My name is Toongiran Bearhoof, my friends and allies gall me Giran for short When I got the notice my father was ill, I went into a
bender like no other, I was finally pulled from it by (DM get creative, A person who may have perished at the hands of the BBEG?)
Now I find myself soul searching and training to become the fighter my father would be proud of. I have never seen true combat
however I am able to convince people I am a trained killing machine, holds up trinket Look at these mummified hands. Howel
help me if anyone finds out I am a fraud.
 
I thrive in front of an audience. I know how to entrance them, entertain them, and even inspire them. My poetics can stir the hearts of those who hear you, awakening grief or joy, laughter or anger. My music raises their spirits or captures their sorrow. My dance steps captivate, my humor cuts to the quick. Whatever techniques you use, your art is your life.
 
A gladiator is as much an entertainer as any minstrel or circus performer, trained to make the arts of combat into a spectacle the crowd can enjoy. This kind of flashy combat is my entertainer routine, though I might also have some skills as a tumbler or actor. Using my By Popular Demand feature, I can find a place to perform in any place that features combat for entertainment—perhaps a gladiatorial arena or secret pit fighting club. I can replace the musical instrument in your equipment package with an inexpensive but unusual weapon, such as a trident or net.
 
My Father was a military man, I come from a long line of millitary, I am the first and only male to not be a member of the Militaty,
Instead I followed my passion for music. and making people happy, becoming a masterful musician of the lute and bagpipes. I have
wandered the lands falling into gambling and drinking away. While on stage in Keldor I received word that my father was terminally ill
and on his deathbed. I decided at that moment I needed to clean up, all I ever wanted to do was impress and make my father proud. I
have lied and cheated my way enough. This rope necklance of mummified fingers I convlenced him were trophies of war is nothing
but a lie. Damnit I need a purpous, thus I have returned to the Forest of Howel to rediscover and prove worthy of the Bearhoof
Name.