Race: Human
Age: 49
Occupation: Beast-handler, teamster, ex-mercenary turned mule wrangler
Usual Haunt: Outer stables, caravan loading lanes, or sitting atop feed barrels with a mug of lukewarm tea
Appearance: A mountain of a man with a thick neck, calloused hands, and a hawk-nosed face. Darrik wears faded mercenary leathers reinforced with stitched canvas and iron rings. His left hand is missing three fingers — a fact he wears proudly with the nickname “Three-Fists.”
Personality: Blunt, loyal, and practical. Darrik isn’t interested in politics or schemes — he likes honest work, good feed for his mules, and being left alone when he’s chewing. He’s got a dry wit, and the kind of patience only a man surrounded by stubborn animals could possess.
Background: Darrik once rode with a Crimson Confederacy breakaway company but abandoned the cause when infighting erupted. Now he contracts himself out to merchants and transports goods through contested lands with as few questions as possible. He’s seen battle, but prefers beasts to men.
Reputation in Mosstone: Respected as a steady hand and someone who can be relied upon during offloads or emergencies. He’s helped repel bandits once or twice when guards were spread thin.
Hook: One of his mules, Greybuckle, has started reacting violently to a particular field of untouched grain near Mosstone. Darrik suspects something unnatural is buried beneath it — or worse, growing inside it.