Tulwor approached the Heralds with a spring in his step. What was there to dampen his mood? The sea flashed past bright and blue and the air clear, carrying with it faint, exotic scents that set his mind alight. There would be so much to see, so much to do at this Isle of Plenty - and away from the sight of the elder gods, to boot. It wasn't as if he wouldn't miss Mother, or some others, but out here, he could do as he wished - perhaps build something of his own.
'Heralds!' he boomed, in a voice that sounded like it was created by two mighty bellows of a forge somewhere inside his lungs. 'When we arrive, tell these mortals they may call upon me to battle any danger or beastie they find. They'll need fear nothing while Helmhammer and I are here!'
Fear - what a strange concept, anyway. It was a burden for mortals and the weak, though perhaps he could try to teach the proper way of life to them while here. Though maybe that would take too much of an effort.
Satisfied that they'd heard him, Tulwor marched straight for the burned Herald. He and the barbarian woman were the most intriguing of the bunch.
'Well met, Herald! A blacksmith, eh? Always good to meet a fellow maker,' Tulwor said, patting the Helmhammer at his side, which in no way resembled any craftsman's tool. 'What's your story, friend? Did you meet your end in some mighty battle, with marks like these?'