Ichabod stands just under six feet, his face blurs the line between a bearded and unshaven. With short brown hair he wears the odd faded scar; they complement the heavy armor and large weapons hanging from his back, thoroughly branding him a “Bruiser”
Molly Agate gave birth to two sons, and each was a bastard. No one ever brought it up.
Ichabod was the youngest; his friends called him “Ike.” Axel was the eldest and the smartest. At fifteen years of age Axel was casting spells, which, after a few mishaps, he was banned from doing inside, or anywhere near the tent. Axel never offered to teach his brother magic, and he never asked. Ichabod was good at breaking things.
As soon as Ichabod could pick up a stick he was trying to hit things with it. As soon as he could walk he would try to spar with his brother, and sometimes his father; he knew better than to swing at his mother. He could always find someone around to teach him swordplay; that was the advantage of growing up in the army.
Ichabod’s father, Brunt Tennison, was a loyal soldier of the twelfth infantry, and Molly was his woman. If his father had married his mother, he probably would have protested to his second son being named Ichabod, but he hadn’t, so he couldn’t. Molly and her children would travel with the rest of the army’s entourage. Molly made a ten by ten foot tent a home and raised her family well. She always said she never needed a house, but when battle took her soldier from her Molly said goodbye to the Twelfth Infantry and moved her family to Freeport without a second thought.
That’s when Ichabod’s mother forbade him from becoming a soldier. He wasn’t happy about it, but no one could begrudge a widow such demands, so he bore it in silence. But, the truth was she thought he was too smart for soldiering, so she had him enrolled in night classes at the local University.
At school he met Trianna, the love of his life. She was an artist who liked nature, Dwarven opera, and kinky sex. Life was good. She told her friends that she loved his simplicity, and that he could bench press her with one arm. He didn’t know why he loved her, but he did, and that was enough for him. Two days before graduation she shaved her head and left him for a dancer named River.
After earning a Bachelor’s degree in Common with a minor in Philosophy he joined the city watch. He unapologetically handed in his resignation within five months after he was suspended for “excessive force.” Armed with a Liberal Arts degree he moved onto demolition, but it wasn’t long before he was recruited by the Faden Sisters. Prudence and Reason Faden were twin bounty hunters; they put him to work whenever they needed help sorting through the flotsam of goons that occasionally accompanied certain bounties. Although it was infrequent, Ichabod liked this line of work. His job was simply to maltreat any bastard who wasn’t smart enough to run away. After a few years of this, he got a tattoo on his right arm. In plain Common it read “NATURAL SELECTION.” Every once in a while they’d have to track someone deep into the wild where he would encounter anything from ogres to . . . well, other monsters he’d never even heard of whom never wore nametags.
In between gigs he would continue to work in demolition and started to enjoy it. He was still good at breaking things and did it with faster than the majority of his coworkers. However, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying nor as profitable as working with a sword. But it wasn’t until they went after a necromancer (“What’s Neck-Romance?”) that Ichabod found his true calling. Amongst the icor and rot of necrotic flesh Ichabod entered his “happy place,” a place of judgment-free carnage and mayhem.
Under enquiry, those closest to him have resolutely testified that Ichabod is NOT a merciless killer whose viciousness is barred only by and social custom. The fact is that social custom have no influence over him and he will kill who he likes, when he likes, deferring to his own code as to who or what is worthy of such attention .
On occasion, his brother would travel out of the city and ask Ichabod to join him. Axel was becoming an accomplished wizard, brewing potions for profit. Searching for knowledge and rare ingredients, these trips were not without danger, and the two brothers bonded better than ever before.
He began networking during such journeys and after a while he started joining parties of adventurers. This was the life for him. A good deal of gold could be earned by someone willing risk his life, but with brains enough not to lose it. That’s how he met Morgan; she was an independent feminist who liked to defy the constraints forced on them by society. Ichabod was happy to oblige her. She was a ranger and a good person to have in a fight, tall, but wiry. They broke up when he refused to wear a tabard she made him that read, “This Is What A Feminist Looks Like.”
But nothing lasts forever. After years of thieving from unholy temples, sword-selling, and occasional grave-robbery Ichabod’s companions gradually lost interest in the daily threat to life and limb associated with their line of work and left one by one. His brother was the last to abandon him in favor of entering the relatively safe life of a small business owner. Ichabod went back to demolition. He didn’t need the money, but it was something to do.