[ Name ]: Frederick Arcturus
[ Birthday ]: October 7th
[ Age ]: 48
[ Gender ]: Male
[ Race ]: Giant
[ Class ]: Warrior/Tank
[ Job ]: Enslaved Soldier
[ Personality ]: Frederick is somewhat passionate about what he believes in, but not overly so. He can be somewhat easily manipulated due to his naïve nature, however he is not so easily persuaded as he is threatened. When he sets his mind on something, he is very stubborn to change his view of it, however it is possible with a few years of harsh conditioning and/or therapy. Frederick is quite a smart military tactician, but that is where his intelligence ends. He is not very emotional sadness-wise, but is more prone to cry than other battle-hardened veterans. On the other side of the spectrum, he can be a pleasant person to be around, even while not in combat. His sense of humor is objectively good, but crude and underdeveloped. He is only angered in combat, especially when his comrades he care for die, but otherwise has a somewhat even temper. Capable of speech, but can only speak in very broken up sentences.

[ Appearance ]: Frederick is 9' 2" tall, and wields a large club with spikes nailed into it. It is also not uncommon for him to use dead bodies as a sort of flail, boulders as a projectile, or even uprooting trees as a mace of sorts. He wears a green "shirt" of sorts with a loincloth of slightly darker green. He has brownish, not well kept hair that goes down to his lower neck. He wears leather boots, with new ones being made by the town every 10 years or so. He also has very hard skin to compensate for all the damage he takes in combat.

[ Backstory ]: Frederick was originally a member of the very upper class of his tribe. One day, a group of humans and elves traveled into the area near his tribe. Being as naïve as he was, he set off to hear the source of the noise. The group of adventurers subdued him, but rather than killing him, decided to tie him up and take him to a nearby village. He was sold away to yet another large city, where he is used in combat by the local army. His legs are always chained to at least one person while in combat, known as a "caretaker," to ensure he does not run away. He knows he could easily break out, but fears the local armies, thinking they are so much more mighty than he is, when in actuality he is much stronger than any of them. During periods of peace, he is kept in a sort of prison made of iron bars, although he is allowed to roam free for some hours of the day, particularly by some of his nicer caretakers.