Berenor

[Abendrot]

Name: Berenor


Age: 413


Gender: Male


Race: Wood Elf


Height: 5'8"


Hair Color: Black


Hair Style: Short


Eye Color: Grey


Body type: Slim


Weapons: 


- Bow (passed down from his father)


- Arrows (30 in his quiver at a time)


- Seax (x2)


Items:


- Field rations


- Horn


- Money


- Vials of poison


- Waterskin


- Rucksack


Clothes:


- Longcoat


- Linen shirt


- Red headscarf


- Woolen pants


- Worn leather boots


- Travel cloak


Armor (worn alongside clothes):


- Leather jerkin


- Leather bracers


- Mail gloves


- Mail greaves


Kingdom:


Kingdom: Freidien


Who are you?


Personality: Passionate about nature and hunting, Berenor does his people no favors in preventing stereotypes. He's a good-natured man, though, prone to cracking jokes and making people's days. He's always bright and mirthful in the company of his Sacred Warband, though he's rather distant towards outsiders. He is nonetheless compassionate towards those who are suffering or who have suffered at the demons' hands, outsider or not. His friendly attitude is not to be mistake for naivete. He understands that some unsavory things must be done if the circumstances deem them necessary. Stubborn and proud, he is not one to bend the knee easily, but ofttimes he becomes overconfident in his abilities. Berenor despises demons and anything associated with them, which is why he's so eager to kill them. He makes a point to show them no quarter or mercy.


History: Berenor was born into one of the more traditionalist wood elven villages, brought up in the same way that his forefathers had millennia before. Isolationist and self-sufficient, his parents taught him how to hunt and survive from the day he could grasp a bow in his hand. His father, one of the tribe's best hunters, taught him the ways of archery and stealth. Berenor was taught to use every part of his quarry so as to not waste the life of another woodland creature. Bowstrings were spun from sinew, knives carved from bone, and lantern fuel made from animal fat. Occasionally, the tribe would see a High Elven taxman arrive in the village, and they would humor him with a sufficient amount of pelts and poultices, but aside from that, the clan had very little contact with the rest of Freidien.


Berenor was a mischievous sort in his youth, infamous around the village for his pranks and escapades. As he aged into adolescence, however, he became less like a child at play and more like a young adult defying authority for the sake of it. The elders would grind their teeth and their once affectionate annoyance turned into contempt for his apathy. Berenor was simply not content with his life. The tribe was small, and the towering trees of the forest seemed like the bars of a prison cell to him. He'd heard of bigger, better places from around the country, and even the world. It was after his 100th birthday, after breaking a handful of young maiden hearts, that Berenor worked up the resources and courage to leave home. He felt he was better suited for urban life anyways, where his skills in combat would be put to far better use than back in his hometown. Over the course of the next few centuries, Berenor sold himself as a mercenary, travelling from country to country. He learned the common language, made some friends, and slew bandits and monsters to keep food on the table and a roof above his head.


By the time of his third century on this earth, Berenor made enough money to find a small home in Zael, where he could lead a simple life as a hunter, gardener, and merchant. Once every decade or so, he would return home to his village to visit, but usually not for more than a month at a time. It was during one of these trips home that Freidien was attacked by those demonic abominations. Hordes upon hordes of monsters ravaged the land, burning the elven forests and leaving nothing behind. The clan was severely outnumbered and faced impossible odds, but nevertheless, Berenor led the warband against them, showering the enemy with arrows from the treetops in the hopes that they would retreat. They did not. After a lengthy battle, the demons finally overran the village, sparing not even the smallest child in their slaughter. Berenor himself was captured by a demon commander, who had his face shoved down into the still burning remains of his own house. There he was left to die in suffering, robbed of his hallmark elven beauty, and left with a burning hatred of demons


Eventually, Berenor awoke with bandages around his head in a bed that was not his own. Around him were men and women, some from his village, but most he did not recognize. Every one of them had bows in their hands and blades at their belts. The man sitting by his bedside turned out to be Norren, a childhood friend of Berenor's, He explained that after the demons left to raid the other towns, Norren and his wife discovered Berenor to be still alive in the rubble, and carried him home to administer medical care. As a result of the burns, Berenor had lost all sight in his right eye and was left with a grotesque scar on that side of his face. As for the other elves, they had survived the attacks on their settlements and so came to Norren's woodland house, which had somehow gone undetected by the demonic invaders. Bitter and vengeful for the loss of his family and home, Berenor swore to drive the demons out of Freidien forever with those who still survived. Every soul in house signed on. With bows and arrows in their hands, Berenor and his Sacred Warband set out to wage guerrilla warfare on the beasts that had taken everything from them.


Habits:


- Makes bird sounds


- Cracks his knuckles incessantly


- Insomniac


- Takes tea very seriously


- Sleeps with his weapons (and sometimes his armor)


Fears:


- Fire


- Abnormally large insects


- Claustrophobic


Hobbies:


- Hunting


- Archery


- Ornithology


- Botany


- Gardening


- Demon-slaying


Other: Berenor has lost sight in his right eye.