Brisco Kresnov

"Brisco? What is there to know about the Fin? He's quite, kind of a lanky guy with lots of war tattoos and a missing ear. Just don't get on his bad side."

A slightly older Finnish man, Brisco is a healthy height of 5'6 even, with a mere 180lbs on his frame. Long brunette hair and huge beard adorn his head, decorated with braids or beads. Pale, scarred and much more importantly tattooed, Brisco made his form through farming and being a raider. His body consists of art both in writing and pictures depicting battles, or faces of important Gods and Goddesses.

They start with writing on the inside of his hands, going up with braided frame pictures of faces with horned helmets and other headdresses. His back was the largest with a three legged stag underneath the two moons and two suns dotted with stars. His legs merely hold more pictures of faces or spiraling dragons like on his calves and ankles. Clad in furs of bear pelts and a cloak, Brisco is an older looking fellow in the face. Clad with some wrinkles, being that he is thirty eight, and more tattoos dotting his cheeks and forehead. The upper lip held two small stars on each side of the mouth. Underneath bright green eyes lay Norse runes, small enough to be numerous but large enough to be seen. 

A charming but quiet individual, Brisco tends to keep to himself and prefers the company of his gardens or a fat rabbit in a pot boiling. When the man does warm up, Brisco never shuts up talking constantly. Whether if it's important or even relevant to the day's events didn't matter, Brisco would talk on. Friends were rare to him, as he is always paranoid of an outsider and keeps tabs on them. As a warrior however, Brisco is a cruel trickster, a monster once called a man with the taste for blood from the devious traps or poisons of the world. 

In all honesty, Brisco is a trickster. He hates fighting on account of his size making him such an easy man to kill. But when he hides with a crossbow, or a good bow; Brisco is a man to be dangerously met. However, people forget the Fin dislikes fighting. He enjoys cooking and just surviving a new land. He likes having friends and not having to make enemies he might have to kill one day.

He has no real equipment with him, save several belts, a Russian scimitar and a pair of pelts made into clothes. His clothes while bare kept him warm enough to keep cool and cool enough to keep warm. The scimitar was well over two hands long, used on horse back most often as it is a Calvary sword. His belts wrap around the thick pants that also hold the spot where he shoved his sword in place to be held. If he actually had all of his equipment, Brisco would've had much more to work with.

There is not much to tell about Brisco's past aside that he grew up under the son of a town's butcher and cook while his mother was a Russian lady Ranger. Growing up one of five, he never got along with his siblings as he was the shortest of them, even some of the girls were taller. But that didn't matter to Brisco because he found his place in gardening, able to brew horrible poisons or life saving potions. Until he turned sixteen and was old enough to go raiding into the west. He continued to raid into the west for well over twenty five years, before crashing ashore on the East Isle on his attempt to sail into England where the Norsemen went.

He had been France, Germany, Sweden, Norway, even so far as Greece! A well rounded individual before his crash-departure, Brisco loved the idea of going to England. The strange men, even stranger languages and culture! But most importantly: Was the food. Brisco loved to cook and eat more then he did putting an arrow into a man's belly. Instead, he'd rather fill his brothers with ale and beef then others with arrows or good iron. But alas, one cannot always have peace. Sometimes there is war and sometimes men have to die.

Such was the case with this one...