Brute Squad was created by a very frail looking descendant of Frankenstein’s Monster outside of Lebus, Germany in the dead of winter. She had become so excited when he awoke, that She nearly forgot that he was even there. She hastily provided him with information he would need to survive, such as how mortals will always fear him, ways to fuel the fire that burns within, sustaining his “life,” and that staying in one place for too long can cause the land to wither bringing unwanted attention. But in Her excitement, She forgot such details as Her name, or his for that matter, and why she was leaving so quickly.
It wasn’t long, perhaps only a few settings of the sun, that She returned, Her jubilant euphoria replaced with sorrow and anger. She still didn’t fully acknowledge that anyone else was in the cabin mostly mumbling to Herself about liars and retribution. By the time She finally asserted herself to action, Brute had made out enough to understand that someone had supposedly told his creator the secret to attaining mortality, that if She were to create one like herself, She could pass the curse on and be accepted. This is why he was created, to suffer so that She would not. But it didn’t work. She was no more mortal now than before meeting the informant, and for this deception, he must pay. Even though he had not met this man and did not fully understand what he had done so grievously wrong, Brute found himself desiring the same revenge as his creator.
Following Her, the dis-informant was easy enough to find, but had protection in the form of a pack of werewolves. They proved little resistance to the pent up rage exuded by my creator and I. Soon nothing stood between Her and the dealer of falsehoods and with one mighty swing little was left for next of kin to identify. With this justice fulfilled, I found myself with a new longing, one for a sense of purpose. The realization that I had been created merely to suffer did not seem acceptable, even to my newly wakened mind. Unfortunately, by the time I found the words to ask, my creator had vanished. Soon I began to feel the eyes of the local population upon me and remembered Her words from before.
And so it is that I ran from that place and began my existence as a wanderer. The memories of how frail the Liar’s body was continue to conflict in my mind with Her desire to be like him. I do not believe this is something I would ever wish on anyone, especially myself, but still it intrigues me. Curse the Maker for giving me a mind that refuses to leave well enough alone. As such I continue to analyze these mortals to determine what makes their condition desirable, despite their seemingly unanimous hatred of my very existence. The inability to remain in one place for extended time has made my research tedious on occasion, but I have found an effective solution. I have discovered groups known as “traveling circus” or “carnival” that like myself do not remain stationary for long and have the added benefit of attracting large crowds of local mortals. I am only able to remain with one of these groups for a few moon cycles before they too pin their problems on me.
It was with one of these carnival that I acquired the name Brute. A person called American Tourist became startled at seeing me, supposedly from my size, and exclaimed “Woah! You are the Brute Squad.” At the time it appeared out of place until one of the halflings explained that it was a comment made to a character in a video story that greatly resembled myself.