Red would tell you his full name, he is sure, if he could remember it. Red, known as such for his messy, bright red beard, was once a great Defender of his clan, reduced to an amnesiac-moron by a lucky blow by the lucky blow of a duergar. All the dwarven clerics could do nothing to cure their great champion. Now a gigantic scar runs straight down the top of his bald head. Seeing that their once great champion had become an embarrassment to the clan, Red's clan turned him out of their homeland, with a hand full of gold and a week of rations. Exiled by his people, Red traveled from place to place, always seeming to find the kind of people willing to con him out of his gold. A crooked shell game, a flask of snake oil, you name it, Red bought into it. Every time Red found out that the con men had played him for a fool, they usually met a bloody end. That handful of gold that his people left him with quickly disappeared, leaving Red homeless, poor, out of work, and out of luck, his only option to turn to adventuring to feed himself. Though stupid, Red is a kind person. Sometimes Red wonders why people are so mean to him, and then promptly returns to counting his fingers repeatedly, always getting stuck at 7. Now, Red wanders from place to place, hoping to find hospitality, work, and maybe even recover what he has lost.