Brogan is a mountain of a dwarf, standing broader than most of his kin. His face is a roadmap of scars, the most prominent being a jagged line across his nose. He has thick, copper-red hair and a beard that he keeps in four tight braids bound with iron rings. His chain mail is polished but shows deep dings from countless skirmishes. He has a perpetual scowl that usually breaks only for a good joke or a better drink.

I am direct to the point of being blunt, and I have little patience for those who hide behind flowery words. I value personal loyalty over laws or protocols. I can be the loudest laugher in the tavern or the most terrifying roar on the battlefield. I live for the thrill of the fight and the quiet of a cold pint afterwards.

Brogan spent forty years in the Iron Vanguard, an elite unit of dwarven heavy infantry tasked with guarding the Deep Holds. He rose through the ranks due to his sheer stubbornness and skill with a blade. However, everything changed during the Siege of Stonegate. His commanding officer ordered a suicidal charge into a tunnel that Brogan knew was rigged to collapse. When Brogan refused to send his men to their deaths, he was stripped of his status and marked as a traitor. He managed to save half his unit before the tunnel blew, but the shame remained. Rather than face a court-martial run by bureaucrats, Brogan gathered his gear and walked out of the mountain. He has spent the last five years wandering the surface world as a mercenary. He still carries his old Vanguard insignia, not out of pride for the army, but as a reminder of the men he saved. He no longer trusts the chain of command, believing that every man should be his own master. He seeks to build a new name for himself where his destiny is controlled by his own hand, not the orders of a distant king.