Thormund of Randehold

Preface
This is a short standalone story to help readers understand the bond Durstan (Protagonist) and Thormund share. It also serves as a way to showcase his importance to the overarching story and his value as a companion.
Act.1 A Fateful Encounter

The character Thormund of Randehold is a particularly unique one to our story. He was born to a different name in a different continent, but after his village was raided one fateful night he was captured and sold into slavery. The story of how he came to be in the kingdom of Par will forever be a mystery. His long dark hair and sun kissed skin were an instant giveaway of the fact he was not a local, however only his long gone capturers could say to which part of the world he was native. He first encountered young Durstan when the band of the white wolves were hired by count Erchean the Paunchy to collect taxes from the village of Quebecan. A hamlet in which Thormund was forced to work the fields of an affluent landowner. The band's arrival at the village was met with armed resistance, which the chaos of the ensuing battle offered an opportunity for Thormund to flee, finally leaving behind his life of slavery. He was unlucky in escape and was captured by Durstan on the outskirts of the forest overlooking Quebecan, and was brought to the white wolves leader Corrodus. The commander quickly saw promise in his physical strength and aptitude tailored for violence. Thormund had learned the western Nuevan language through osmosis, living in the lands of Par since his early childhood. His previous masters were pit fight organisers, and thus he was routinely used as a pre-show to rile up the crowd by having him fight boars and wild dogs. He had honed a fighting style utilising makeshift daggers and others small blades, his gaunt figure being an advantage to outsmart his enemies. A mixture of acrobatic tricks to dodge blows and swift precise blows made him a fearsome combatant. Throughout the following decade spent travelling, feasting and fighting with the white wolves, Thormund became a key man-at-arms for the band, and a close friend to our hero. He had initially despised Durstan for taking away his chance at freedom when they first met, but Corrodus had seen potential for a brotherhood to develop between the two teens. They would hone their skills together daily. Be sent on advanced scouting missions as a reconnaissance team due to their inconspicuous demeanour and when it came to combat, they would take up arms side by side and watch each other’s backs. By the time the boys had reached early adulthood, they were sworn blood brothers. Both took on the name Randehold in memory of Durstan’s desecrated hometown. When our hero was eventually banished from the band for undeclared reasons, Thormund did not hesitate to leave alongside him.
Act.2 The Secluded Manor
The banishment of Durstan from the band of the white wolves truly was a turning point in both his and Thormund’s life. The duo quickly decided to embark on a journey to the famed Myrania continent. It was an alien land with rumours of beings so powerful they could mould the very earth and bring forth elemental anomalies, some even transcending the effects of ageing. The pair had planned to secure passage through the southern coastal city of Wallonee. Typically the journey would have taken them just shy of two months, however winter roared particularly hard that year and repeatedly forced the young men’s journey to a halt. They would often trade the warmth of a roadside inn in exchange for exterminating local predators. The likes of which had grown bold and desperate, praying on the livestock of paltry unguarded hamlets. During their crossing of the Verveldeen mountain range, Thormund spotted a remote manor along the cliffside that overlooked the Valley of a Thousand Spikes as the dusk set in, the valley being the last thing standing between them and Wallonee. Once their mounts were safely stowed within the inner walls, the pair strolled up to the door and hammered on the peculiar door knocker. It was fashioned in the shape of a beast’s head unbeknownst to the both of them. When the door finally opened they were greeted by a frail elderly man fashioned in a lengthy, inky cloak. The man was quite hostile in his demeanour, questioning them on the nature of why they were disrupting his evening, which Durstan swiftly answered by putting his silver tongue to use, securing lodging and food for the night. Perhaps the frost he had endured that day had dulled his senses, strutting blissfully into the traitorous warmth of the secluded abode, however that sense of security was not shared by his companion. Thormund was in fact against staying in the manor overnight, having an uneasy presentiment about the old man and wondering how he managed to survive living here solitarily. Bandits could easily kill him and turn the estate into a fortified hideout, prying on merchants and pilgrims. He had also been told by villagers to be on alert as there were sightings of strange creatures in that portion of the road. He had chosen to keep his thoughts to himself after seeing the look of relief on his comrade’s face when the thought of warmth had entered his mind. They settled into dusty quarters in the house’s west wing, in a room that could only be described as forgotten. with a thick layer of dust covering the furniture and critters taking up residence in shadowy corners. After the night’s meal was eaten Durstan shared a glass of wine with their host, which Thormund declined to the elder man’s dismay. The pair then politely excused themselves and quickly got back to their quarters, escaping the interrogation of their host and his unsavoury remarks regarding Thormund’s physical attributes and complexion. As alertness made way for tiredness, the duo succumbed to a deep slumber, however this night would be anything but calm. At first it was only a small, creeping noise that came from the corridor, resembling what a small animal would emit as it creeped around the hall. Then the sounds grew to the point of waking the drowsy Thormund, it was not long before his questioning as to the source of this commotion was answered. A great feline shaped beast barged through the room, ramming the door straight off its rusted hinges. Its fur was dark and thick and had enormous claws resembling spear tips which created sparks as they scraped the stone floor. The young warrior could barely grab his daggers before being rushed by the beast, parrying bites and dodging claws. Dusrtan lay there unconscious as the battle raged, obviously under some type of spell or poison. Thormund fought with the strength of five men, wrestling the beast out of the room and into the corridor to provide him with more room for movement and to keep his sworn brother safe. The battle raged on, every blow from the beast could have been the fighter’s last, for from all the physical strength he could obviously perceive from the beast, he worried underhanded tricks were still hidden in his arsenal. In a move of desperation, the boy jumped directly for the beast’s neck whilst it stood at the stairwell’s summit. Plunging his dagger deep into the foul creature, delivering a killing blow and hurling them both down into danger. Once the dust of battle had settled and the feline monstrosity laid slain, the joy of winning the bout was hastily overtaken by worry as to the fate of his companion. Thormund rushed back up the stairs to find his friend lying in a pool of sweat, unconscious and feverish. There was no time the man could afford to waste as he wrapped his brother in furs and set out for Wallonne with the pair riding like the wind in the dead of night.


