[hider=Ser Tytan, The Berserker]
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Tytan, The Berserker
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/lHsq6Rl.jpg[/img][img]https://i.imgur.com/jEPTNHX.jpg[/img]
[color=white]Age:28 Winters[/color]  (17th day of the Evening Star/12 AC)

[color=orange]Appearance: 
Height: 6'10
Weight: 380 lbs
Hair: Red
Skin: Pale
Body Type: Strongman

With Pale skin,that has recently been feeling the kiss of steady sunlight, the gargantuan Thenn is built heavily in favor of great strength. His body is padded with muscle, and despite lacking the pure definition that many men within the South have and are proud of, there is no doubt there are few that could match him in strength. His hair blazes red, more so when the Summer sun catches it and gives him the appearance of being wreathed in flames, all the more terrifying when he is caked in blood.[/color]

[color=White]Description & biography:

He was a Thenn, that is what the Southerners called him, those at least that knew of his people. It was mostly the Crows that spoke of it, how they described him when he spoke of where he came from when he was asked. However he had always felt ‘distant’, from his people. They were content to sit and worship at the Magnar's feet. They were content to live in the mountains, to remain at the Frostfangs and only travel when it came time to claim a woman. He felt that the life they lived was not his destiny, because he wanted more. He felt a calling in his blood each time he looked at the wall, that great barrier of Ice and Stone. He needed to see what was beyond it, to experience what it had to offer. What Drink would he find, what food would he eat, what women would he lay with? These questions danced in his mind, demanding answers, demanding satisfaction. What more was there to the world?! He needed to know!

So he sought it out.

He eventually gave in to the call, and on his 22nd winter he set out, but he did not just wander out without preparation. He was not a fool, he had prepared himself well, and supplied himself with knowledge. He traveled to Eastwatch, as the Crows call it, and played his part well. He traded supplies and gifts for knowledge and language. The 'Maesters' there were easy enough, simply by trading his language for theirs he learned the common tongue of the Kneelers, and even managed to earn a fair bit of coin in the duels he had with the guard there. He offered to teach them how the Free Folk fought, so they would be better prepared in their outings, and in return they would supply him with Stags and Dragons for his work. In over a year, he had a purse of dragons and stags, and he had felt it was finally time. So on his last trip to the Eastwatch, he stowed away on an outbound ship, some other merchant vessel headed towards some port city called White Harbour.

It was there that he spent his first days within the South. He commissioned a new set of armor, clothing, and even bought a horse in order to make himself blend in more. He had seen plenty of fighting men, in armor and regalia, and the respect they had been given by the people. What better way to blend in then to become one, and to be honest he was quite entranced by the need to fight. His time however was well spent in the weeks in White Harbour, he learned much and even came to appreciate at least a portion of the Southerners faith. The Warrior seemed to be an Old God of War and Battle, honor and Courage were traits he could respect in a fighter though he did see the necessity for more dubious means sometimes.

He found himself blending quite well with the people despite the clear differences between him and a majority of the Kneelers, given he could see clear over the heads of nearly all of them. He took to calling himself 'Tytan', after a remark in the tavern from one of the Milksops there had got himself pissed off of the watery fluid they called attempted to pass off as Mead. It seems he would have to settle for this weak drink for a while, if only to blend in. He had been called 'Big as a titan' by a man who tried to get him to fight a well known brawler at the tavern, though it did not end the way they wanted. Deprived of their pride, and a handful of stags, 'Tytan' left that Tavern with a wide smile, if an unquenched thirst.

He knew he could not simply coast on the grace of luck, so he set to crafting a tale for himself. So as he traveled, he spun tall tales, each different from the last in order to test how the people reacted. Eventually he settled on the unfortunate outcome of a woman of the North running afoul a Wildling, and ending up with a massive bastard of a boy. It was a simple, and easily believable story that the people ate up and understood. 

Given his talents, it should be no surprise when he found himself falling into the habit of working with the Men at Arms in the Riverlands. From Bandit hunting at the like, to the simple actions of working as a Guard from time to time within the city proper for various peoples. He eventually began doing mercenary work all across the realm, eventually ending up being swept into the fighting within the Riverlands. At first he did not know what was happening, so he ended up fighting for whichever side had paid him the most, falling under Harren the Red’s banner. Yet as he fought the warriors sent against him, he began to notice the weakness present within the commanders and the growing competence of the men he was fighting. It was clear there was a breakdown as the forces of Harren the Red were continually being pushed back. His use as both a tracker and a scout were pivotal, because they offered him value that he could negotiate with, alongside his knowledge of the area as well as key points of interest, it gave him something to offer when he approached the Reachmen. So tossing down his allegiance with his previous benefactor, he approached the Reachmen and offered his blades and the information they would need to pursue their battle all the better. The names and locations of camps he knew of, the men he knew were important, and more importantly he offered to be the man in the front in order to prove he was willing to kill those he had once fought with. 

He was placed in the Vanguard of one Lady Vittoria Tyrell, and began to prove himself as a capable and dedicated warrior. Tracking down the roaming bands of his once allies, he was first in and last out when the slaughter came. Bathing himself in the blood of many, as his crude brass axes left little mercy to be had. The Days passed, and Harren was pressed further and further back until he was trapped west of God’s Eye. Upon the passing of Lord Alyn, he proved himself further by taking the village the Hand had fallen in with a storm of blood. Crashing through thin hut walls with all the force of a Berserker, he fell upon the foe as the rest of the Vanguard dived into the bloody melee. He stood over the corpses of the ones who had slain the Hand, and returned his body to his Lady, for he knew that it was important. With that in hand, Harren soon fell and he had, through his actions, earned a Knightship. It had such an impact that even his new little lady had the grace to reward him with gear, proper armor and weapons befitting a knight. 



Blood Red Armor, a Brass Rune in the language of the First Men emblazoned on his chest piece, he looked more the fearsome demon than the knight. Standing near 6 '10, he was in fact a Titan of a man, as the nickname given to him in the Tavern attested. He weighed nearly a full 380 lbs, and was so strong he could carry his own horse up flights of stairs should he wish. He was a merry man, feeling the need to drink and share stories with those he fought alongside. He was known for Tall Tales, things so fanciful that the men simply enjoyed them for what they were, entertainment. Yet his horror stories of the North, of the men with skin like ice and the living dead were known to lower the temperature of rooms, and chill the blood in a man's body despite their obvious exaggeration. For there are no men that live past death in the Frozen North.

Owing much to the Brave and Bold Steel Rose of the Tyrell family, he swore an oath to follow her so long as she led the Order of the Golden Rose, his little Lady Vittoria. The ‘Ardent’ Maiden, the words themselves bringing a chuckle to his lips. He was not the most wise, nor the most intelligent, but he was learned enough to realize the double meaning of the title. The Irony of the description of Ardent being applied to his Calm and Calculating little Mistress always made him chuckle just a bit. If there was one thing his Lady was Passionate about, it was knowledge, and she continued to amaze him with the sheer scope of things she knew. And so he marched with her, at her side and in her Vanguards. He tracked her foes, he slew her enemies, and he watered the Steel Rose with a river of blood so that one day it may bloom the most brilliant red. 

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