When the first news of Dara's war with Pykas reached the quiet north, Skorrin's father saw an opportunity. It was logical enough- war meant soldiers, young men on the move. They'd want to escape the rigors of military life, and the officers wanted to keep morale high. So someone in either army would surely buy some beer. And maybe, just maybe, the elder Halvar reckoned, one of those soldiers might make a good husband for his daughter. So they loaded the cart with the finest of the kvass and wheat ales and headed south, full of optimism.

If they had encountered the forces of Dara, they likely would have had their dreams fulfilled. However, they had the misfortune to first come across a legion of Selander. The old man received an arrow to the eye, his carefully crafted beer quaffed down in minutes, and his daughter put in chains, a sordid prize of war. The young woman was unharmed, aside from the horror of seeing her father murdered. Insensible and depressed, the legion dragged her along, their centurion saving her as a prize for his men after a successful engagement.

They never got the chance to have their sport. The column was ambushed by soldiers from Dara. The alarms and commotion broke through Skorrin's dazed state. The young woman snapped her chains and joined in the fight. Her fist completely caved in one legionnaire's skull, another found his neck snapped like a blade of grass. Skorrin's rampage only ended when the battle did, soldiers of Dara gently welcoming her into their ranks. She found purpose in the fight, in the friendships she forged with other adventurers she met, the adventures they had together. Until finally, the fateful raid on Melazus, a memory she looks on with a mix of pride, horror, and even shame.

She saw no reason to return to Ruthen afterwards. Her brothers had taken over the brewery, and she didn't know that she could assimilate back into the peace and simplicity of her homeland. So she remained in Dara, used her share of the loot to open a brewery. Dara, as it turned out, enjoyed the novelty that was Ruthenian beer, and soon Halvar ale was being sold in every tavern and cellar that mattered. She was wealthy and respected. But still she longs for the old days, the adventure, the camaraderie, the combat.
[/INDENT]
[B]Psychological Profile:[/b]
[INDENT]Skorrin Halvar is a mirthful figure, a woman of simple pleasures. She is first to fight, first to laugh, first to celebrate. She loves a good meal and a good scrap. However, despite her bravado and general good cheer, she secretly feels a great deal of anxiety, particularly when she thinks of that day in Melazus. Pykas commanded things and people that conventional wisdom holds couldn't possibly exist. 
While she trusts in her own strength and ability, she was frightened by the things she saw, to the point of recurring bad dreams and the fear of their return. Of course, this encourages her to be even more happy-go-lucky in an effort to hide her fears. The people who know her the best recognize that Skorrin is most anxious and depressed when throwing the biggest parties.[/INDENT]
[B]Equipment:[/b] 
[INDENT]Skorrin eschews most equipment- her armor sits in storage, traded these days for rich gowns. Generally, she carries a great deal of cash on her, and her holdings include a fine house in Nyati and a stable of horses. Her old mace is placed carefully beside her bed, ready to be swung at a moment's notice. [/INDENT]
[b]Titles/Holdings/Power Base:[/b]
[indent]Skorrin Halvar runs the largest brewery in Dara, her wheat ale having become a household name. As such, she enjoys a great deal of wealth and employs around two hundred workers. The day-to-day operations and bookkeeping are handled primarily by her assistant Lund, Skorrin is more the “idea woman” and public face of the company. The brewery itself is a large three-story brick building in Zalot, a minor landmark in the city. [/indent]
[b]Relationships[/b]
[indent]TBD[/indent]

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