Blog Home
View All Posts
Olaf (The Elder Scrolls/Skyrim)
"Stay with me, friend. It's not your time yet." - Olaf, healing a grievously wounded comrade after a battle.
Name: Olaf Iron-Hands
Aliases: None
Race: Nord
Age: Mid/Late 20s as of 4E208 (Can be older depending on the setting)
Occupation: Former Stormcloak battle-healer
Faith: Broken, worships no gods. Still sends Mara a prayer occasionally.
Height: 6'6/~198 cm
Weight: 232 lbs/~105 kg
Eyes: Green. They constantly look tired and have dark bags under them.
Hair: Dark-ish blond hair. Usually wears an undercut with his hair tossed to one side. Has a stubble and a healthy mustache.
Skin: Fair
Identifying marks: The tips of all his fingers are tattooed black, and he has an old nordic rune carved into his left cheek, unnoticeable from afar, but quite evident when up close. Rope scar around his neck.
*Equipment:
- Spear (Around 8 ft length)
- Decorated nordic dagger
- One brass knuckle
- Slightly narcotic herbs
- Bandages
*Armor (not clothes):
- Dark brown gambeson
- Worn norse helmet, well maintained
- Worn leather gloves and boots, well maintained
*Magic:
- Advanced healing spells
- Advanced wards
- Basic flame spell
*Instrument: Flute
Personality: Unlike what his name suggests, Olaf Iron-Hands isn't a bloodthirsty brute, despite indeed having heavy hands. He is an affectionate man who feels deeply both for comrades and strangers. He's loyal, stubborn and has a deep sense of community for his countryfolk and will gladly put his life on the line to protect those he cares about.. Despite being a healer, he isn't scared of fighting, and fights very well. When in battle, he is imposing, and his size and healing skills are often encouraging factors for his comrades. Olaf grew very depressed and resentful of Ulfric Stormcloak after the Civil War ended. The conflict broke both him and his faith.
Likes:
- Poetry
- Music
- Warmth
- Cooking
- Healing people
Dislikes:
- Ulfric Stormcloak
- The gods
- Fanaticism
- Himself
Backstory:
Olaf was born and raised in Windhelm, which meant that as a youngster, he had quite strong opinions on anyone who wasn't a nord. He lived by the motto "Skyrim belongs to the nords" and would often bully the dunmer and argonians that worked at the city.
Within his household, his parents weren't any different - they had raised him that way, after all. He also had a sister who also shared the same opinions, but was constantly sick and bedridden. Young Olaf always felt deeply upset about his sister's condition, and seeing that no healer seemed to be good enough to help her, he vowed to one day become a healer worthy of saving her life.
Despite this noble aspiration, Olaf was still a young nord man, and as all folks like him, he wished to prove his worth through bloody combat. The opportunity came in the shape of Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebelion. Still hoping to one day become a healer, though, the young man joined a special unit consisting of battle healers. From a young age, he seemed to have a good grasp at healing magic, maybe because of individual training in order to help his sister, and went through some brief training before the revolution escalated into an all out war.
The nord's illusions of glody and greatness were quickly shattered after the absolute carnage that was his first battle. He witnessed men being split open with axes, heads being smashed with hammers and maces, guts spilling out of still living men... and despite that, he tried to heal whatever he could on the field. The grim reality of his job would only make itself clearer back at camp, when maimed and grievously wounded survivors and prisoners needed the aid of healers.
Having people die in his arms was something common, and despite developing a bit of an iron will to push on and help people until the bitter end, Olaf felt deeply for those he couldn't save, be it friend or foe alike. It didn't matter what race they were or what side they fought for... most of them had a home... a lover and children who missed them... a mother that prayed for their safe return, a father that missed drinking with them.
Being so close to death at all times changed him forever, shattering his faith completely. How could Kynareth not help him heal everyone? How could Mara's love not be enough to stop this war? And Talos... Talos was the cause of this whole conflict, and for what? Nothing. It was for nothing. But Talos wasn't the only culprit... Ulfric had a hand in it, and so did the fanaticism that the nords had over this particular god.
