A piece of fae flotsam on the shores of San Francisco, Tor did mighty deeds for the Court of Pacifica during the Accordance War. But that was a long time ago, and since then Banality and despair have gnawed at his memories and skills. These days he is homeless, allowed to sleep in the basement of the Toybox because the proprietor, Charles Fizzlewig, remembers those deeds. Tor himself cannot stand to hear others talk of those days and deeds, and he will summarily leave any room in which such a conversation is taking place.
Homeless, yes, but Tor is not a beggar. He scrounges odd jobs, refusing token help and pity from his son-in-law, Morgan's father. He and Morgan are close, despite her father's intense disapproval of "my father-in-law, the bum." Tor has, in fact, developed quite the attachment to Morgan, going so far as to oathbond himself to her as her guardian. It is this action, much more than associating with Leigh, that starts him on the slow road back from Banality.
Image EditA hulking blonde man in a tatty trenchcoat in his mortal seeming, Tor is better groomed than the average homeless. Sporting a beard and mustache, he slouches when he walks and rarely speaks above a whisper. Only his piercing blue eyes give the lie to the image of Tor as a wreck. There's still plenty of fire in his gaze, and little escapes his eye. In fae mien, Tor's complexion is a chalky white, and it's difficult to tell he's not actually carved from stone. His eyes still blaze, and strength emanates from his frame.
Tor carries a Level 3 treasure, a battle axe with a leather wrapped haft. It's edges are keen, and at sunset it sometimes glows red with the blood of all it has slain. Called Mind's Edge, it gives anyone using it an additional two dice to any roll using it. For Tor, however, to whom it seems to have somehow bonded, it grants an additional 4 dice instead.
The spiritual descendent of Ambrose Bierce, Tor wears the role of curmudgeon as comfortably as he wears his trenchcoat. He can match Leigh for honesty and outgun her on cynicism and wit, but holds fast to his sense of honor. It's pretty much all he's got left of the old days. If someone has the temerity to start telling him about the old days, he leaves. It hurts too much to hear.
His curmudgeonly behavior masks a genuine caring for the Haight's wilders, who often look to him for fatherly advice despite his tendency to moralize. He sometimes asks as a mentor to Rasputin and Valmont, and shows an amazingly uncharacteristic tolerance for Edmund.