Ebon

A squat Deformed Orc with burnt-orange skin marbled with rust-colored lesions, Molgrom weighs 230 lbs of compact fury. His right forearm is encased in a jagged sheath of oxidized iron plating fused to bone, with fingers ending in blunt stumps. Deep gouges run across his scalp in a zebra-stripe pattern, and two mismatched tusks protrude from his lower jaw—one bleached white, the other dark with rot. A jagged lightning-shaped scar slices through his left eye, which weeps a thin, black tear of dried ichor.

Molgrom is explosive and simple-minded: quick to anger, quicker to smash. He speaks in short grunts, rarely forming full sentences. He hides a soft spot for stray animals, feeding mangy rats behind his lean-to before flinging them away in disgust. He’s fiercely loyal to any orc who shows him kindness, yet suspicious of strangers to the point of immediate violence. He fears water—drowning nightmares haunt him after a river ambush a season ago. Molgrom derives sadistic pleasure from extorting tolls, forcing travelers to cough up coin under threat of his rust-fist’s blow.

Molgrom’s earliest memory is the crack of lightning on Day 3 of Stormfall Year 10010, the thunder so loud his arm shattered—but instead of mercy, imperial torturers bound iron straps around his bones, grafting scrap-metal armor. He recalls the metallic taste of his own blood as he screamed for seven nights straight in Lothren’s dungeons. He escaped during a thunderstorm, tearing off his makeshift wrist-shackles and fleeing into the mountains. He stumbled into Henry’s Descent two winters ago, eyes wild with pain, and has since claimed the rope ladder toll as his dominion.