Bio:
No one knows where Krieger hails from. A wanderer, he appears out of deserts, desolate places, and the no-man lands of carnage and death. No part of his attire fits the other – like all his possessions, it’s been bargained, foraged, scavenged, pillaged, claimed, and even downright stripped off another’s corpse.
A coarse man of quiet nobility, he pulls his cart himself rather than place his burden on another – be they beast or brethren. His cart, a battered coffin box on mismatched wheels, hauls his jars of red ochre, a sharpening wheel, and, curiously, old blades and weapons smithed by a dozen different races. Most of his freight he trades to eke out a simple living. But two weapons in his cart he refuses to part with: his axe and gore-eaten sword. Unremarkable items to most, but to those attuned to the subtleties of spell-craft, the threads that bind the three – master and blades – sing of something more.
Shunned, derided, or grudgingly let in through the gates to sell his wares or to work his wheel for the humblest coin, he is a man of few words and fewer niceties, used to decent folk avoiding him. Yet woe betide those who try to bother, harass, or do violence on him. As deadly swift with any weapon and his brawn as he is slow and frugal in his speech, he is the last man standing in any fight – and will surely strip the dead clean to add to his cart’s load.