Act.3 Troubles in Wallonne
What should have been a day’s journey was completed by the time dawn set in. The city’s outer walls stood tall over the moat and surrounding clearing, displaying the city as a bastion of civilization directly opposing the wilderness of the valley. The guards hailed Thormund over to the left of the city’s gateway, posing an inquisitive look as to Durstan’s limp carcass being carried along on the spare horse's saddle. After a description of the night’s events, their questioning tone turned to a worrying pitiful state, for they feared the boy’s condition would soon reach an unsaveable point if it was not already the case. One of the guards by the name of Aleksander quickly took the pair under his wing, guiding them through the winding streets and alleys of the still dormant hub. They were gunning for the Wildling’s Lot, an apothecary shop which its landlord specialised in antidotes and remedies. Aleksander repeatedly banged on the door, which eventually opened to reveal an impish fellow. He was ugly even by local standards, which the Wallonnese were known for drab looking men and plump, dogfaced women. But his looks were unimportant in comparison to his potential knowledge of an antidote. The stubby, half awake fellow took a drowsy look at Durstan’s complexion and temperature, suddenly jolting up with energy as fear covered his face. He ordered Thormund and Aleksander to carry the boy inside and lay him down on the shop’s operating table, hastily rushing to his storage of herbs in a frenzied hurry. It was not long before he was back carrying an assortment of primitive syringes alongside a flask of amber liquid, which plunged the entire room in a putrid smell. A concoction of lukewarm water and burntwood was first forced down the boy’s gullet, making him heave dark goo onto the floor. The syringe filled with amber mixture was then inserted into his nasal cavities, discharging liquid which made Durstan’s face twitch with discomfort. Thormund was terrified at his brother’s predicament, he barely trusted these strangers with his closest friend’s life but knew he could do nothing on his own, and so relinquished himself to have faith in the pharmacist’s remedy. Eventually, Durstan’s body seemed to regain its normality, his skin slowly becoming colourful and warm. The overflowing anxiety Thormund was feeling dissipated as the pharmacist let out a sigh of relief, letting himself fall onto a nearby chair. Aleksander tapped Thormund’s shoulder and leaned in, silently suggesting a handsome reward for the medical man’s handiwork, before waving them goodbye and setting out to resume his day’s duties. A pleasant quiet set in the shop’s interior. Durstan slowly awoke, visibly confused. He was expecting to wake in a manor’s chamber as the one where he had fallen asleep the night prior. After a brief explanation given by his friend, the pair quickly looked at their purse and turned to the sat fellow, stating he could request any sum he wished as a reward for the treatment. The man first stated his surprise that the boy survived being infected for so many hours with the poison of a weremachairodus’s coursing through his veins. He offered the treatment free of charge in exchange for a vial of the young man’s blood. A bargain which the strained for coin duo readily agreed to. Whilst Durstan went to rest in a harbourside inn, recovering his ailment, Thormund went out in search of a ship which would bring them to the central continent of Myrania. After a morning’s worth of probing the local fishermen and merchants, he met with captain Zayed Burkaab of the Bronze Paralus. After a little haggling, the trial of securing passage to Myrania was finally conquered.