Jarl Beornson

5'9", 185 lbs., 19 yrs., pale skin, shoulder-length blonde hair, blue-gray eyes


Jarl Beornson, level 1
Half-Elf, Barbarian
Build: Rageblood Barbarian
Feral Might: Rageblood Vigor
Birth – Among Another Race: Among Another Race (Human)

Str 16, Con 18, Dex 13, Int 11, Wis 10, Cha 10.

Str 16, Con 16, Dex 13, Int 11, Wis 10, Cha 8.

AC: 15 Fort: 17 Reflex: 13 Will: 11
HP: 33 Surges: 12 Surge Value: 8

Nature +5, Athletics +7, Endurance +8

Acrobatics, Arcana, Bluff, Diplomacy +2, Dungeoneering, Heal, History, Insight +2, Intimidate, Perception, Religion, Stealth, Streetwise, Thievery

Level 1: Stubborn Survivor

Barbarian at-will 1: Howling Strike
Barbarian at-will 1: Recuperating Strike
Half-Elf: Brash Strike
Barbarian encounter 1: Avalanche Strike
Barbarian daily 1: Bloodhunt Rage

Battlecrazed Greataxe +1, Hide Armor, Adventurer's Kit, Amulet of Physical Resolve +1


"Only fools and women stand between a man and his son," his father would say, before beating his mother, then beating him. He remembers the day he killed his first reindeer. His aim was off, and he chased it for two hours across the tundra before it bled to death. He brought it home, and his father beat him.

He killed a boy in his sixteenth year. There were five, two with knives. The tallest stood before him, four hands taller, slower. He broke the arm of the one behind him, kicked the knife away, and shoved him into the boy with the other knife. He reached in his pockets and smashed his head into the face of the tallest boy, who screamed from a broken nose. He grabbed a rock in each hand from his pockets and slammed them again and again against the boy's head like clams against the rocks, crunching bone beneath his fists, until the kicks to his head brought in blackness.

The first time he truly tried to kill his father, his father broke his left shoulder. It healed in two months, and then he tried again. His father broke his left shoulder again. He spit on him. "The day my son can beat me is the day I deserve to die. You are weak. You are no son of mine."

By the next summer he finally became a man. He had grown later than the others. He was smaller than the rest, but quick and sturdy. It only takes an axe to fell a pine. A bear attacks from a crouch.

He did not wait for his father to step off the boat before he threw the harpoon. His dove into the water, dropping his shield and spear. He ran to meet his father at the waves. Surprised, the men had yet to pull the boat ashore.

"I should have killed you when you were born!" his father yelled. And then he felt the burn of the thrown dagger buried in his left shoulder, lowering his axe for a moment, long enough for his father to charge toward him from the waves.

He dropped his axe and picked up the nearest spear he had buried in the sand and kneeled down, gripping firmly. He felt the wild swipe of his father's sword against his back and then was knocked down under the weight of his father.

He shoved his father off. The spear breached clear through his father's armor, piercing his spine and coming out through his back. His father's eyes and mouth were wide open, staring at him with rage. He pulled the dagger from his shoulder, bent down, and slit his father's throat like a drowning fish.

He and his mother left. She took him to her people. There was no place for him there. He had killed his father, but he would always be his father's son. His father's people were the sworn enemy. Plans were made for him. His mother sent him off, far away.

"You are a man now, Jarl. Leave the tragedy of your past and make your own future, my son." She had returned home. He had left his. She had sent him to this school. He loved his mother, but his mother never understood. You can change a man as soon as you can tame a wolf.

Jarl Beornson

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