After the end of the war, Olaf dreamed of a peaceful life. He was a battle hardened veteran soldier who survived through the entire war and could easily make good money as a mercenary, but he wanted to set this aside. If there was one good thing that this war did for him was greatly improve his healing skills, and maybe he'd go with that profession. Upon returning to his house, however, he didn't find proud parents and a sister waiting to be healed. He found a broken, hateful and resentful couple, and no sister whatsoever. Olaf was too late. This weighted deeply on him, deeper than any other death he faced, shattering his already fragile psyche further and causing him to grow very depressed.
Olaf is now traveling to Whiterun to hopefully join the Temple of Kynareth. He may not trust the divines, but he trusts his own ability to heal people. In all honesty, however, he is simply running away. He's running away from his parents, he's running away from his dead sister, he's running away... and he hopes whatever he's running away from won't catch up to him. The constant feeling of guilt and failure are daily companions of his, and lately, his confidence has been dwindling. What do the gods have in store for him next?
Name: Olaf Iron-Hands
Aliases: None
Race: Nord
Age: Mid/Late 20s as of 4E208 (Can be older depending on the setting)
Occupation: Former Stormcloak battle-healer
Faith: Broken, worships no gods. Still sends Mara a prayer occasionally.
Height: 6'6/~198 cm
Weight: 232 lbs/~105 kg
Eyes: Green. They constantly look tired and have dark bags under them.
Hair: Dark-ish blond hair. Usually wears an undercut with his hair tossed to one side. Has a stubble and a healthy mustache.
Skin: Fair
Identifying marks: The tips of all his fingers are tattooed black, and he has an old nordic rune carved into his left cheek, unnoticeable from afar, but quite evident when up close. Rope scar around his neck.
*Equipment:
- Spear (Around 8 ft length)
- Decorated nordic dagger
- One brass knuckle
- Slightly narcotic herbs
- Bandages
*Armor (not clothes):
- Dark brown gambeson
- Worn norse helmet, well maintained
- Worn leather gloves and boots, well maintained
*Magic:
- Advanced healing spells
- Advanced wards
- Basic flame spell
*Instrument: Flute
Personality: Unlike what his name suggests, Olaf Iron-Hands isn't a bloodthirsty brute, despite indeed having heavy hands. He is an affectionate man who feels deeply both for comrades and strangers. He's loyal, stubborn and has a deep sense of community for his countryfolk and will gladly put his life on the line to protect those he cares about.. Despite being a healer, he isn't scared of fighting, and fights very well. When in battle, he is imposing, and his size and healing skills are often encouraging factors for his comrades. Olaf grew very depressed and resentful of Ulfric Stormcloak after the Civil War ended. The conflict broke both him and his faith.
Likes:
- Poetry
- Music
- Warmth
- Cooking
- Healing people
Dislikes:
- Ulfric Stormcloak
- The gods
- Fanaticism
- Himself
Backstory:
Olaf was born and raised in Windhelm, which meant that as a youngster, he had quite strong opinions on anyone who wasn't a nord. He lived by the motto "Skyrim belongs to the nords" and would often bully the dunmer and argonians that worked at the city.
Within his household, his parents weren't any different - they had raised him that way, after all. He also had a sister who also shared the same opinions, but was constantly sick and bedridden. Young Olaf always felt deeply upset about his sister's condition, and seeing that no healer seemed to be good enough to help her, he vowed to one day become a healer worthy of saving her life.
Despite this noble aspiration, Olaf was still a young nord man, and as all folks like him, he wished to prove his worth through bloody combat. The opportunity came in the shape of Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebelion. Still hoping to one day become a healer, though, the young man joined a special unit consisting of battle healers. From a young age, he seemed to have a good grasp at healing magic, maybe because of individual training in order to help his sister, and went through some brief training before the revolution escalated into an all out war.
The nord's illusions of glody and greatness were quickly shattered after the absolute carnage that was his first battle. He witnessed men being split open with axes, heads being smashed with hammers and maces, guts spilling out of still living men... and despite that, he tried to heal whatever he could on the field. The grim reality of his job would only make itself clearer back at camp, when maimed and grievously wounded survivors and prisoners needed the aid of healers.
Having people die in his arms was something common, and despite developing a bit of an iron will to push on and help people until the bitter end, Olaf felt deeply for those he couldn't save, be it friend or foe alike. It didn't matter what race they were or what side they fought for... most of them had a home... a lover and children who missed them... a mother that prayed for their safe return, a father that missed drinking with them.
