Torolf hildegaard

Torolf nervously explored the market of Calcun. Compared to the little backwater town of Stilldeep this place was a veritable metropolis. He looked back at the collection of brave strangers he’d spent the last six days living and working with and gave them a parting wave before sinking into the small knot of people offering their wares and services.

He felt his coin purse, weighed down with 50 gold coins. It was more than he needed for where he had to go, but considering he’d lost his cart and goods he intended on using to plant a fresh crop this should do. He paid his fare to the amiable dwarf driver, opting to travel with the most lethal group of travellers rather than the cheapest this time and prepared for the long journey home.

After two days travel he returned, his wife and son were busy tending to the chickens when he poked his head into the coop. The blind little reptiles scattered but quickly crowded around the familiar scent, ignoring the food scattered about in favour for the promise of food that scent normally provided instead. Mildred set aside her basket and rushed forward, relief and anger crossing over her face. He held her tightly, then greeted their son. He told them of the brave travellers that rescued him, and that he had sworn on the way back home that he’d never allow such a fate to befall him or his family again.

The very next day he went to town with his son, picking out a sword, dagger and a bow and arrow for himself and his child. Together they trained, and soon the whole town had learned of Torolf and the travellers.