Brof Waters was a lowborn sellsword and thief residing in Asgarnia on World 42. He was played by Aristad.
"And if I ordered you to kill a woman? A child? Would you ask any questions then?"
"Aye, how much?"
- - Brof and an employer discussing his morals.
Brof was born the bastard son of a Kandarini merchant mariner and a local courtesan, unbeknownst to him and the general public. Shortly after his conception, his wealthy father set sail and left his mother to raise him, a task that she did not accomplish. Hours after his birth, Brof's mother left him in the black of night on the stoop of one of the many orphanages that dotted the Sarim slums. Being an unclaimed child and correctly assumed bastard, he was given the placeholder surname "Waters" as all Southshores bastards are. Brof rarely felt out of place in the orphanage, being among his own kind. Those charged with the orphans were strict Saradominist nuns, and their no-nonsense rulekeeping deeply affected Brof and may be responsible for his general disdain for authority. Most influential to his childhood developement, though, was the priest charged with authority over the city's religious orphanages, Father Illyn. Seldom did a week pass that Brof and other boys his age were not sexually assaulted by this lecher, and this betrayal would forever damage the young man's view of the church, authority, and those he meant to trust.
At age twelve, Brof 'aged out' of the orphanage system, and was forced onto the foul and destitute streets of Port Sarim. Initially, Brof sought the aid of the city watch. Their spear shafts were more available than their aid. Bloodied and near-broken, the young urchin crawled into a nearby alcove and wished to die, hating the world and all in it. Brof awoke the next morning a different person, no longer a child and hating himself for having been so naive. Until age seventeen, Brof lived on the street, stealing his food and hiding from the watchmen. At age thirteen, he killed for the first time. The young urchin bashed the brains of a former friend from the orphanage in with a cobblestone over a piece of rotten sparemeat thrown out by a butcher. As his body grew, 'employers' saw potential in the child, eventually sending him to extort shopowners and beat debtors bloody. When he was seventeen, Brof was interrupted by the city watch during a job and was sent to prison without trial. There Brof lived for two years, killing for scraps and thinking of creative ways to escape. None would prove necessary.
At age 20, Brof would be involved in inciting a prison riot that led to the deaths of nearly every guard stationed at His Majesty's Royal Prison. He fled from the city as quickly and as quietly as he could, which is to say slowly and with much fuss. Before leaving, the grown Brof payed a visit to Father Illyn, now sickly and old, and murdered him brutally, torturing the old priest before leaving him in the harbor to rot. As he fled North on foot, Brof learned the Highwayman's trade, robbing and pillaging as he went before finally arriving in the city of Falador. It was there that he settled, stealing and fighting and spending all of his ill-gotten gold on liquor.
Scarring and dislocation
In the present day, Brof has fallen into alcoholism and petty thievery, skulking in the shadows and robbing frail woman that pass. Brof made the mistake of ensaring a young female mage, drawing her into the darkness and ordering her to surrender her coin. She stalled, and a vigilante stumbled upon the two in the darkness. In the confusion, she bit his hand, permanently scarring the flesh and severing the tendons on his middle and index fingers, effectively rendering his left hand useless. As the vigilante scrambled into action, the mage would spin around and cast a horrifying spell at the mugger. A terrible shade stormed the shadows, clawing and tearing at Brof's flesh, but with no pain. Brof would be overwhelmed with fear, soiling himself and recalling all the terrible things he had done to people. He saw Illyn's lifeless body mutilated and neutered, the child he'd bludgeoned to death, all of them, and his mind broke. The vigilante threw a teletab at him and Brof awoke in a potato field somewhere in the Southshores region, a canteen and a bedroll awaiting him. Broken of body and mind, Brof wanderered about the Southlands, broken of mind and spirit. Eventually, Brof stumbled upon a camp of bandits. In the black of night he attempted to steal some liqour from the edge of the camp, desperate for another sip of the drink. The bandits caught him skulking about and detained him until morning, taunting the broken man. As they packed up camp at dawn, they tied him to a tree, shot him in the leg with an arrow and left him for dead, little more than his rags and a bottle of the whisky he meant to steal to his name. By noon, Brof had slipped his bounds and wandered North, eventually reaching Falador by sun-down. The guards payed him little mind as he collapsed near a pub and lost conciousness.