Being so close to death at all times changed him forever, shattering his faith completely. How could Kynareth not help him heal everyone? How could Mara's love not be enough to stop this war? And Talos... Talos was the cause of this whole conflict, and for what? Nothing. It was for nothing. But Talos wasn't the only culprit... Ulfric had a hand in it, and so did the fanaticism that the nords had over this particular god.
After the end of the war, Olaf dreamed of a peaceful life. He was a battle hardened veteran soldier who survived through the entire war and could easily make good money as a mercenary, but he wanted to set this aside. If there was one good thing that this war did for him was greatly improve his healing skills, and maybe he'd go with that profession. Upon returning to his house, however, he didn't find proud parents and a sister waiting to be healed. He found a broken, hateful and resentful couple, and no sister whatsoever. Olaf was too late. This weighted deeply on him, deeper than any other death he faced, shattering his already fragile psyche further and causing him to grow very depressed.
Olaf is now traveling to Whiterun to hopefully join the Temple of Kynareth. He may not trust the divines, but he trusts his own ability to heal people. In all honesty, however, he is simply running away. He's running away from his parents, he's running away from his dead sister, he's running away... and he hopes whatever he's running away from won't catch up to him. The constant feeling of guilt and failure are daily companions of his, and lately, his confidence has been dwindling. What do the gods have in store for him next?
My "The Elder Scrolls" setting
*Possible starting years for the roleplay:
- 4E206-4E210 (End of the Civil War. More of a grim and sad setting, aimed at depicting the devastation caused by the Stormcloak Revolution and the process of rebuilding the province of Skyrim)
- 4E210-4E216 (Years before the next great conflict eurupted in Tamriel. More bloodthirsty and vengeful setting, aimed at depicting the Empire and the Third Aldmeri Dominion fighting their last titanic war.)
The year is 4E216. The last great conflict was caused by a nordic revolution in Skyrim, and was finished ten years ago. The delicate and uneasy peace that the people of the continent enjoy will not last for much longer, and soon enough, great Tamriel will once again shudder with war.
The Empire, with blood, sweat and tears, snuffed out the Stormcloak Revolution in the year of 4E206. The five years long conflict made the provinces of the Empire even weaker than before, and to remedy that, the imperials have been desperately trying to bolster their ranks. Through diplomatic efforts, masterful espionage and counter espionage, and especially with some propaganda, they managed to significantly increase the number of able bodied professional soldiers, mostly without the Thalmor noticing... not until it was too late, anyways. The Aldmeri Dominion had to defend their homeland from invaders unknown to the Empire, which caused the unrelenting grasp of the Thalmor to weaken, allowing the races of men to break free from it. As of year 4E216, many legions are properly trained and battle ready, various of them consisting entirely of Nords and Bretons, marked by their unique characteristics and battle tactics. Fairly confident that they could endure and possibly win the war that they've been dreading, the men and women of the Empire started openly worshipping Talos once again, and there was nothing the Thalmor agents could do, as they were actively being silenced, be that by spies or angry locals.
The Third Aldmeri Dominion, even while the Stormcloak Revolution was happening, was still in a weakened state, unbeknownst to their old enemy. Their effort to rebuild swiftly in order to finish off the Empire was halted time and time again, due to Maormer and Sload raids into Summerset. Once these foes had been repelled, the revolution that the White Gold Concordat brewed in Skyrim was already over, and the Empire was already rebuilding. With the balance of power slowly starting to hang between the two opposing factions, the Aldmeri Dominion had to heavily focus on strengthening their military, investing large quantities of money into it in order to train powerful battle mages and disciplined soldiers, as well as rebuilding their ruined fleet. As of year 4E216, the balance of power is in their favor... barely. To consider the Empire a beaten enemy waiting for execution was an arrogant and careless move. The once certain victory in the supposed follow up conflict grew more distant by the day. The elves, arrogant as they were, still confidently believed they would emerge victorious, but there was this dreaded feeling that they couldn't shake off... victory was no longer guaranteed. The Third Aldmeri Dominion is still quite powerful, however. Their mages are the finest in Tamriel, and while their infantry is somewhat subpar, one shouldn't underestimate the zeal and fanaticism of altmer megalomania. With the khajiit mixed into their frontline and the bosmer darkening the sky with arrows, the Dominion war machine is a force not to be trifled with.
