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Ivar was an odd lad, prone to flights of fancy and distractions, never fully embracing the identity of a young nobleman. Eventually, a twelve year old Ivar simply wandered off one day, leaving his family behind with only a dagger and the clothes on his back. Taken by stories of his people's past he sought to see if he could survive like they once did. He survived, lost and alone, and soon he came to enjoy it. His childish flight of fancy had lead him to where he thought to be his true place, hunting in the wild forests and sleeping in hidden caves. He grew strong, grew bold and eventually, lonely. He has since returned from his self imposed exile, finally feeling the call of home.

Tall and broad, Ivar is built more like a bear than a man. He is massively muscular, built more for function than any marble statue. His pale blond hair is long and shaggy, trailing down to his shoulders and joining seamlessly with an equally unkempt beard. His features are squared, with deep set eyes of icy blue that rest beside a broad nose. Scars run across his arms and hands, evident more of little nicks rather than any large wounds. His right hand in particular is heavily scarred around the knuckles.

Loud, odd, friendly, brutish, strange. All words used to describe Ivar, and none too incorrect. Though larger than life and savage, this nobleman turned wildman. He can be honorable and respectful, though in his own odd ways. He is a man of great sorrows and great joys, uninhibited in his emotions and feelings. But above all Ivar is a man that seeks to test his limits, his worth.