The Mercenaries of St. Vicious
Scarred human fighter. From a big family in St. Vincent suburbs. Lives to kick ass.
A Man called Hawke….
The Stormur name was synonymous with Nobility, Strength, and Honor, earned by the family patriarch, Magnus Stormur, who ages ago was the Captain of the Guard and famed for saving the city from Char, a particularly nasty dragon that nearly left St. Vincent in a smoldering pile of ash. Upon Magnus’ death, the King requisitioned the crafting of a statue in his honor, commemorating his victory over Char and years of service to St. Vincent. The statue serves has the headstone for Magnus’ grave and grips Magnus’ famous blade, Thunderfury, which pierced the heart of Char. This statue still stands in the courtyard of the Stormur manor to this day.
As generations past, the descendents of the once proud Stormur family abused the wealth and power that came from their family name. As the leadership of the family fell to the current generation of Stormur brothers, they used their influence to attract the thugs, assassins, thieves and other villains that St. Vincent is known for, and created a crime syndicate that threatens to strangle the life from the already impoverished city. Using strong-arm, gangster tactics, the Stormur family extorts, steals, and generally fucks over the lesser families of St Vincent, leading to the crippling poverty that stricken most of its residents. Disgusted by the actions of his family, Leif, the youngest of the Stormur brothers departed from the Stormur manor, leaving behind all his possessions …… except for Thunderfury.
This family heirloom shows its age and the neglect that it has received from years of disuse – though surprisingly it still holds enough of an edge to cleave a head from its shoulders. Hearing of Leif’s absconding and theft of Thunderfury, the remaining Stormur brothers put out a bounty for the return of their family’s blade and for Leif’s head. Leif descended into the underbelly of St. Vincent, attempting to avoid his own capture and imminent death. Dropping his name was a necessity, as anyone who recognized him would surely turn him in for the sizable bounty. For as much time has Leif has left, he will go by the name Hawke.
Spending most nights in the seedy taverns of St. Vincent, Hawke made friends with members of the local mercenary guild. Over many a pint of stale brews, he heard tales of adventure, danger and occasionally similar stories of heroics like the ones he grew up hearing about his own family, generations ago. Without anywhere else to go, and his own dreams of someday making a name for himself, the mercenary guild seemed to be as good a place as any.