Tarholt
Just a helmet's toss away from the City Court in The Lady's Ward is Traban’s Forge — Sigil’s best source of nonmagical armor, fine enough to please even the most discriminating paladins and Harmonium high-ups. It's a longstanding, traditional business run by a family of dwarves headed by the 471-year-old Traban. Fact is, Traban brought the forge with him piece by piece from Krynn over a century ago, and he still oversees most of the work himself, aided by his son and great-grandson.
His grandson, though — well, Tarholt’s a different matter. The 343-year-old dwarf worked
the fires for a good century or so after the family came
to Sigil, but Tarholt left the heat of the forge (and the arguments with his kin) 10 years back. His family chalked it up to the sudden loss of his wife, Gertelen — she fell victim to a wasting plague that ripped the Cage for a time — but her death was only partly to blame, See, Tarholt missed his family’s earthen diggings on Krynn — the wholesome smell of moist dirt, the cool breeze of wind on his face. The grime, crowds, and smog of Sigil held little appeal when Gertelen was alive
; after she'd gone, they became intolerable.
But Traban didn’t want to lose his grandson; he talked Tarholt into becoming a runner for the forge, arranging sales, making deliveries, and drumming up new business outside of Sigil. That way, and still “indulge that reckless
Tarholt could serve the family yvanderlust,” as Traban put it Thus, for the last decade, Tarholt's spent little actual time in the Cage, instead traveling k and forth across the Outlands. He often journeys to the mines and halls of the Dwar-
ven Mountain, but he stops in lronridge, Glorium, and scattered Indep villages when the mood strikes.
Tarholt goes about his tasks in a workmanlike and forthright fashion, glad to make a deal if the customer's straightforward about it, but he gains little satisfaction from
bolstering the family business. His true joy such as it is for a dour dwarf — comes from the outside activities he squeezes in between his family obligations.
His grandson, though — well, Tarholt’s a different matter. The 343-year-old dwarf worked
the fires for a good century or so after the family came
to Sigil, but Tarholt left the heat of the forge (and the arguments with his kin) 10 years back. His family chalked it up to the sudden loss of his wife, Gertelen — she fell victim to a wasting plague that ripped the Cage for a time — but her death was only partly to blame, See, Tarholt missed his family’s earthen diggings on Krynn — the wholesome smell of moist dirt, the cool breeze of wind on his face. The grime, crowds, and smog of Sigil held little appeal when Gertelen was alive
; after she'd gone, they became intolerable.
But Traban didn’t want to lose his grandson; he talked Tarholt into becoming a runner for the forge, arranging sales, making deliveries, and drumming up new business outside of Sigil. That way, and still “indulge that reckless
Tarholt could serve the family yvanderlust,” as Traban put it Thus, for the last decade, Tarholt's spent little actual time in the Cage, instead traveling k and forth across the Outlands. He often journeys to the mines and halls of the Dwar-
ven Mountain, but he stops in lronridge, Glorium, and scattered Indep villages when the mood strikes.
Tarholt goes about his tasks in a workmanlike and forthright fashion, glad to make a deal if the customer's straightforward about it, but he gains little satisfaction from
bolstering the family business. His true joy such as it is for a dour dwarf — comes from the outside activities he squeezes in between his family obligations.
Children
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