Sense Freak is a self-proclaimed hedonist, living for earthly sensations. Anyone who knows his habits would add that he also has poor taste. Sense Freak relishes the bitter burnt Grunt Gruel served up at Troperiffic mess as much as the fine wines and exotic fruits he purchases from his own pocket. His laundry basket is a rotating assortment of lavish silks, scratchy hemps, homespun wools, and soft satins. He will go listen to the most eloquent of elven arias in a city's opera house, then go shout out incoherent drinking songs with teams of ogres. Good or bad, Sense Freak wants to experience it all.

This senseless pursuit of the senses is what led him to Troperiffic; where else can you be paid good money to experience the elation of victory, the bottomless pit of defeat, the pride of a play well executed, the thrill of smashing another man's face in, and of course, the pain. A lineman on a Blood Bowl pitch is likely to feel every kind of pain there is, a wealth of experience (according to Sense Freak,) and he aims to keep going until he knows all the ways a body can be broken.