Tollen

Tollen is a man who looks as though every road in the world has betrayed him. Days ago he lost the trail. Since then he has wandered through tangled woods and silent marshes, surviving on stubbornness more than food. Hunger gnaws at him constantly. Exhaustion hangs from his shoulders like a sodden cloak. His boots are worn, his temper worn thinner. He is a massive figure, broad as an old oak and twice as hard to move. Mud cakes his clothes. Rain tangles his hair. His beard is wild and unkempt. Every step seems accompanied by a growl directed at the world itself. Anger is the fire that keeps him walking. Tollen snaps at birdsong, curses fallen branches, and scowls at clear skies as readily as storms. He expects disappointment from every path and betrayal from every stranger. The years have carved deep furrows into his face, not from laughter but from frowns held too long. Yet beneath all that fury lies something colder. His heart is a frozen teardrop, suspended somewhere between grief and loneliness. Long ago he cared deeply, perhaps too deeply. Loss struck him hard enough that part of him never thawed again. Now he keeps others at arm's length, convinced that companionship is temporary and trust is merely another way to get hurt. Still, the loneliness follows him. It sits beside his campfires. Walks beside him through the fog. Waits with him beneath the stars. For all his bitterness, Tollen is not cruel. He is simply tired. Tired of being hungry. Tired of being lost. Tired of carrying old wounds that never quite heal. If you met him on a forest road, you would see only a dangerous, ill-tempered giant of a man. If you stayed long enough, you might notice the sadness hiding behind the scowl, like a single ember buried beneath a mountain of cold ash.