No one really knew where Torund came from, and those who tried to ask were met with scowls and silence, quickly turning the other way. Torund didn’t give a damn about that anyway. What he did give a damn about, was finding a new vessel that would bring him closer to the destination of his mission. And a warm cot, he cared about that too. His bones have witnessed many of a battle and weren’t that permissive of the humid cold at his age anymore. In truth, Torund spent a great deal of his recent years on the open sea, and by Saint Druda, did he hated every one of them.
Every single, stomach-wrenching wave, the smell of rotten fish and algae brought naught but nausea. But determination and knowledge of being closer to accomplishing his mission which he was on for the last decade made him go forward, or rather stand steady, every single fish-smelling wave after wave.