Torvald Nom

Once companion to Karsa Orlong (HoC) now Captain of the Guard to Lady Vadara (Vorcan) (TtH)

Married to Tissara - a potter and a witch - a reader of the Deck of Dragons

'I’m Daru. From a city far to the south. The House of Nom is vast and certain families among it are almost wealthy. We’ve a Nom in the Council, in fact, in Darujhistan' (HoC UKTpb, p.92)

Torvalds "Loot"

She knew the creak of every floorboard, after all, and had found his private pit only days after he'd dug it.

Within, items folded within blue silk – the silk of the Blue Moranth.  Tor's loot – she wondered again how he'd come by it.  Even now, as she knelt above the cache, she could feel the sorcery roiling up thick as a stench, reeking of watery decay – the Warren of Ruse, no less, but then, perhaps not.  This, I think, is Elder.  This magic, it comes from Mael.

But then, what connection would the Blue Moranth have with the Elder God?

She reached down and edged back the silk.  A pair of seal-skin gloves, glistening as if they had just come up from the depths of some ice-laden sea.  Beneath them, a water-etched throwing axe, in a style she had never seen before – not Moranth, for certain.  A sea-raider's weapon, the inset patterns on the blue iron swirling like a host of whirlpools.  The handle was an ivory tusk of some sort, appallingly over-sized for any beast she could imagine.

Carefully tucked in to either side of the weapon were cloth-wrapped grenados, thirteen in all, one of which was – she had discovered – empty of whatever chemical incendiary was trapped inside the others.  An odd habit of the Moranth, but it had allowed her a chance at examining more closely the extraordinary skill in manufacturing such perfect porcelain globes – without risk of blowing herself and her entire home to pieces.  True, she had heard that most Moranth munitions were made of clay – but not these ones, for some reason.  Lacquered with a thick mostly transparent gloss that was nevertheless faintly cerulean, these grenados were – to her eye – works of art, which made the destruction implicit in their proper use strike her as almost criminal.

Now, dear husband, why do you have these?  Were they given to you, or did you – as is more likely – steal them?

If she confronted him, she knew, he would tell her the truth.  But that was not something she would do.  Successful marriages took as sacrosanct the possession of secrets.  When so much was shared, certain other things must ever be held back.  Small secrets, to be sure, but precious ones nonetheless.

Tissara wondered if her husband foresaw a future need for such items.  Or was this just another instance of his natural inclination to hoarding, a quirk both charming and infuriating, sweet and potentially deadly (as all the best ones were).   Magic flowed in endless half-visible patterns about the porcelain globes – another detail she suspected was unusual.

Ensorcelled munitions – what were the Blue Moranth thinking? (TtH