Appearance: Igarr is of a sturdy build, although not particularly strong-bodied or broad –shouldered. He has a ruddy, cheery complexion that seems to contrast with his worn and weathered face. His hair and long beard are a respectable iron-grey in colour, and both are usually tied into tight braids – less for appearances than to keep them out of the way.
He wears well-worn, handcrafted leathers of his own crafting. Innumerable pouches and bags hang from his back and belt that are generally crammed with food of all kinds. He is never seen without his beaten silver hip flask. As with his armour, his axe and rifle are always well-worn yet carefully maintained. A small, plush white bear sits atop his pack.
Igarr is loud, cheerful, boisterous, and almost always drunk. He carries on in what others would regard as a completely shameless manner, as if he were only half his age. Igarr shows constant enthusiasm in all he does, even when respect or caution would be better advised.
Out in the field, he usually rushes into any encounter, bellowing away and gun blazing. Away from the action he is just as direct, livening up any venue with his tall tales, atrocious puns and (fortunately very rarely) drunken singing. Above all else, he is a hard-working and loyal friend who does his best to drag his companions into his latest adventure.
Aside from drinking and shooting things, Igarr’s greatest passion is for cooking. He believes that the wild outdoors is no reason to give up the comforts of home, and always carries a variety of spices and garnishes with him. He seems to be able to cook anything, usually in beer, although the results are often less than spectacular. No matter what, Igarr and Sooty will always dig in.
The only thing that seems to somber Igarr is mention of his wife. Never named, and spoke of only in hushed tones, the dreaded ‘Mrs Thundershot’ is apparently an object of dread. By all reports she waits for his return with a scowl and a rolling pin.
Igarr lived his life among the mountains of Dun Morogh, being a steady and respected member of the Kharanos community. He married, raised “a pair o’ proud mountaineers” and ran a leatherworking business with his wife. Invasions, decades of turmoil and three wars passed by all but unnoticed. By the time the third war had ended, both Igarr’s sons had grown and were patrolling the mountains of Dun Morogh under the Ironforge banner.
At one point however, Igarr decided to have a little fun. He took down an old hunting rifle, gathered his best snow-cloak around his shoulders and quietly snuck away, quickly finding himself on the road to the Coldridge mountains. With a gleam in his eye and a spring in his step, he set out for adventure.
As he made his way through the mountains to Loch Modan, Igarr came to hear of a particularly savage and dangerous Dun Morogh Iceclaw bear that had been menacing encampments nearby. He set out into the mountains to find this dreaded savage. What he found, late that night, was a large dopey white bear nuzzling through his pack.
Igarr quickly befriended the bear (thanks to generous helpings of beer-basted boar ribs), naming him Sooty. It became apparent that he was less of a menace, than he was just lost and hungry. Soon the pair were bounding back down the mountains and off to the Loch.
Igarr describes Sooty as being “just a big softy,” although he has been known to savage creatures twice his size. In reality he’s about as happy and enthusiastic as Igarr is. He loves nothing more than rolling around in dirt, mud or snow and making a lot of noise. Rather than feed him, Igarr just lets Sooty nose through his bags whenever he’s hungry. Igarr’s packs are often empty.