Vorengrim Stonehand

Once a minor noble in a fractured elven hold, Vorengrim fell from grace after a clan dispute left his hand mangled and his honor publically broken. He remade his reputation with steel and spite, hammering the haft of his morningstar until it fit his ruined grip like a ritual limb. Now he collects grudges and coin alike, selling his hammer to the highest bidder or using it to enforce the will of the Iron Moot, a secretive mercantile cabal that values muscle over manners. Vorengrim favors ruined forts and quarry towns for his lairs, places with collapsed walls he can turn into training grounds for brutal tactics. Scholars such as Vessan Tholl have chronicled his fighting style in the essay 'The Stonehand's Calculus,' noting his preference for crushing an opponent's weapons and limbs over seeking lethal blows. Local tales in the Sarnol Ruins warn children to hide when the Stonehand's war-cry—a rasping bark meant to unsettle—rises above the stones, for most who meet him leave maimed or broken and never sing again.

Vorengrim is a broad-shouldered elf whose right forearm ends in a roughened, iron-reinforced gauntlet fused to old splints and braided leather. His skin is the deep olive of forest elves burned by years of exposure; his left hand is long-fingered and capable, but his gait favors the shoulder that bears the morningstar's swing. The morningstar itself is a heavy, dinged head on a shortened ash haft wrapped in blackened leather—one spike is bent from a decisive strike years ago. His face bears a diagonal scar running from temple to jaw and a missing left ear tip, and his eyes are a cold grey. He wears battered half-plate over patched leather, pouches for torque and whetstones at his belt, and a war banner pinned to his breast showing the Iron Moot's iron ring sigil. Scars, bruises, and the occasional dried blood stain the lower hem of his cloak.