Loyal, strong, and observing the obvious, He's ready to roll.
Grendmir the Fighter wields an axe, a shield, and sometimes a lucky trident (two out of two throws have been natural 20s). He loves the Brash Strike, charging into his foes, even if it leaves him open, and he has a penchant for doing so even when it’s not his turn, like when the rascals try to run from him, or attack one of his friends. Grendmir’s all about taking the punishment for himself, using Combat Challenge and a special tattoo that lets him take his friends’ damage for them.
Grendmir likes things short and to the point when they’re not weapons, so let’s take his story in his frame of mind.
He comes from a small Dragonborn village in islands out to sea. His village seems twice-cursed, once in that the denizens aren’t the brightest of Dragonborn, maybe something in the water, and second in that every year, around the same time of year, there’s a plague or infestation or invasion, or something awful clouding the lives of the villagers. The village must be burned down every year.
When Grendmir realized this was an abnormal custom, and even a stupid one, he decided it was time to broaden his horizons. Leaving home and traveling a while, he found good prospects in Luruar with a trio of Dwarf brothers. They hired Grendmir as a bodyguard while slowly amassing riches in their merchant trade. Grendmir thought they were all having a blast, becoming good friends, until 10 years passed and the brothers decided it was time to pack up, go home, and start working on the next generation in business.
Grendmir had pissed most of his shares away in partying and alcohol. Lost for purpose, he sank deeper into this, wandering aimlessly. It was either fortune or its opposite that Grendmir met Errik Loreno, a halfling and member of the Loreno crime family. He went back to being a bodyguard and as lawmen made it clear to Errik that a life lacking in crime might be a longer one, Grendmir found himself once again surrounded by companions.
And soon he regretted it. No one got along, everyone took things way too personally between them, morals were touted, compromised, digested, and shat out. Grendmir couldn’t choose sides though; everyone was willing to keep him around and he felt loyal enough to give up the alcohol, forever.
Then the newly founded Company of Discord discovered that their souls were chosen by a centuries-old lich to charge up some doomsday power so he could return to the living world with a vengeance, and Grendmir wished he hadn’t quit drinking. Still, a vow is a vow, which means no drinking, staying with his quarrelsome, dangerous friends, seeking a way to defeat the lich, or at least change his plan of action without falling into it, and perhaps discover something in his lineage to be proud of… something… perhaps far in the past… perhaps very, very far in the past, before his kin forgot what pride was and decided to destroy their homes as an annual celebration.
...Grendmir’s road may be long.