A huge half-orc with a barrel chest, scarred green-gray skin, and a permanently confused, earnest expression. He wears a battered hide cuirass over travel-worn furs, carries a double-bladed greataxe, and has a thick black braid tied with bits of bone and old cords. His knuckles are swollen like knotted roots, and his grin is childlike until the first hit is taken.

Patient, direct, and surprisingly gentle with animals and children, Brugg is a creature of immediate truths. He likes honest work, honest meals, and honest opponents. He is easy to fluster, impossible to insult for long, and deeply proud when someone notices he is trying his best.

Brugg Stonejaw was born on the edge of a logging settlement where every problem was solved with a prayer, a hammer, or a larger hammer. He was not blessed with clever hands or quick words, but he could lift a wagon by one end when it stuck in mud, and he could keep walking after everyone else had collapsed. The villagers first sent him into the woods as a joke, then as a necessity, and finally because he was the only one who came back from a bear den with the bear's hide and the bear's lunch. He never learned why people laughed when he answered questions slowly, but he did learn that a simple life, an open road, and something to hit were often enough. Years later, after a raid, a stampede, and one disastrous attempt to "help" a blacksmith by carrying the forge inside, Brugg left home with no real plan. He joined caravans as a guard, hunted monsters that were too loud to ignore, and earned a reputation for standing between danger and the smaller folk without ever asking what they could pay. His rage is not refined, it is a door kicked open inside his chest, and once it is open he becomes a wall of muscle, stubbornness, and very uncomplicated anger. He is searching for the person who taught him to read old trail marks, because that old wanderer once said Brugg was meant to be more than a club with legs, and Brugg, in his own way, wants to prove that was true.