A fire genasi orphan who grew up to set out upon the world to make a difference. By remaking himself and the world.
- Crimson with a Fiery Yellow Streak
- Skin Tone/Pigmentation
- Deep Amber
At an age of 22 summers he stands a broad 6 feet tall. His skin a dark shade of auburn, wrapped in chain mail decorated with bronze. His shoulders are wrapped in a woolen juniper colored cloak to stave off the cold. Secured to his back by a taut leather cord is a stout kite shield, ornately painted with the sigil of an inflamed hawk. The symbol of Muradin is immaculately bound to the pommel of his ornate warhammer, rests on his hip, scintillating in the dim light. His strongly built face is framed with his crimson hair, sleekly tied behind his head to hang between his shoulder blades. His soft nose compliments the softness of his mouth, curled upward in a kind smile that felt like a warm fire. Seated in his right pointed ear are three studs of pure silver evenly spaced along the base of his ear. His citrine eyes reflect the light and dance around, seeking to find the next path to take.
Tarnfalk was born in Hundelstone, though he doesn’t remember much of his parents. He grew up in an orphanage, exploring the streets and trying to find a new step in life everyday. He tended towards the dwarven forges, as he felt most comfortable around the heat that the smithies produced. The dwarves became fond of and accepted him as he grew. As time passed Tarnfalk sought out and followed the teachings of Moradin. He enjoyed the days of fun in his youth but, when he came of age, he knew he had to find someone to apprentice under. He eventually came to find a smithy to learn from and who would take him. For the next few years he toiled away at the forge. Tarnfalk, for a time, was happy. Though most nights after the forge was chilled he would wander the town staring up at the stars.
Walking to the edge of town wondering what lay beyond. One day while he attended a service at the temple, he approached the altar to pray. As he knelt and spoke his prayers the symbol upon the altar began to glow. A wave of heat exuded from the anvil with everyone taking notice. When the heat reached him, he began to hear the sound of an anvil being struck. The sound resonated within his soul and he felt something well within him, a strength he never knew he could have. He understood then that Moradin being the god of the forge was more than just smithing. To truly follow you must also forge yourself anew. He noticed the murmurings of the congregation as he rose during this auspicious sight. He shuffled quickly out of the temple, conflicted at the feelings of the event.
As he walked home to ponder what he should do next, a piercing scream rang out as a house nearby had caught flame. From the screams of panic that emanated from within he knew that there were still some people left inside. Without thinking he tore his tunic and wrapped it around his face to protect against the smoke and dove into the house. The flames of the house lapped at his skin, he felt the fire but knew his resilience would hold for some time. He sought the source of the screams, finding a door blocked by some burning rubble. He shoved the debris aside and the door flew open as the occupants poured out and he escorted them out of the fire. He stood outside to cool as the fire brigade put out the flames. As the fires died down he felt that his time in Hundelstone was fleeting, that the life of a smith wasn’t where he was meant to be. As he saw it, the house was the forge that was part of his rebirth. He returned to his smithing master and thanked him for everything that he had taught him. His master had heard the talk of the town. He warmly bade Tarnfalk goodbye, and gifted him one of his finest warhammers. Tarnfalk gathered his armor and shield that he had crafted for himself and struck out in the world, seeking to rebuild himself.
The major events and journals in Tarnfalk's history, from the beginning to today.
The list of amazing people following the adventures of Tarnfalk.