Physical: Khorbyn is a mountain of a man, as far as humans go.  At 6'5" and 280 lbs of lean body mass his stature often comes across as imposing whether he wants it to or not.  His choppy shoulder length brown hair is usually left free to frame his face, partially obscuring a scar that crosses from his right brow and onto his cheek where it disappears into his whiskers.  When he is at the forge he usually ties his hair back into a tight tail at the base of his skull to keep it out of his eyes.

Khorbyn Blacksmith:

"Hey, guys.  What happened last night?  Anyone seen my armor?"

  Khorbyn is a man in his 30-somethings though he looks a bit older than that.  A full beard adorns his face where crows feet and worry lines already perch beside his eyes and mouth.  Often found in the tavern; those that look upon his face as he stares into his mug find it difficult to discern if he is deep in thought or ready for a scrap.

Personality:
  Khorbyn has a quick temper and it often gets the best of him; however his heart is as big as his temper is nasty.  He is fiercely loyal and protective of those he considers to be under his care.  Khorbyn is the "big brother" that can call his friend a "horse's @ss" one moment and then give the person that echoed that thought a black eye in the next.  He is obviously a very simple yet complex man.

  Once, he was the most promising apprentice of Hillsfar's greatest weaponsmith.  When his parents perished trying to rescue his youngest siblings from a house fire he walked away from the city life to return to the local country side.  He did his best to raise his remaining siblings, manage his fathers farm, and continue the horse rearing and training profession left behind by his ex-ranger mother.  Khorbyn worked bone jarring hours with a diligence that few could manage.  By the time his youngest living sister, his junior by 10 years, was married off, Khorbyn was nearing 30 but hard work had burned the youthful sparkle from his eyes.

Khorbyn Blacksmith:

*Accepting a parchment drawing from a bard who is a fellow guard on a textile caravan to Voonlar* "Did you sketch this?  That's me, huh?  Wow, my friend, that's pretty good."

  Responsibility had buffered some of the rough edges from his aggressive and fight filled youth that he seemed to enjoy during his apprentice years in the smithy.  However the hard work only added to his incredible muscle mass and in reality often kept his temper at bay by simply keeping him too busy to release it.

  With the last of the kids out of the house, the farm and live stock sold, and his small smithy business boarded up... that "busy-ness" was no longer present to keep him moving.  Not being used to the "lazy" lifestyle led to a period of extreme sloth, drunkeness, and fighting that nearly wore out his welcome in many of the local establishments.  After many months of a downward spiral and hitting bottom, Khorbyn has begun to climb out of his internal pit.

  When he knows that his temper is causing him to be a little unfair he retreats to solitude to unwind.  Sometimes he goes to the forge.  Often he rides his majestic war horse, who he has raised from birth.  Other times he practices his fighting forms; using the edge of his shield and the spike in its center as a weapon (like a gladiator in the Hillsfar arena) not to mention the mighty maul hammer he swings about.  From the skill he possesses, it's obvious that these training sessions, sometimes solo and sometimes in the city guard sparring grounds, are frequent.


(NOTE: Khorbyn does NOT use a Tower Shield)