Torbjorn is a stout and weathering hill dwarf with skin the color of parched earth. His beard is a thick, braided expanse of salt and pepper gray, bound by simple lead rings. He wears heavy chain mail that has been patched many times, and his shield is dented from decades of use. His eyes are a sharp, piercing blue, and they seem to twinkle when he looks at a well-crafted piece of stonework or a gold coin.

Torbjorn is a man of few words but deep sentiments. He is often seen as the group grandfather, offering stern but well meaning advice. He finds joy in the simple things, a good road, a warm fire, and the clinking of coins in a chest. He hides his grief for his dying home behind a veneer of curiosity about the world.

For over a hundred years, Torbjorn served as a mason in the mountain hold of Oakhaven. He watched as the great silver veins dried up and the younger generations left for the vibrant human cities or the deeper reaches of the Underdark. Slowly, the halls he once filled with the sound of his hammer became silent. Torbjorn realized that if he stayed, he would simply be the last person to turn out the lights in a tomb of his own making. Not wishing to fade away with the stone, he took up the weapons of his youth. He packed his tools, grabbed a rusted shield, and stepped out of the mountain for the first time in sixty years. He is not just looking for gold, he is looking for proof that the world is still alive and full of wonders. Every person he meets is a new chapter in a story he is finally getting around to reading.