Swiftbeard Stout

Bramli Swiftbeard is a tavern brawler, a storyteller, a laugher of loud laughs and a drinker of strong drinks. He has more jokes than scars and more scars than regrets. Because he never learned how to back down. He just learned how to take a hit.

Now, he stands with his dwarven kin, crossbow at the ready, facing Oridum Graybrow and the conclave's mercenaries. He grins and fires both bolts and insults, questioning his enemies’ aim and the virtue of their mothers.

The battle in the Great Lowlands looks hopeless. The dwarves are outnumbered, and Oridum’s firestorms are closing in. But Bramli still believes. He believes in the battle mage. He believes reinforcements will come.

So he buys time. He laughs and shouts, “Oy, Oridum! You wearin’ that hat, or is it wearin’ you?” And, “Oridum, mate, I could’ve overlooked you burnin’ the world down, but I can’t abide your crimes against fashion.”

The others love him for it—his jokes, his laughter, his presence. He helps them forget the odds, forget what’s at stake. He helps them forget their fear and makes the impossible seem a little more possible.