Dragon sightings have slowly diminished, but every once in a while, they are spotted by the citizens of Tamriel, especially in Skyrim. Ever thirsty vampires lurk in the shadows, and while a strong blow was dealt to them when Lord Harkon was eliminated, they are still trying to re-gain their strength. Mercenary companies are in an all times high, due to the high demand for soldiers, and fight against one another more often than not, creating instability and chaos. Diplomatic difficulties with Hammerfell may foil the plan for an alliance between the now free state of Redguards and the Empire. The threat of more Maormer and Sload invasions is ever present. Citizens of the states belonging to the Aldmeri Dominion are starting to question the intense repression that they suffer and the belief of altmer supremacy by their high elven overlords. With both sides in a somewhat unstable state, the war to come will prove to be quite bloody. The fate of Tamriel hangs in the balance.
(I purposefully left Morrowind and the Dunmer, as well as the argonians, out. I admittedly don't know too much about their lore besides the fact they hate one another. If you are a Dunmer or Argonian enthusiast and would like to play one in our Roleplay, I'll be more than happy to hear you out and learn more about the lore through you!)
- 4E206-4E210 (End of the Civil War. More of a grim and sad setting, aimed at depicting the devastation caused by the Stormcloak Revolution and the process of rebuilding the province of Skyrim)
- 4E210-4E216 (Years before the next great conflict eurupted in Tamriel. More bloodthirsty and vengeful setting, aimed at depicting the Empire and the Third Aldmeri Dominion fighting their last titanic war.)
The year is 4E216. The last great conflict was caused by a nordic revolution in Skyrim, and was finished ten years ago. The delicate and uneasy peace that the people of the continent enjoy will not last for much longer, and soon enough, great Tamriel will once again shudder with war.
The Empire, with blood, sweat and tears, snuffed out the Stormcloak Revolution in the year of 4E206. The five years long conflict made the provinces of the Empire even weaker than before, and to remedy that, the imperials have been desperately trying to bolster their ranks. Through diplomatic efforts, masterful espionage and counter espionage, and especially with some propaganda, they managed to significantly increase the number of able bodied professional soldiers, mostly without the Thalmor noticing... not until it was too late, anyways. The Aldmeri Dominion had to defend their homeland from invaders unknown to the Empire, which caused the unrelenting grasp of the Thalmor to weaken, allowing the races of men to break free from it. As of year 4E216, many legions are properly trained and battle ready, various of them consisting entirely of Nords and Bretons, marked by their unique characteristics and battle tactics. Fairly confident that they could endure and possibly win the war that they've been dreading, the men and women of the Empire started openly worshipping Talos once again, and there was nothing the Thalmor agents could do, as they were actively being silenced, be that by spies or angry locals.
The Third Aldmeri Dominion, even while the Stormcloak Revolution was happening, was still in a weakened state, unbeknownst to their old enemy. Their effort to rebuild swiftly in order to finish off the Empire was halted time and time again, due to Maormer and Sload raids into Summerset. Once these foes had been repelled, the revolution that the White Gold Concordat brewed in Skyrim was already over, and the Empire was already rebuilding. With the balance of power slowly starting to hang between the two opposing factions, the Aldmeri Dominion had to heavily focus on strengthening their military, investing large quantities of money into it in order to train powerful battle mages and disciplined soldiers, as well as rebuilding their ruined fleet. As of year 4E216, the balance of power is in their favor... barely. To consider the Empire a beaten enemy waiting for execution was an arrogant and careless move. The once certain victory in the supposed follow up conflict grew more distant by the day. The elves, arrogant as they were, still confidently believed they would emerge victorious, but there was this dreaded feeling that they couldn't shake off... victory was no longer guaranteed. The Third Aldmeri Dominion is still quite powerful, however. Their mages are the finest in Tamriel, and while their infantry is somewhat subpar, one shouldn't underestimate the zeal and fanaticism of altmer megalomania. With the khajiit mixed into their frontline and the bosmer darkening the sky with arrows, the Dominion war machine is a force not to be trifled with.
