Toroc

"Chainbreaker, Blademaker" -->Former Slave, Wielder of Firen

Description:

6th level barbarian, Amear Weagra

Bio:

Deeds/important events
-Toroc’s childhood home invaded by Duergar slavers of the Shadowsteel Clan, killing his father and brothers and enslaving 11 year old Toroc, his mother, and many of the women and children of his village.
-Toroc’s grows into a man in the Duergar mines, outliving all of the other Amear slaves. He learns many of the Duergar secret arts to metal crafting and ore delving. Toroc lives and works side by side with orc slaves. Toroc is collared by his masters, insuring he will never escape.
-Due to his strength and ability Toroc is promoted to overseer and bodyguard, and given permission to forge Firen.
-During a conflict between two factions, Toroc’s master is poisoned and frees him of his collar on her deathbed.
-Toroc escapes the mines and runs for his life, killing the Duergar and their minions who relentlessy pursue him. During his flight he is assisted by Beomear and Eirwen, two mysterious Amear adventurers. Toroc pledges to aid them in their quest in return for their kindness.
-On their return journey to Highpass Toroc finds the ruins of his childhood home. He searches and miraculously finds the cache of iron rings he helped his father forge as a young boy. With Beomear’s help Toroc later forges the rings into the suit of ring mail he currently wears.
-At Highpass Toroc is inspired to tell the heartbreaking story of his village, his enslavement, and his daring escape.
-Toroc meets the Amear warrior Erik fleeing from pursuit, and agrees to help him fulfill his mission if in return Erik will help him seek vengeance on his former masters when the time comes.
-Toroc is the hero of the battle of Three Armies, leading Amear warriors and braves into battle, slaying the enemy orc chieftain and dogmen leaders who sought to destroy his people with their voices alone. Toroc does not allow the surviving orcs to be slaughtered by the Amear.
-Travels down the Redclaw River to the Otter tribal lands, freeing a group of captured Amear, slaying giants, a monster cat, and wights along the way.
-Explores the Island of Daughters with Beomear, Eirwyn, Corymr, Shansu, and Usul. Slays three magical sisters and their spider woman hybrid pet; later slays head Seldar sorceress and several more Seldar warriors
-Chosen by Cormry to be Weagra against Dog-men invaders

Physical Description: 24 years old. 6’5”, heavily muscled. Short, jet black hair, deep golden eyes. Heavily scarred back and chest from the whips of his former masters.

Personality: “Incredible Hulk” a quiet, thoughtful giant who you really don’t want to see angry. Toroc has found lately that his imposing demeanor can influence friend and foe alike, especially on the battlefield.

Psyche: His enslavement in the Duergar mines shaped his mind as well as his body. Toroc underwent extreme physical and emotional abuse. He saw friends and family tortured and killed until he was the last of his village alive in captivity. In the later years of his enslavement, Toroc was forced to hurt others (mostly orc slaves and rival Duergar) as an overseer and personal bodyguard. (His Duergar masters crafted a magical collar that he wore around his neck which he was powerless to resist.) All of this combined to allow him to channel his anger (Rage) in battle, temporarily forging him into a living weapon.

Toroc despises those who sow torment and pain and will stop at nothing to put an end to such evil. He feels that he owes it to the memories of those he lost in the mines. Toroc has vowed to one day destroy the remaining Duergar who murdered his family and enslaved his people. If given a choice, he will not hurt others; Toroc has seen enough suffering to last many lifetimes. However, if Toroc feels himself or his people threatened a switch is turned on inside him (Rage) that will give him superhuman strength until he or his enemies are vanquished.

Story:
His hammer struck the glowing steel again and again, sending fiery sparks flying through the air. He wasn’t shaping the metal as a sculptor so much as pounding it into submission. This was his way. This was also his most ambitious work yet, a giant two-handed sword he would wield himself. He already had a name picked out for the weapon; he would name it Firen. (Old English: torment, suffering)
Toroc’s people had understood the power of names. No longer would he tolerate the torment or suffering of the innocent. He had made a vow. On his mother’s deathbed he had promised her to protect the weak and to punish the wicked for their crimes. Honoring her memory was one reason he continued on, the last of his people. That, and a dream for freedom they had still not been able to crush out of him. Toroc absentmindedly fingered the metal collar glowing at his throat. What good were vows and dreams when his masters could control his every action with their dark words?
He nodded to the orc slave assisting him with the forge. “Gor, (Old English: dung, dirt, filth) more heat!” The slave meekly added coal to the furnace and began vigorously pumping the bellows.
His masters also understood the power of names. They were Duergar, squat dark creatures that delved deep in their cavernous mines, with a talent for creating items of power. They had raided Toroc’s village when he was but a boy, slaying his father and brothers and enslaving his mother and the other survivors. That day had shaped him more than any hammer stroke could have.
The Duergar did not permit their slaves to keep their given Amear names. They amused themselves by renaming their slaves after the most degrading and low things they could think of. In time, the Duergar reasoned, the slaves would come to accept both their new name and its meaning. That was why they had named him Toroc. (Old English: grub weevil) But to Toroc, his slave name meant more than his masters could have ever imagined. Long ago, his father had showed him how grub weevils had burrowed deep into one of the great trees near the center of their village, destroying it from the inside out. Toroc like to imagine that was what he would do one day to his Duergar masters. By blade or by chain, the Shadowsteel clan of Duergar had murdered every Amear Toroc had ever loved.
He was the last. Toroc had been tempered by the mines as a piece of steel is tempered by the forge. His body had grown strong. Toroc had learned to harness the anger that was always troubling his spirit, to rage with reckless abandon into an unstoppable monster. His Duergar masters had been delighted in these gifts. Their dark collar insured that his sea of rage would never touch them, only those they wanted to unleash him upon. They had made him an overseer, using his anger and brute strength to control the orc slaves in the mines. They also used him as a bodyguard from time to time, marveling at Toroc’s ability to kill.
In return for his usefulness, or perhaps simply to tap the most out of him, the Shadowsteel Duergar had taught him amazing things. Things his people could never have dreamed. How to delve deep into the earth, to strike rich veins of the most precious gems and metals. How to smelt powerful alloys and forge them into weapons that would destroy armies.
Now the Duergar were at war. With themselves. Their greed and lust for power had finally shattered an ancient truce and the Shadowsteel and Darkfire clans were at each other’s throats. Toroc had been given permission by his masters to use his knowledge and skill to create a weapon that would help them bring the Darkfire clan to its knees.
Firen was ready to be cooled. If the blade were not tempered properly it would be ruined. His masters would not be happy with such a failure and waste of the precious alloy. “Gor.” The orc just stood there, staring in awe at the huge glowing blade. “The barrel! NOW!” Toroc looked down at his huge hand. He hadn’t remembered making a fist, but there it was. He could feel the anger bubbling up again. But he had made a vow. “GOR!!!”, Toroc bellowed at the top of his lungs. The orc, snapped from his reverie, scurried over to the water barrel and dragged it to his overseer.
Toroc could feel his rage subsiding, even as the giant blade hissed and smoked in his hand. Good. Funny how his orcs were the one constant reminder of his humanity. Gor was a valuable assistant, and did not deserve to be beaten, usually. Besides, Toroc felt a strange pride that Gor, forge slave for over a decade, had never seen such a blade before. No one had.

Toroc

The Amear Toroc