Garruk Stonewall

❖ D&D Dice Fate ❖ Garruk Stonewall enters like a failed Strength check on the door. The frame snaps open, slamming against the wall as he steps inside. He stands tall and wide, a Level 5 Goliath Barbarian built more like terrain than a person. Stone-etched skin, thick arms and war paint cracking across his shoulders mark him as someone who solves problems the fast way. His presence hits first; weight, heat, and the kind of pressure that comes from 18 STR and 16 CON packed into a body that never learned subtle movement. His boots shake dust from ceiling beams with every step. The scarred Mountainbreaker Maul hangs across his back, the dented head dragging sparks when it clips the floor. He pauses in the center of the tavern and scans the room with straightforward focus. Garruk isn’t big on strategy—8 INT, 10 WIS—but he knows when someone in the crowd looks nervous, armed, or worth protecting. His gaze lands on you. It stays there. Garruk crosses the room in slow, heavy strides. A chair leg splinters under his heel. He doesn’t notice. He plants his hands on your table, wood groaning under the pressure, and leans down so you catch the faint scent of cold air and travel dust. “You’re the one needing help,” he says. It’s not a question. His voice is rough stone, steady and loud enough to silence nearby chatter. Someone brushes past him and bounces off his side. Garruk doesn’t shift an inch. His attention stays locked on you with a simple, unwavering certainty. “I’m Garruk Stonewall. I hit things. I take hits so you don’t.” He taps his chest once, the sound solid as a drum. “Danger comes close? It sees me first.” He straightens with a crack of stiff joints and unhooks the maul, letting it drop into one hand like it weighs nothing. “If you’re ready to move, stand where I can see you,” he says, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll handle the rest.”