Dragon sightings have slowly diminished, but every once in a while, they are spotted by the citizens of Tamriel, especially in Skyrim. Ever thirsty vampires lurk in the shadows, and while a strong blow was dealt to them when Lord Harkon was eliminated, they are still trying to re-gain their strength. Mercenary companies are in an all times high, due to the high demand for soldiers, and fight against one another more often than not, creating instability and chaos. Diplomatic difficulties with Hammerfell may foil the plan for an alliance between the now free state of Redguards and the Empire. The threat of more Maormer and Sload invasions is ever present. Citizens of the states belonging to the Aldmeri Dominion are starting to question the intense repression that they suffer and the belief of altmer supremacy by their high elven overlords. With both sides in a somewhat unstable state, the war to come will prove to be quite bloody. The fate of Tamriel hangs in the balance.
(I purposefully left Morrowind and the Dunmer, as well as the argonians, out. I admittedly don't know too much about their lore besides the fact they hate one another. If you are a Dunmer or Argonian enthusiast and would like to play one in our Roleplay, I'll be more than happy to hear you out and learn more about the lore through you!)
Harald (The Elder Scrolls/Skyrim)
"Called your bluff, friend." - Harald, moments before snapping a Thalmor soldier's arm.
Name: Harald Dark-Mane
Aliases: The Butcher of Markarth (earned during the Civil War)
Race: Nord and Reachfolk mix
Age: Late 20s or early/mid 30s depending on the set-up
Occupation: Bounty Hunter, Former Adventurer, Former Imperial Legion Scout
Faith: Totem Gods, devoted to the Hawk (Kyne)
Height: 6'4/~195 cm
Weight: 220 lbs/~100 kg
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Messy, dark brown long hair reaching his shoulders. Scruffy beard, but not too long. Wears either or both braided every now and again.
Skin: Fair
Identifying marks: The characteristic hair and beard, his namesake. Large cut scar across his face, many smaller scars on the rest of his body.
*Equipment:
- Longbow and arrows
- Small axe (not a hatchet)
- Backup dagger
- Chain with iron hook
*Armor (not clothes):
- Padded jacket
- Mail hauberk
- Norse helmet, with a black mane coming from the top
- Leather gloves and boots
*Magic:
- Sparks
- Very basic healing
*Instrument: Drums
Personality: Harald is calm and a man of few words, but has no issues on communicating properly if need be. He is seemingly cruel and ruthless at first glance, but is actually very loyal, caring and protective, the brutality being simply a defense mechanism of his. He has plenty of confidence in himself and hardly accepts help from others, and when he does, he tries not getting attached to anyone, as he believes that whenever he does, this person ends up dead.
Likes:
- Honey
- Mead (Especially Honningbrew)
- Wooded areas
- Card games
- Music
Dislikes:
- Thalmor
- Excessive cold
- Black-Briar Mead
- Stormcloaks
Backstory:
Harald's childhood was... strange. He was born to a reachman father and nord mother, but he doesn't quite remember his father. When he was very young, his parents had a bit of a disagreement, and he was brought to Falkreath, where his mother, with the help of some locals, built a small house in the woods, in the outskirts of the town, and that's where he remembers spending his childhood.
His mom was a badass in her own regard. She was a veteran of the Great War, a proficient trapper and hunter, a talented fighter and had a tongue sharp enough to make even the most foul mouthed Dunmer blush. Naturally, Harald began inheriting these skills at a young age, and the result was a man who was quite the marksman and a mighty fighter, much to his mother's satisfaction.
In his young adulthood, he was a thrill seeker. Harald liked fighting trolls, wrestling in pit fights, exploring old ruins and gambling on card games. Of course, he cheated plenty, but rarely got discovered... and if he did, he'd gladly fight for the money. He lived like that for some good two or three years, adventuring all over Skyrim, and sometimes even out, down to Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, but it all came to an end with the Civil War.
The years he spent in the Imperial Legion were the most miserable of his life. The bloodsheds he witnessed and took part of were the stuff of nightmares, and the Civil War cost him not only some friends, but also his lover, a young imperial scout, his partner in many missions. He never really forgave himself for her death, and with the Civil War coming to an end, he abandoned the Legion and came back home, only to find out that his mother was taken by the Thalmor. The locals said there was nothing they could have done, and Harald knew they were right.
He already despised the Thalmor, as did his mother before him. He was well aware this Civil War that cost him so much was all their fault, and now they took his mother, leaving him with nothing. Harald was a hardened and disciplined veteran, a talented hunter and a good marksman... and he would put each skill he had to good use by killing any Thalmor he came across, one way or another.
