Tassar Bragdborn

Rambuncious trollkin fell caller


Broad shouldered, Tassar appears to be a slightly larger than average trollkin. Covered in warm winter clothing and festooned with equipment not of native trollkin make, however, distinguishes him from many others of his species. He still wears the traditional quitari, but underneath are thick furs and tailored clothing found in the nations of men. Even the hood of his cloak, though thickly furred, shows the tell tales of human manufacture. This is accentuated by the Caspian battleblade he carries at his side. In fact, everything this trollkin carries reveals that he is very well travelled in the lands of men.

His blue skin shows darker tones than usual in trollkin, and his head quills are deep blue/black. What skin shows beneath the furs and clothing appears weathered from long travel outdoors. His pale white eyes are in constant motion, surveying his surroundings.

This dour appearance changes abruptly once his mouth opens in song or story. A smile, almost beatific, appears on his face and he seems to lose himself in the music his voice makes. A sharp contrast to what his voice can do when he looses it for battle. But even then a smile is on his face. Not for the destruction his song brings, but for the simple pleasure of singing.


Tassar Bragdborn was born in a small kriel in Scarsfell under an inauspicious star, or at least that is what it felt like to the young trollkin. His early years were typical of trollkin boys, running with other youths and getting into and out of trouble, with the exception of the occasional “encouragement” of an adult using his surname followed by laughter. “That’s the way, Bragdborn!” the wit would say, “Give ’em a shout!” and then riotous laughter would follow. His mother never laughed at such things, and often would quiet them with a stern look. When he asked his mother why they laughed at his name, a strange look passed over her face and she would simply send him off on an errand or chore she made up on the spot. He eventually stopped asking, but still wondered if it had to do with his father.

He had never met his father, whose name he shared, but the men of the kriel voiced their disapproval without ever actually speaking of him. It was obvious based on the way they treated him and his name. He tried asking his mother about his father several times. She would describe his face and his features with incredible detail. His broad shoulders were heavily muscled and his hands were rough from a life of travel and use. Her eyes would soften and her voice
would get low as she described his hands, which could be gentle and hard all at the same time. What she never did was tell young Tassar just who his father was. All the description that she gave, all the words that she used would never touch on just what kind of trollkin he was or what he did. Or even where he was right now. Tassar suspected that she didn’t know herself.

The adults’ jibes became more barbed as Tassar grew, or at least it seemed so to him. Perhaps he was just more aware of their true nature, and that they had been so all along without his realizing. Whatever the case, he soon discovered the reason behind the venom. It was something that, when he learned of it, curdled in his stomach and filled his mouth with bile. His lineage was of Bragg the first fell caller, or so many believed, and instead of honouring his
heritage as trollkin are supposed to do, the denigrated it. He decided then that if they wanted a trollkin of low character, then that is just what he would be to punish them.

Tassar met with members of the The Corvis Expedition while on his way to Uldenfrost.

Tassar Bragdborn

Iron Kingdoms: Flight from the North Whimper