Appearance:  Volsh is a giant human. He towers over most he meets and most men could stand behind him and be hidden from sight by his girth. However, uncommonly matched to his size, is the lithe quickness of a panther.

His face is marked with gnarly scars, each telling there own tale. Green eyes sit pallid in their sockets, dull as a rainy forest canopy. They brighten with fury if the barbarian lapses into a rage. Volsh's skin is often sun ripened to a dusty medium brown color. His long wavy brown hair is mostly unkept and matted in places at the ends; it is bound at his brow with a decorative leather band an inch wide. The strange stamped patterns on it hold the last printed words of his people in his tribal tongue, "The language of the sword is understood by all". Like his hair, Volsh's voluminous beard is scraggly and rarely sees cleaning; sometimes it hides his last meals remnants.

Volsh's garb is plain and functional without a decorative stich. He commonly travels in brown breeches that meet his high buckled boots at the knee and a plain pale or drab colored tunic and wide leather belt.

Personality: Volsh has suffered defeat at the hands of an unknown enemy. As a result it has left him untrusting and cautious of people. This trait is not wanted but necessary for his survival as a transient. He prefers the wandering lifestyle as it affords him the opportunity to see the country from many angles.

His gruff attitude and hard exterior make for awkward social situations for him when in civilized areas. He has often found that he must leave an area shortly after arriving due to his temper that can crack like a whip.

Although his demeanor is rough to say the least, he is loyal as a dog and a man of his word once he lends himself to trusting others. He is free spirited with words and riches, giving both freely at his whim.

Background: Volsh spent the first 20 years of his life in a picturesque yet harsh forest along The Great River equidistant of the Sea of Song and Ice Lake, amid the spray and foam of the Eyle Falls. His people were known as the Nuuryn, a sizable tribe of fishers and hunters. Of the couple dozen families, his specialized in crafting fishing nets prized throughout the tribe.

When his people were slaughtered by an unknown enemy, he and his sister fled. Their flight led them aimlessly through a wide and varied landscape. Eventually, he and Rielle parted and began separate journeys; hers to the sea to join merchant fishing vessels; his without direction.

Today, Volsh wanders in search of treasure, ale, and women. He often finds himself in the employ of overland merchant trains as hired muscle. Although he does not favor dwellings of the civilized, he will venture into them for an occasional job or drink. He remains vigilant in the possibility that one day he will discover those responsible for the demise of his tribe.