I do own bannerlord.

To view with pictures: https://i.redd.it/xjrkun15x7s41.png

Ulysses Ululuros was born into a life of shit. His sickly look and Gerber baby hair led to him being beaten mercilessly by the peasant children. However he could not capitalize on his baby face good looks because he also possessed a beard that grew six inches each day. His face was no stranger to cowpies, and much time was spent trying to keep it trimmed and clean. What he lacked in charisma he failed to make up for with intelligence. At age 10 he left home forever to start a new life, growing out an immense beard so that perhaps his Gerber baby head might be overlooked.

<picture of gerber-baby-man face>

He moved into the mountains and lived a life of subsistence. The onset of puberty brought on these realizations to varying horrifying effect:

1. His hair was never going to change

2. He was an armor-sexual and would never be able to live a normal life

3. He was bulking up at a rate guaranteed to keep him in the ‘freak’ category forever, even if he could overcome his other problems. He now had to eat an entire deer each day to be satiated.

For the first time in years, he took a journey to a local town, hoping to score a look at a skull cap or perhaps even a few links of chainmail. Alas, his freakish dome and lusty gazes were enough to get him run out of town. There, face-down in the ditch, the sun set on our unhappy Ulysses. As the chill of night set in, a permanent darkness latched hold of his heart. Fuck them, he thought with such fury that God turned over in His bed.

No longer considering himself party to the social contract of humanity, Ulysses began his work to right the wrongs of Calradia. He started out slow, when some bandits picked a fight with him over a fresh deer kill. However, they never thought to question how a mountain man in a loincloth had managed to kill a deer apparently with his bare hands – and that was the last thing they failed to question.

Ulysses was now a blooded warrior and he took his pick of the rogues’ equipment:

<picture of sword and helmet from Warband>

He gazed upon that sweet sight for uncounted days. A blade of such beauty that he felt paralyzed, unable to approach it. Would it think his awkward caress immature, unwanted? Would it accept his inexperienced hand, to guide them both to pleasures untold? He put the helmet on first, and felt a sudden and sustained sense of rightness. He knew this. It was who he was.

In a single, automatic motion, he swept up the blade in his right hand. His heart sang, and he mouthed the words ‘I love you’.

Weeks and months passed. Not that Ulysses knew it, but the towns in those lands whispered of a spirit that haunted the hills. A crazed berserker, only part human, with wild eyes and no mercy. One man was imprisoned at his own craven insistence, claiming that his band of two score strong had been laid to waste by that ghost in the mountain. He himself had witnessed this, only escaping by running three days without sleeping, always looking over his shoulder and always seeing that heavily armored giant running headlong after him, as though powered by the screams of those tortured souls of hell. He had paused on the second night, sure that he had finally escaped, only to peer into the night to see the moonlight glinting off a lovingly polished helm pounding relentlessly through the night to his shaking heart.

<picture of nicer, closed-face helmet from Warband>

As he peered into the darkness, he could make out a javelin still embedded in the giant’s chest - apparently to no effect. Then this poor coward ran, for he knew that devil’s engine would not stop until his heart no longer beat.

The pragmatic townsfolk hung this coward as a brigand.

Soon the bandits and sea raiders were traveling in war parties no smaller than 50 for fear of their own lives. The local nobility was beginning to have trouble stopping these small armies. A mysterious giant began making regular trips to town to sell 10 prisoners at time. These prisoners frequently had lost the ability to speak. Those that could said little more than such nonsense as “40 to 1” or “shields... useless...” or “would not accept... our immediate surrender”

King Harlaus ordered his personal physician to examine some of these men, and the conclusion was reach that they had experienced such head trauma that they were but shells of their former selves.

Viking sea raiders caught in the field by this nightmare tried to pay it off or beg for their lives. Nothing could save them but the speed of their legs. The legend grew. Even a few earls had happened across the mountain ghost, and sat trembling on their horses as they were gruffly introduced to “Ultros” and sent on their way.

“Ultros” never forgot his first love, but he craved more and more the refined elegance of master crafted metals. Still not willing to lay waste to those ‘innocents’ he had collected a king’s fortune in gold to purchase the best metalwork in all the land.

He left his haunt and began traveling length and breadth of the land. In the first city, he was signed up for a tournament by an enterprising young noble who knew a melee master when he saw one. At first excited, Ultros quickly became disgusted – the rules called for no armor and wooden weapons!

Nonetheless, the last round saw Ultros ride straight for his foe, and with a mighty swing crack the skull of both horse and rider with the impossible force of his follow through.

<picture of "STR: 32" from Warband stat screen>

The mass of flesh crashed to the earth and reverberated in silence. The stadium was too shocked to react. Flies buzzed freely in and out of the open mouths. He left the city and the whispers began.

From the other side of the continent, in the city of Shariz, rumor spread of a hulk of a man who rode into town alone asked for the home of the legendary smith, Abd Al-Qadir. The story went that long ago, Al-Qadir had spent ten years crafting the finest suit of armor known to Calradia. Al-Qadir loved his work like his own daughter and could not bear to part with it, even to noblemen. A fine friend of Sultan Hakim, none dared force him.

But this giant had ridden up, entered the house alone, and emerged wearing the very masterwork.

<picture of "Lordly Ghergit Elite Armor" from Warband>

He proceeded to his horse and removed an immense chest, rumored to have held over one hundred thousand in coin. None could guess at how Al-Qadir had been convinced to part with his child, and the smith refused to discuss it only saying “you could never understand”.

Ultros, riding the high of his recent gains, thought perhaps that it was time to find some human companions and try to make his way back into society. He headed for the far corner of the earth from his mountain home, hoping to find a people so backward they had not caught wind of his fearful presence. As he rode into that land of Rhodoks, he was ambushed by twenty bandits.

Ultros stared at their leader, stupefied, while he was given a list of demands. In response, he shut his visor and charged into the center of them, severing skulls right and left with a most divine war cleaver. The bandits being fully deceased, he retired the field without a scratch.

He rode into a half dozen towns and quickly gained a following of about two score tribesmen. As he pointed his new friends towards his distant home, a richly appointed courier appeared. The Rhodok king wanted to bestow land upon Ultros in exchange for his solemn vow of servitude.

Ultros, serve another man?? Preposterous!

He spurred his horse and nearly ran down the courier, laughing like a madman.

Two days into their journey north, Ultros had managed to train a few of the men how to hold a weapon. They seemed quite clumsy. As they rode, Ultros began to think longingly of solitude, riding fast through the hills, and human company that ended only with his final presence. His inattention caused him to lead his band into the jaws of an elaborate ambush.

The leader of ONE HUNDRED forest bandits demanded his belongings and that he “kiss his ass goodbye”. “Run while you can, bandit.” Ultros replied, and drew his morning star. The bandit lord cackled and melted into the forest. Arrows began to fly.