Thane Cross

Basic Information
Name: Thane Cross
Age: 35
Race: Anorian (Human with latent magical affinity)
Height: 6’2”
Occupation: Innkeeper & Chef of Hellthor Inn
Home: Briar Hollow, Western Anor

Appearance
A tall, broad-shouldered man who carries the strength of a warrior and the warmth of a host. Dirty-blonde hair tied loosely back, a few strands escaping around his face. His hazel eyes gleam with good humor and quiet understanding. Scars line his jaw and forearms—stories untold. Usually dressed in a rolled-sleeve linen shirt, sturdy boots, and a well-worn leather apron dusted with flour or soot from the hearth. The scent of woodsmoke and baked bread always lingers near him.

Personality
Thane is the kind of man whose presence softens a room. He carries a calm, grounded energy and has the rare gift of listening as if every word matters. Charismatic without arrogance, his laughter comes easily but never cheaply. There’s a faint sorrow behind his smile—the echo of a life once lived with steel in hand—but he channels that weight into warmth. To him, every meal shared and every story told is a small rebellion against a cruel world.

Skills & Magic

• Culinary Enchantment: His dishes carry subtle emotion-magic—soups that soothe fear, bread that restores courage, cider that warms even the loneliest hearts. He calls it “seasoning from the soul.”
• Hearthbond: Hellthor Inn is alive through its ancient spirits—the Hobbs—who maintain the fires, sweep the floors, and keep the magic of the hearth strong. Their connection to Thane makes the inn feel alive.
• Old Blade’s Instincts: Though he’s long since hung up his sword, he still moves with the precision of a trained fighter. When danger threatens his guests, he becomes something sharper.
• Innkeeper’s Aura: A quiet charm surrounds him—people relax in his presence, find laughter where there was worry, and leave lighter than they arrived.

The Hobbs of Hellthor
Small, hobgoblin-like spirits bound to Hellthor long before Thane arrived. Standing no taller than a barstool, they’re green-skinned with pointed ears and bright amber eyes. Mischievous but loyal, they hum tunes while they work, keep mugs polished, and prank rude guests with harmless tricks.
Thane treats them as family—leaving crumbs and cider for them nightly. In return, they keep the fires steady, the lights warm, and the air in Hellthor humming with goodwill.

Backstory
Before the hearth, there was only the road.

Thane Cross was not always an innkeeper. Once, he was a man whose hands were used to gripping steel, not a ladle. Born on the fringes of Anor’s western provinces, he grew up in the shadow of war—one of countless children who learned early that peace was a story told by tired soldiers. His father, a blacksmith, taught him the art of patience through iron; his mother, the art of kindness through bread. Both died before he reached manhood, leaving him with their lessons but little else.

He took up a sword at sixteen. The world was louder then—banners clashing, fires lighting up the night like false suns. Thane fought not for glory but survival, serving under captains who spoke of honor but traded lives like coin. He became known for his steadiness, his silence in the heat of battle, and the faint smile that never seemed to fade, even when the ground ran red.
They called him *the Crossblade*—a name earned from the mark he carved on his gear: a cross of faith, not in gods, but in his own endurance.

Years passed, and victories began to feel like funerals. Friends buried. Villages razed. Every triumph left the world smaller, emptier. In time, he put down his weapon and simply... walked away. No speech, no farewell. One morning he vanished from the barracks and followed the mountain roads until they stopped asking where he was going.

He wandered for years—mercenary, caravan guard, nameless traveler. He saw the shattered cities of the north, dined with hermits, traded with gypsies, and buried more than one companion along the way. His hands grew rougher, but his soul softened. Somewhere between battlefields and borders, he realized that what he missed most wasn’t victory—it was laughter. The simple sound of it.

He found Briar Hollow by accident. A quiet valley town tucked between forest and stream, where the mist smelled of pine and the nights hummed with crickets instead of screams. The ruin that would become Hellthor Inn was barely standing: a stone shell, half-swallowed by ivy, its roof sagging under years of neglect. Still, when Thane pushed open the rotted door, something stirred inside him—a feeling like a heartbeat in the wood. The place felt... waiting.

He stayed that night by the cold hearth. In the morning, he began to rebuild.

Stone by stone, board by board, Thane gave the inn a new name and a second life. He slept on floors, ate little, and worked until his hands bled. It was during those long nights that he first heard the whispers—the soft giggles, the sound of tiny feet pattering across the rafters. The *Hobbs* had been there long before him, invisible caretakers of a forgotten hearth. At first, they tested him—moved his tools, spoiled his stew, swapped his nails for twigs. But when he laughed instead of cursing, they began to help. Nails hammered themselves straight. Candles stayed lit through the night. One morning, he found a freshly baked roll on the counter, still steaming.

It was the beginning of a bond stronger than any oath. The Hobbs accepted him not as a master, but as one of their own—a keeper of warmth in a cold world.

Years have passed since. Travelers now speak of Hellthor Inn as a place that feels like home even if you’ve never seen it before. A place where the food tastes like memory, and the air hums with old magic that soothes tired bones. They don’t know the story behind the man who built it, nor the weight that lingers behind his easy smile. Thane doesn’t tell them. He only pours another mug, stirs another pot, and listens.

And when the nights grow long, and the snow thick on the road, those who stay late enough might catch him by the fire—staring into the flames as if searching for ghosts in the embers.

For Thane Cross has found peace, yes... but peace never comes without remembering the cost of it.

Hooks & Story Ideas

• Neutral Ground: Hellthor Inn stands as a safe meeting place for all—until someone breaks the peace.
• A Debt Rekindled: An old comrade arrives with news that drags the past back to his door.
• Hobb Trouble: Something hunts the small spirits near the brook; Thane refuses to let it reach his hearth.
• The Cellar Door: A sealed trapdoor in the cellar has begun to hum—the Hobbs refuse to go near it.
• The Harvest Feast: A festival menu calls for rare herbs deep in the Briarwood. Who will help him gather them?