" Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, make violent revolution inevitable. "
Discord: pocketpanda
Mare: On request
Gunnar Ironfist
nameGunnar Ironfistage38raceHighlanderpronounshe/himgendercis-maleorientationbisexual/polyhomeThe Brume, Ishgard
appearance Towering, broad and muscle-bound, this mountain of a man certainly strikes an intimidating figure, certainly not diminished by the steely look in his grey eyes nor the stern expression usually upon his features. He wears simple clothing, nothing fancy or expensive and carries himself with the stride of time spent in the military. The most remarkable note about him is his left arm, made of fully articulated steel from the bicep down, with intricate gears that can be heard faintly clicking and whirring as it moves.
Gunnar Ironfist
Demeanor Gunnar's demeanor depends significantly on who he is conversing with. Nobility, church representatives and temple knights see only a stern, unforgiving, rabble-rousing, boldly-spoken Brume-rat (for which, he's spent a good deal of time in the gaol). His prior comrades-in-arms, children, the less fortunate and patrons at The Last Drop, however, are afforded an entirely different side of him - warm, affable, sympathetic, compassionate and generous.
| LIKES |
|---|
| working at his forge or at his dive bar (The Last Drop) in the Brume, cigars, his dog, playing chess, a good and hearty meal, decent booze, baking, cooking for friends, enthusiastic lovers, sincerity, playing darts, chatting with old infantry buddies, volunteering and working on the restoration of the Brume, planning the downfall of the Church and of the institution of nobility.... and more! |
| DISLIKES |
|---|
| nobles, representatives of the Church, temple knights, organized religion, dishonesty, dragons, cruelty, the overall abhorrent treatment of Ishgard's unfortunates, wet socks, enclosed spaces, wasteful extravagance, early mornings, flying... and also more! |
history
Born on a farm in Coerthas in the midst of the Dragonsong war, Gunnar was mercifully too young to remember the utter devastation of his home. Nowhere was safe from the Dravanian hordes and that included his small homestead, which was engulfed in flames by a passing flight of drakes on their way to an attack on Ishgard. Both his mother and father perished in the resulting blaze and young Gunnar soon found himself a ward of the Church, growing up under the auspices of the Sisters at Saint Reinette's orphanage.While normally, the children of Saint Reinette's went on to serve the Holy See in some manner, Gunnar chose a different path - enlisting in the infantry under the command of the Temple Knights. He wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on the dragons that had put his parents to such a torturous demise, burned alive in their own home. He was unstoppable on the field, even as young as he was, helping to put dragons of all ages to the sword - until one of them took his arm.Dismissed from service, Gunnar returned to Ishgard, collected his compensation for the injury acquired during active duty and from there, fell into a deeply depressive state, spending long hours draining bottles to the last drop. He had nothing. He was nothing. One late evening, an older man struck up conversation with Gunnar, offering to teach him a trade. With little better to do, he reluctantly agreed and became a blacksmith's apprentice. It was there amidst the forge and flames that he found himself again, honing his spirit with each strike of the hammer. His eyes were opened to the disparate worlds of the wealthy and titled, and those like him, without name or fortune. He grew to hate them, a seething ember of fury growing in his gut for the House of Lords, the Holy See and all else who helped to maintain the system that kept the rich privileged, and the poor dying.When his master finally succumbed to old age, Gunnar found that the blacksmith shop and a small apartment had been bequeathed to him. Taking the last of his compensation, he ordered a prosthetic arm from the Skysteel Manufactory, and then opened up a dive bar in the Brume called The Last Drop, as a reminder to himself as to how far he'd fallen and how hard it had been to drag himself back out. The drinks were dirt cheap and often on the house for those who had not even a single gil to their name - and on some late nights, a lantern light and quiet conversation can be heard coming from within, though no one's ever gained any detail as to the subject of discussion.
bonds
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