That wasn't his priority, though. Of course, if he bumped into a Thalmor or got the chance to kill one, he would, but he intended to return to the Reach, so he can meet his father and inform him of his mother's possible death, as well as learn about his old man's culture. With any luck, maybe he'll manage to find his father, and he'll help Harald find a new meaning in his life.
Earning his coin as a bounty hunter as well as a pit fighter, Harald now travels from town to town, hoping to find enough jobs to pay for a proper trip to the wildlands to the West.
Name: Harald Dark-Mane
Aliases: The Butcher of Markarth (earned during the Civil War)
Race: Nord and Reachfolk mix
Age: Late 20s or early/mid 30s depending on the set-up
Occupation: Bounty Hunter, Former Adventurer, Former Imperial Legion Scout
Faith: Totem Gods, devoted to the Hawk (Kyne)
Height: 6'4/~195 cm
Weight: 220 lbs/~100 kg
Eyes: Brown
Hair: Messy, dark brown long hair reaching his shoulders. Scruffy beard, but not too long. Wears either or both braided every now and again.
Skin: Fair
Identifying marks: The characteristic hair and beard, his namesake. Large cut scar across his face, many smaller scars on the rest of his body.
*Equipment:
- Longbow and arrows
- Small axe (not a hatchet)
- Backup dagger
- Chain with iron hook
*Armor (not clothes):
- Padded jacket
- Mail hauberk
- Norse helmet, with a black mane coming from the top
- Leather gloves and boots
*Magic:
- Sparks
- Very basic healing
*Instrument: Drums
Personality: Harald is calm and a man of few words, but has no issues on communicating properly if need be. He is seemingly cruel and ruthless at first glance, but is actually very loyal, caring and protective, the brutality being simply a defense mechanism of his. He has plenty of confidence in himself and hardly accepts help from others, and when he does, he tries not getting attached to anyone, as he believes that whenever he does, this person ends up dead.
Likes:
- Honey
- Mead (Especially Honningbrew)
- Wooded areas
- Card games
- Music
Dislikes:
- Thalmor
- Excessive cold
- Black-Briar Mead
- Stormcloaks
Backstory:
Harald's childhood was... strange. He was born to a reachman father and nord mother, but he doesn't quite remember his father. When he was very young, his parents had a bit of a disagreement, and he was brought to Falkreath, where his mother, with the help of some locals, built a small house in the woods, in the outskirts of the town, and that's where he remembers spending his childhood.
His mom was a badass in her own regard. She was a veteran of the Great War, a proficient trapper and hunter, a talented fighter and had a tongue sharp enough to make even the most foul mouthed Dunmer blush. Naturally, Harald began inheriting these skills at a young age, and the result was a man who was quite the marksman and a mighty fighter, much to his mother's satisfaction.
In his young adulthood, he was a thrill seeker. Harald liked fighting trolls, wrestling in pit fights, exploring old ruins and gambling on card games. Of course, he cheated plenty, but rarely got discovered... and if he did, he'd gladly fight for the money. He lived like that for some good two or three years, adventuring all over Skyrim, and sometimes even out, down to Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, but it all came to an end with the Civil War.
The years he spent in the Imperial Legion were the most miserable of his life. The bloodsheds he witnessed and took part of were the stuff of nightmares, and the Civil War cost him not only some friends, but also his lover, a young imperial scout, his partner in many missions. He never really forgave himself for her death, and with the Civil War coming to an end, he abandoned the Legion and came back home, only to find out that his mother was taken by the Thalmor. The locals said there was nothing they could have done, and Harald knew they were right.
He already despised the Thalmor, as did his mother before him. He was well aware this Civil War that cost him so much was all their fault, and now they took his mother, leaving him with nothing. Harald was a hardened and disciplined veteran, a talented hunter and a good marksman... and he would put each skill he had to good use by killing any Thalmor he came across, one way or another.
That wasn't his priority, though. Of course, if he bumped into a Thalmor or got the chance to kill one, he would, but he intended to return to the Reach, so he can meet his father and inform him of his mother's possible death, as well as learn about his old man's culture. With any luck, maybe he'll manage to find his father, and he'll help Harald find a new meaning in his life.
Earning his coin as a bounty hunter as well as a pit fighter, Harald now travels from town to town, hoping to find enough jobs to pay for a proper trip to the wildlands to the West.