Sheriff Ivar Nardirsson

Sheriff Ivar Nardirsson, whom has been Sheriff since the community became a proper settlement, and not just a hamlet of a few people trying to build and frontier something in the wilderness, actually loathes his role, despite being the most qualified for it and damn good at it. He's never liked the idea of being an officer, ever since his military days in the Stone-Striders, the Suranthi 11th infantry battalion, when they tried to pin him with an actual officer's rank beyond patrol sergeant, which he turned down multiple times. He felt best not barking orders from a position of modest protection, but being in the thick of it, only in charge of a handful of fellow soldiers, fighting and operating as a unit.

He spent near a century in service, fighting in two dozen conflicts of various size and scope, mostly against warbands of bestials or greenskins, however he did also serve in two campaigns against proper orc warhordes, and it was in the second of these he suffered the injuries that have had such a unique impact on how he walks, and are why he wears gloves anywhere out in public.

Given his military background, and that he had two years experience as a constable in Vorgistal before being convinced to join the first wave of those whom would come to settle what would eventually become Spruce Point, it only makes sense that when it was time to form a proper constabulary, the peoples of the small community unanimously decided that Nardirsson was their man. The dwarven veteran, whom is still only just a shade over two hundred and thirty years old, did not want the job. But he also knew the people here and the people whom would be come to try and settle and start a life here as the village grew would needed him to take the job, so reluctantly, he agreed, on the condition that he and he alone would choose whom to name a deputy, and the rest would be mere constables, that is beat cops. No one else would interfere or question his judgement, a stipulation he has held the village council to ferociously. That and he demanded that after himself, Sheriff would no longer be an appointed position. It would be an elective one. The people would vote from candidates within the constabulary every ten years, and no one could ever serve more than one term as sheriff.

With these rules in place, he took the job and built up a quality law enforcement structure for the village, as well as aiding in militia organization. He has held his position for five years, just past the halfway point, and has only named two deputies, two officer's he has handpicked to elevate, to pass his lessons on leadership, as well as any other lessons he can, onto, basically to insure that the town has two strong candidates to choose from when its time to vote for his replacement. The grizzled dwarf looks forward to being a regular constable in a few years once again with relief and excitement.



Ivar Nardirsson is not old for a dwarf, though he is well into his 200s, however he walks and handles himself with the demeanor of a man who has both aged prematurely, yet physically seemingly has not at all. He is lean, barrel chested, strong as an ox, built like a lump of mountain stone, with charcoal black hair he keeps in a military trim, never allowing it longer than an inch and a half. His facial hair is well groomed, thick, and to this day kept in the thick handlebar moustache into the two the neck length woven beard braids decorated with thin silver chains that mark the Stone-Striders. He does not wear his military garb or medals working as a constable, but his neck tattoo of a silver pickaxe overlaid on a dormant volcano on the left side of his neck marks him as a veteran of the Blackstone wars. The only other thing he does wear which some with a background and knowledge of the Suranthi military might recognize is a thin mithral chain that, tucked under his tunic, holds a simple triangle of silver with gold inlay and small shard of jade in the shape of an eye on one side, the stamping of a motif of angel like wings on the other side. Though he earned many medals in his service, this one, the Savior's Eye, is the one he treasures the most even though it is not the highest honor he earned in his century of service.

It is a medal normally reserved for medics and healers, for and it is a rare honor indeed for an enlisted soldier to receive it, however receive it he did. The criteria is broad but up for interpretation and it is normally held to a very high standard, the criteria being To save a frankly unbelievable amount of injured service members or civilians when it should not have been possible, showing courage and commitment to life beyond reasonable to ask. Its a story he does not share easily, but one worthy of hearing. Connected to this medal, another tattoo, though rarely seen, is a simple set of tally marks on the back of his hands, twelve on each. If asked about those marks he often just smiles, and will wink at the questioner, responding simply;

"Them old things, that be a ledger twixt me and the Gods. I nary know if it be a debt or a bragging right, but suspect I'll find out when I die. Twenty-four men an' women I weren't in the mood ta let 'em take early."

Progressing into law enforcement was a natural progression for Ivar, after decades trying to reintegrate to his kin and clan, their tool-smithing business in An Pointe Thoir, he just couldn't do it. He was restless, the city was too comfortable, too safe, it felt wrong. It didn't feel like home anymore, so he moved to more rural locales, trying a wide variety of tasks and professions.

Understand it is not that he was a bad craftsman of course, he had skill, and talent enough, and could have been a master toolsmith. After all the Stone-Striders are a forward unit, a front line, beyond enemy lines, light infantry unit. They have to be handy, they are expected to work with what they can carry, what they can salvage and repair, and to make the best of the environment around them. As Nardirsson himself puts it;

"They didn't expect you to be smart, well kept, or even well read. But you bet your britches they expected you ta be hands on and self sufficient."

Years and years pass, but Nardirsson never really found his place. He did find a wife, marrying a dwarven woman, daughter of a quarry miner in Vorgistal, whom was close to his age, within a decade or two. The marriage helped make him happy, helped settle him some, however even Vorgistal felt to much like the big city, it just did not feel natural to him. However nearly seven years ago now, someone he'd gotten to know over his years in the construction business in the city introduced him to their father, Jacob Evers, as well as other prominent individuals whom were in the process, the early stages of planning to turn what was essentially only a modest somewhat fortified logging camp on the bank of Pyr's Run into a permanent established settlement. With the opening of a proper River Watch Station just across the river, the place had grown somewhat rapidly, and with a palisade under construction and a modest, but four figure population, it was about time they name the settlement and establish proper municipal government bodies and services. Which included the need for a constabulary. Thus they approached Nardirsson.

At first Ivar had not really wanted the job, he had been a leader of sorts, in a fashion, but had never been massively comfortable with leading, he would have much rather been just a constable, or at most a deputy. But once they outlined the plan for sheriff to be a limited candidate elected position after his tenure, and that the term limit was one term, after talking to his wife extensively, Ivar agreed to take the position. So in 1571, the community of Spruce Point was officially established, with the first town hall, community council votes and the appointing of Sheriff Ivar Nardirsson as the community's first sheriff.

Though a veteran from a notably dangerous infantry position, Ivar, to look at him as most would see him, fully clothed and in uniform, bears remarkably few scars or other evidence beyond the aforementioned medal and tattoos. In that way he was lucky, for though he did suffer his fair share of injuries, many quite serious, he never lost a limb or appendage entirely, losing only two fingers on his left hand, and never took a head wound.



Another benefit, indirectly, for both Ivar Nardirsson and the growing community of Spruce Point lies in Ivar's military service. Despite not being keen on being sheriff, Ivar took to the other role he ended up sort of garnering by defacto experience, which was being in charge of the community militia, like a fish to water. He had not realized it for many a decade, but truth be told, what he'd been missing was some elements of military life. The training, the camaraderie, those elements he missed more than he had realized. Being involved with organizing, drilling, and basically running the village militia gave him parts of that back, but in a way where he would also get to go home to his wife and, as of three years ago, their newborn son, every night. The best of both worlds one might argue, most certainly once he no longer has to hold the title of sheriff and can just be a constable and in charge of the militia.