His past was written in old scars of battles won and lost. The man spends his days searching for something long ago forgotten. Intense grey eyes constantly glance about, so even as you converse with him it would give you the impression--the seriously wrong impression--that he wasn't paying attention.    While nobles squabbled he took to the sword. A young boy turned by the fortunes of war into a soldier, then a mercenary. At 6'8" he makes a formidable opponent, frighteningly quick when there came a need.  Earning his coin as a mercenary or woodsman brought him to the service of many Nobles, though, he's yet to find a place he cared to stay for any length of time.    Wearing a mixture of protection, strips of chain mail, banded and studded vestments along with a heavy leather tunic of some old military guard. The man bristled with an assortment of weapons from swords to daggers, a brace of throwing knives and hand axe.  Even when he smiled there was something about him that tended to leave you feeling uneasy.    All battles involves skill and luck, pray the luck never runs short.   The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook.   (Please keep it medieval and provide me with a profile)