Call him Big, because that's what he is.
He's got a thick russian accent and he's a nice enough guy, though a little slow. He's not quick to anger, or get a joke, or much of anything, but he means well. That's not to say he won't get pissed and break something though. He's never killed ANYTHING that he can remember, and he wants to keep it that way. He's fine with breaking a couple bones, ripping off an arm even, but the thought of death terrifies and disgusts him, though you won't hear him say that. Maybe he has a little too much machismo sometimes, but he's generally just a gentle, sweet giant. As long as you don't piss him off. If you do that, he becomes pretty much the definition of berserker.
The only equipment he has is a single massive hunting knife, about a whole foot long. He keeps it holstered to his belt, and it's heavy enough that most people would have to use two hands to wield it. Other than that, he's just got his fists, feet, and tough as leather skin.
He's always been a big boy. His parents were almost as big as him, two massive russians in the heart of Siberia. They love the cold, Big hated it. They're still alive and he calls them occasionally, but he's 32 now, he's grown. He moved out when he was 18 and just kind of wandered Europe for a while, mostly hitch-hiking when he could, though few people could/would fit him in their cars. Nothing truly messed up has ever happened to him, he's got a couple scars from brawls/attempted muggings, but he's really just an ordinary guy wandering around, doing whatever.