The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A rugged Nord warrior built like a mountain, with tanned, scarred skin and a thick mane of dark blonde hair that falls to his shoulders. His piercing ice-blue eyes sit beneath heavy brows, and he sports a full, coarse beard often dusted with remnants of meals. He wears heavy, dented steel armor with minimal ornamentation, and carries a broad war axe with a chipped edge across his back. A braided iron cuff adorns one wrist, adding to his intimidating presence.

Blunt, gruff, and fiercely protective, Irnskar is a man of action far more than words. He speaks in short, growling sentences, often accompanied by a narrowing of the eyes or a tilt of the head that says more than a paragraph ever could. He has little patience for politics and even less for liars, but he knows how to keep his mouth shut when the situation demands it—especially when Bryling gives the signal. While not cruel, he can be merciless when debts are owed or threats are made. Still, there’s a sliver of honor beneath the rough exterior. He doesn’t forget a favor, and he doesn’t strike the undeserving. When off duty, he frequents taverns and dice games, usually accompanied by heavy drinking and the occasional shouting match. Some say he’d be better off if he left the gambling behind, but Irnskar shrugs them off—he’s a warrior, not a monk. And if someone wants to talk about his debts? They can do it at axe-length.

Born in the Pale and raised among raiders and rough company, Irnskar's early life was defined by hardship and fists. He left his clan behind after a blood feud went sour, eventually finding his way to Solitude where he offered his strength as a sword-for-hire. After a stint in the Legion that ended with a dishonorable discharge over a drunken brawl with a superior officer, he caught the eye of Bryling—who saw in him not just brute force, but loyalty, if properly guided. Since then, he has served as her personal protector, standing a few paces behind her in court, but never out of arm’s reach. He guards her privacy and reputation with a fierce, almost fanatical loyalty, and more than one political rival has found themselves stared down by the Ironhand’s silent disapproval. Outside the palace, however, Irnskar’s past still claws at him—chiefly in the form of gambling debts, like the one he’s owed by Octieve San, a Breton drunkard who’s been ducking him for months.