Abduction and Healing
Later that night, Brof's wound began to sour, festering and leaving him with fever, on top of his drunkenness. The same vigilante who had teleported him approaching the pitiful sight with a posse of like-minded warriors. They scooped up the vile man, threw him into the back of a cart and brought him to an undetermined farm in the Southlands. There he rested, in-and-out of conciousness for several days as the vigilantes removed the arrow and treated his fever and wounds. When he awoke, the vigilantes attempted to pressure him into working with him. Brof was much more interested in finding the woman who had broken his mind, stating the things he would do to her when found. Slowly, the vigilantes began to realize the sort of person they had nursed back to health, and refused to let him leave, restraining him.
Brof, feeling cornered, fought back, eventually being dragged outside and onto the cobbles of the courtyard. Brof fought back like a savage, gripping a bit of broken glass and brandishing it like a knife. As the female member of the group tried to talk reason into her comrades, one loosed an arrow into Brof's lung, sending him sprawling into a window and covering him in shards of glass. The leader of the vigilantes then approached Brof, drew his sword, and stabbed him through the temple, killing him in a matter of seconds. His resting place is unknown, likely an unmarked grave in the Southshores region.
Brof had long, unwashed black hair bound into a pony tail behind his head. His face was fairly unremarkable, a scraggly black mat of a beard marring the surface of his dirty face, most often. There was a small bit of flesh missing from his right ear, but this detail often goes unnoticed, covered by his hair. One of Brof's eyes was noticably lower set on his face than the other, a result of his mother's incessant drinking during pregnancy. This deformity was not immediately visible, but may have thrown onlookers off. Brof's eyes were two colors, one being dark brown and the other being just off green.
Brof stood a modest 5'10", (~1.8m), weighing 183 pounds (83kg). His life on the street and in the wilderness had made him tough, his muscles lean and sinewy. Brof was fairly light-skinned, his childhood in the dark orphanage and streets giving him zero leisure time to tan. His clothes were fairly rough, most of them looted. He was spotted wearing a ratty, roughspun cowl over a leather jerkin and shouldercloak, unremarkable cowhide pants and riding boots. At his waist he wore a stolen craftsman's belt, wherein he kept his coin, herbs, and his cudgel.
Brof suffered from deep emotional scars that were resultant of his troubled childhood. From a young age it was made thoroughly evident that few, if any, cared about his wellbeing and survival. Because of this, Brof had a difficult time trusting anyone at all, maintaining self-reliance far beyond the point of self-harm. Brof had stolen and fought from a very young age, and held little respect for private property or the wellbeing of others. A product of his upbringing, Brof often suffered from crippling depression and bouts of anger, which he drowned in liquor. Because of this, Brof was a practicing alcoholic and often found in taverns. He had a sizable herb habit, often chewing tarromin for it's stimulative properties. Brof had a black sense of humor and would likely be viewed as offensive by those of the upper classes. Brof was a blatant racist and is not found of non-humans. His voice was heavily accented with the bite of the Southshores. (Sounding much like South African) and he often spoke in a low growl.
Brof, when not too heavily inebriated or amidst a bout of depression, was a very capable thief. His skills included:
- Somewhat skilled freerunner
- Handy with a bludgeon
- Capable lockpicker
- Analytical, street-smart
- Brof suffered from heterochromia, an ocular condition in which one iris is a different color than the other.
- Brof's mother drank during pregnancy, resulting in the prevalent facial deformity that he suffered from.
- Because of his strict upbringing and experiences with guards as a young man, Brof had a general disdain for authority and those that it breeds.