Wildspeaker Torren's page

Torren was born in Lastwall. To a captain in the military called Oren and his wife Lyssa, who was a political activist. Torren's mother often brought him to demonstrations in the streets of Lastwall, begging for the repealment of harsh conscription laws and the fair treatment of and for veterans. Her husband's career afforded her a level of access she wouldn't have normally had and Oren's reputation suffered in the long run for it.

Oren stood by his wife though, supporting her beliefs and eventually leaving the military. Lyssa and Oren fled the city with their now 3 year old son Torren and eventually made their way to Trunau.

Torren and his family enjoyed their new lives of freedom among the equally sturdy folk of Trunau. Sure it was hard, but honest folk working together made it a bit easier on everyone. The raids came, there were funerals, but babies were born as well. For 5 years, Oren worked on the town guard, putting his military background to use, and Lyssa became a weaver and sat on the city council.

Life seemed so simple. On a warm summer evening in the eighth summer of Torren's life, an Orc raid came, one like the folks of Trunau had never seen. Their defenses were overrun and violence pervaded the town. In the chaos, Torren was separated from his parents, captured by the Orcs. He didn't know why they didn't just kill him, but he was stuffed crying in a sack and soon the sounds of screams and the roar of flame from his village was receding. Hours that felt like days passed as he was carried by an orc and at least a few of its kin through the forest and mountain passes of Belkzan.

Suddenly there was a thunderous "CRACK!!" and his sack tumbled to the ground. He scurried out, wiping the tears and dirt from his face. A man, bigger than any he had ever seen was among the Orcs, destroying them with a tree trunk. When it was over, the giant bent and looked at the wild haired boy. Torren smiled at it and the massive fellow smiled back. A few hours later, Torren was among a tribe of peaceful and gentle giants. It took him nearly a year to figure out the language, but eventually he did. The giant who found him was called Rooggo and was the son of a tribe elder. His son Roogog was like a brother to Torren, albeit one who was significantly larger than the boy's actual father.

Torren spent the next 15 years among the giants, learning to fight with them, studying them. Simply taken with the massiveness of their spirits and bodies. He grew in his understanding of nature, and Roogog would take him on long trips into the deepest reaches of the forest or the highest peaks of the mountains, showing him were things that were gigantic still thrived. Torren learned of the balance of life, and the respect for the power of nature.

His tribe awarded him the title of Wildspeaker when he ventured south alone for a year, into the jungles and staying clear of major civilizations when he could. He returned with Garm, a primordial reptile called a dinosaur.(allosaurus) Having sensed a kindred spirit with the beast he befriended it and Garm followed him back to his mountain home.

Now 23 Torren has recently felt the urge to return to Trunau, to see what became of it after the raid. To see if his family still lived. Now confident and strong enough to make the harrowing journey through the wilds of Belkzan alone, he made the trip and arrives in Trunau.

Torren is a large man, standing 6'6 with wide set shoulders. He has striking green eyes and long brown hair that he braids or wears in a loose topknot. Though sometimes he wears it in dreads. He is muscular and wears hide clothing adorned with fur and bits of bone. He carries a spear and sling.

Torren is a free spirited and fun loving man, with a deep sense of empathy and attunement to the natural world. He is obsessed with the primordial might of megafauna and dinosaurs, and seeks to study them. He is a student of giant kind and feels as large as they in his heart even if his body doesn't match it. He is very loyal to those he deems worthy, and has a vicious streak for those that unbalance nature or commit atrocities. Ever one to promote balance and harmony, he views things like orc raids as evil but a dinosaur consuming a deer as natural. He has a kind smile and a frightening roar.

Long had the people of Trunau known of the mountain folk. A small clan of hearty men and women who roamed the peaks of the Mindspin Mountains in small groups. A people born of the land. Dangerous and wild. Not like the dwarves in their halls of stone, or the elves with their love of flowers and magic, but something older and more primal. The people were of a free and chaotic spirit, at peace and one with the harsh peaks they roamed.

Torren could remember the elders telling him that he had a destiny. He had gone with the eldest to the frosted peak of the mountain his clan currently resided on. The old one had place his hand on the shoulder of the then young Torren as they looked out across the great valley and stood against the wind. ”Look at the windswept cliffs young one. No matter how the wind howls, the mountain can not bow to it.” he took a large breath of the freezing thin air, Torren did the same. ”We are of the mountain Torren, but you, you son, are the mountain. Destined to be a Wildspeaker, the greatest of our shamans. The soul of a Titan is within you and the heart of a dire bear.”

When Torren was eighteen his Druidic training was coming to an end, the elders and shamans were pleased with his progress and his growing physical and spiritual power. He had communed with shamans of peaceful giant tribes and successfully lived alone in the wild for two years. During his two year pilgrimage he had traveled to the southernmost area of the mountains and found a wet and ancient valley. Here he met Garm a juvenile mega lizard with powerful legs and a massive bite. Befriending the animal, it traveled with him and hunted with him. Torren had called forth a powerful ally, and kindred spirit. Garm was a beast of primal strength and cunning as was Torren. His ability to tame such a monster proved him a Wildspeaker and he returned to his clan victorious.

For the last two years he has been with his clan, leading it with the elders. Orcs, evil giants and poachers always pose a threat to the way of life of the mountain folk. But Torren had faith in his people. He had heard rumors of Orcs attacking the mountain village of Trunau, the gods smiled on him, for it was only several days trek from where his nomadic clan was currently encamped.

Torren aspires to freedom and adventure, his goals lie not with material wealth or personal power. He wishes to grow only in the strength of the mountain. To preserve the ancient places and natural wonders of the world. He strives to embody and protect the natural balance of birth and decay. He will not abide any type of slavery or the wanton destruction of life without purpose. A dinosaur eating a person is not the same in his mind as orcs slaughtering people. He has a particular hatred for poachers or those that take from nature for personal gain.

Torren is a broad and tall man, weighing about two hundred pounds and standing at 6'2. He has long brown hair that hangs to his back that he sometimes braids or wears in top knots. He is adorned in furs and hide, with claws and teeth accenting much of his wardrobe. He has striking green eyes and a firm set jaw. There is a sternness about him, he seems rugged and harsh like the mountains, but his eyes are kind.

Torren sat in a tavern, as it was called. In the village of Trunau. An old man had just purchased him a drink after staring at the tall mountain man for a slightly rude amount of time. The man smiled and said. "You one o' them hill people ain't ya?" he asked expectantly.

Torren took the drink and held it to his nose smelling it. Bitter, hint of nut. He set it down. "Mountain folk." he corrected.

"Mountain folk, yea mountain folk, that was it." the old man stammered into his own drink. "How ya liking Trunau?" he asked.

Torren felt the air, listened to the wind, he answered honestly. "This village smells of fear and desperation. There is little hope here. Buildings, new, the smell of ash in the air. There have been fires recently. I hope to help." Torren could feel the slightest of vibrations in the ground. Garm, circling the village in the woods, he hadn't wanted to scare these simple folk.

The old man took another drink. "Yep, damned orcs burning things when they attack. You got a keen nose there fella. I don't know how you could help, we just keep soldiering on, same as always." the man seemed consigned to the terrible state of the world.

Torren sighed. "Things must be balanced." he stood and left, his cup undrank.