Tulson Mirth

As midnight approaches, a rugged figure occupies a barstool in the local tavern. Initially mistaken for a stocky, primitive soldier, closer inspection reveals him as a displaced knight. His stone mask secures tightly as he gulps down a third brew. Amber peeks from beneath his disfigured tan face, marked by severe burns. Clean-shaven hair tops his squarish head, while thick wrists support a mug and robust arms carry a stone hammer and shield slung on his back. Chisels and pickaxes adorn his sides, and he is clad in mottled grays and silvers from a combination of chain and platemail.

A disturbance erupts as a drunkard collides with him, triggering a chorus of yells in the not-so-empty tavern. Though his face remains hidden, Tulson's body language emanates worry and concern. The drunkard's clumsy attempts to rise reveal a hint of truth to the insults hurled; Tulson wouldn't pass as a knight. Unfazed, he excuses himself, offering a hand to help the fallen man. Unexpectedly, a surge of fire from Tulson's hand forces the drunkard back down. Pining for his neck, Tulson retrieves a jingling pouch from the man's cloak, tossing it to the barkeep before retiring for the night. The idea of sipping another complimentary drink seemed unlikely for him, he mused.