This man hails from the lands between the Mountains and the Vale, the Great Wood and the Dale. This is apparent in his crude, sing-songy speech and outlandish appearance. He posesses broad limbs; a body seasoned from a hard life in a hard land, with an exception to the great gut which betrays his fondness of food and mead.

With a frame towering, he looks down upon most rustic Men with stale-blue eyes set under a bushy brow. A blond mane, greasy and unkept is swept back over his head, and a grime-stained beard covers a square jaw. Irregular and scruffy braids hang in the mess of hair, some tied with strings, some with the strands themselves.

Were his appearance not enough, Torgrun's mannerisms betray him as a warrior. There are dents in the helmet he is known to carry and notches on his battle-tools. Tears and patches litter his Northern garb, which reeks of the outdoors and sweat that comes with such a life.

Most importantly, the look in his eyes and the fervour in his heart, appreciated only by those who have known the shield-fray:

"Men strive to perform battle-deeds! Forever to be told in the hero-poems, passed down long lines of shield-bearers, to be extended with each passing generation of noble thanes."

For all his passions, Torgrun seems to have a rather clear sense of justice. The harsh straightforwardness that characterizes his moral compass may be perceived as eerie, and in some cases primitive, by more sophisticated folks.

He is a well-meaning warrior; tolerant to those that stay out of his way and jolly to them that he likes. Having honed his strength of character as the strength of his shield-arm over the years, he is in his heart still prone to barbaric ways; the beastly rage that makes every warrior its fool.