Zanril Wolfsbane

Battle-hardened Barbarian with a penchant for meat, mead and a poor vocabulary


A brazen character with a dark past, Zanril is not your typical half-elf.
The most notable feature of Zanril would be the fact that his entire left arm has been replaced by a mythril-plated clockwork contraption, as well as sporting an impressive array of scars and battle wounds; three parallel scars running slanted down his right eye, top part of his right ear torn off and maul marks on his neck, hidden by a black and gold snake patterned scarf. All of these wounds had been caused by the same creature, one he does not take pleasure in remembering as it was also responsible for rendering him unable to sire children.

His favorite (and only) outfit is an orange-gold sleeveless open coat with stichings of a single dragon, a set of mythril greaves and wolf-paw boots, sporting various wolf designs and embelms etched into the metal. Concealing a mythril plate across his lower back and torso is a ragged and burnt bandage that he refuses to throw away for his own reasons. An ebon-coloured tattoo of a crescent moon behind a howling wolf is present on his upper right arm, an insignia of good fortune and one of two remaining proofs of the existence of an annihilated guild of mercenaries, the Midnight Wolves.
Being armed for almost any melee encounter, Zanril carries an array of weapony; a wickedly sharp adamantine greatsword slung across his back with a custom quick-release sheath, a patterened warhammer made of cold iron hanging from his right hip and a silver shortsword, bearing the other remaining insignia of the Midnight Wolves, hidden in a spring-loaded system in his clockwork arm.
More recently he has taken to wearing a magical eyepatch over his right eye, as well as donning a magical amulet to provide him with advantages when needed most. Several other magic items are in his possession, although they are rarely used as he prefers his own brute strength to deal with situations.

With a bravery and recklessness most mistake for suicidal tendencies, Zanril charges headlong with heedless abandon into battle, refusing to step down from any challenges and ready to meet any presented to him. His refusal to back down or flee from a battle is one he takes pride in, with the proof lying in the fact that although his chest and other parts of his body bare an array of scars, delivered by sword, claw, maw and arrow, his back remains free of any scars. However as he refuses to show his back to anyone, even those he would consider his friends, no one knows what it looks like, though none have yet dared to challenge his claim.
His main weakness however, is meat. And mead. Lots of them. Able to eat vast quantities without penalty, Zanril’s presence in a village will quickly deplete their stock of meat (preferably barbequed) and mead. He also enjoys the company of women, to a much lesser degree, although more out of a sense of longing for what once was, and refuses to sleep in any bed (after an uncounted number of assassination attempts), going so far as to sleeping in trees and/or hanging upside down for “comfort”.

Zanril has some qualities about himself that he would rather no one ever find out, with parts of his past sometimes rearing their heads before being surpressed once more. Being illiterate, he has no need for journals nor writing down his memories, meaning whatever secrets he keeps within will die with him, least he show those who desire them how dangerous he can be.
With no desire to make many friends, Zanril has become more of a nomad, having a strong thirst for battle and adventure. His commitment to his “friends” only goes as far as their attitude; if he finds they are no longer in keeping with his philosophy or way of life, he will abandon them, his act of mercy/friendship being that he will not actively hunt them down.

Zanril Wolfsbane

Hand of Fate (and Foot of Balrom) notMidas