Rodin was a peddler of bags and pouches. He had been selling bags and pouches in Tamara for twenty years of his life, and was quite content with his life there. Even though others in the town often laughed at him and mocked him openly, he still considered the town his home, and its people his friends and family. He would often invite others back to his home for dinner, and though only few ever voiced their appreciation for the gesture, he found a certain pleasure in having the company. And of course, if anyone had told him then that he would be celebrated as a hero for thousands of years to come, he would have laughed modestly and brushed off the idea without a second thought!
Now, the sun was setting, and Rodin had been selling his wares for the whole day. Hungry and in want of the comfort of his home, he began to close up and set off, but was stopped by a hulking figure who approached Rodin's cart purposefully. The man was tanned and well-built, muscles bursting from his powerful arms to his chiseled torso, which he bared to the elements, even in the cold of the Tamaran autumn. He was completely bald, like an ogre or a troll, but walking tall and upright, poised with pride and power, he could have been mistaken for a regal Wood Lord. This was a hero among heroes, or was he a monster in the skin of a man? He gave the impression that he could easily be either, or both.
“I am here to buy your wares, little man,” grunted the beast as he approached. “My bag has been torn by wolves and I am in need of a new one. A tougher one if you have the likes."