Tarlach, the Fugitive Merchant of the Folded Wagon
A traveling merchant of rare fungi, odd reagents, and subtle magic, always seen with his loyal beast Grumm and a wagon that seems far too small to hold all it contains.
Background
Tarlach was once a respected scholar and craftsman under imperial employ—a quiet man who preferred books to people and theory to politics. But that life ended the night he intervened to save a child from a slaver, killing the man in the process. The slaver’s brother, a commander in the Imperial Guard, branded Tarlach a murderer.
He fled that same night. His name became a whisper, his likeness spread across wanted posters. To vanish, he built a new life—one of dust, disguise, and endless roads. Now, at fifty years of age but appearing closer to sixty-five thanks to both clever makeup and an aging spell, he moves quietly through markets and villages under countless aliases.
Despite the hunch and limp he feigns, Tarlach walks comfortably when unobserved. His gray-streaked beard and tattered coat mark him as harmless, and he prefers it that way. His cane, though ornate, is just a stick—its true strength is the hand that holds it, for Tarlach is still a powerful sorcerer who hides his ability until absolutely necessary.
Personality and Behavior
Tarlach presents himself as an amiable peddler—chatty, polite, and occasionally forgetful. Beneath that mask lies a sharp and deeply moral mind. He values kindness over profit and has a soft spot for strays, orphans, and fools.
He avoids confrontation whenever possible, relying on wit and charm to defuse suspicion. Yet, if pressed, his tone hardens to something ancient and dangerous, the voice of a man who once commanded storms. He uses magic only when there is no other choice; power draws attention, and attention means discovery.
“The roads remember what we trade upon them. Be fair in your dealings, and the dust will not betray you.”
Grumm, His Companion
Grumm is one of the great ox-goats of the northern highlands: a massive, muscular beast covered in dense, curling hair that drapes like wet moss. His horns twist forward, ringed in scars from years of travel. Thick leather straps secure folded blankets and a small ladder to his back, allowing Tarlach to climb up with ease.
Grumm can withstand bitter cold and long marches without complaint, and his quiet intelligence borders on uncanny. He wakes Tarlach each dawn with a low rumble and warns of danger by knocking three times on the wagon with his hoof. The two have traveled together for nearly fifteen years, bound by familiarity, trust, and shared exile.
The Folded Wagon
Tarlach’s wagon is a marvel of impossible geometry—its inner space many times larger than the shell suggests. The left wall folds outward in a sequence of precise latches and pulleys, revealing shelves, drawers, and racks that display his wares: jars of luminous moss, powders sealed in wax, curious roots suspended in honey, and artifacts best left unexplained.
The mechanism is intentionally elaborate. Each fold, latch, and sliding panel must be opened in a specific order; anyone attempting to force it risks triggering harmless but humiliating wards—clouds of glittering dust, foul smells, or sudden bursts of harmless static. At night, Tarlach folds the entire wagon inward and locks it from within. To most thieves, it is a puzzle not worth solving.
There is also a secret compartment—a panel known only to Tarlach—where he hides his most valuable possessions: two genuine Lunebloom Eggs, and a handful of artifacts from the age before the Empire.
Inventory and Wares
Tarlach’s collection is the slow harvest of decades—each shelf a memory, each bottle a story he couldn’t quite leave behind.
He rarely parts with anything unless the price or purpose feels right.
Though he trades on the road, his stock seldom truly changes—it only grows, like a library that refuses to stay quiet.
Glowcap Rind — Strips of dried mushroom skin that glow faintly when placed in water.
The light lasts a night before dimming, used by wanderers as trail markers or makeshift lanterns.Mistspore Flask — A corked vessel of pale vapor distilled from bog orchids.
When opened, it releases a cool, low fog that drives away insects and masks scent trails for a few minutes.Key-oil of Thalwen — Amber fluid brewed with silver shavings and marsh mint.
When brushed on old locks, it murmurs and clicks softly until tumblers yield. Works on mundane mechanisms unless warded by strong enchantment.Charm-mouse of Pewter — A small clockwork mouse with a winding key in its tail.
It scurries in circles and sneezes faint sparks—harmless but perfect for lighting tinder or candles.Singing Cocoon — A pale chrysalis that hums faint lullabies when held near a resting creature.
Favored by anxious travelers and innkeepers with sleepless patrons.Whisper-snail — A living snail that leaves silvery script echoing nearby words.
The writing fades with sunrise. Used for secret messages or petty pranks.Embermoss Bundle — Dull orange moss that smolders safely for hours without open flame.
Used for keeping pipes lit or signaling companions after dark.Root of Slowfall — A thin, pale root that, when chewed, lightens one’s step and slows descents for a brief time.
Miners, roof-thieves, and canyon guides all prize it.Mirrorseed Pearl — A small iridescent bead that, when dropped in still water, reflects not what stands above—but what last gazed into it.
Used by smugglers, spies, and wistful lovers alike.Ashvine Cord — Blackened vine that tightens itself when tied but never knots.
Ideal for bundling goods or binding captives without damage.Frogbone Powder — Fine gray dust that crackles faintly when cast into stagnant water.
Used by alchemists to test for poison; foul water fizzes and hisses.Bottle of Breath — A small glass flask sealed with wax, said to hold the last breath of a drowning sailor.
When opened, it grants a single deep lungful of clean air—underwater, in smoke, or in panic.Amber Ear — A lump of golden sap that, when pressed to the temple, amplifies faint sounds: whispers, footsteps, heartbeats.
Carried by hunters and eavesdroppers alike.Copper Petal — A delicate pressed flower veined with copper.
When worn close to the heart, it warms faintly whenever a lie is spoken nearby.
Beyond these curios, Tarlach trades in fungi, roots, and reagents for potion-makers and hedge-mages, often in small bundles wrapped with twine and waxed paper.
He buys what others fear to sell—rare spores, cursed relics, forgotten charms—and pays in coin, secrets, or favors.
His prices are never fixed. A kindness might earn more than gold, and a cruel tongue might find even water too costly to buy.
Secrets and Hooks
The Fugitive’s Reflection: An old imperial diviner has recently revived a spell for tracing the memories of the dead. In doing so, they uncovered the truth about a long-forgotten murder—the very act that forced Tarlach into hiding. The empire quietly dispatches hunters once more. Whether they seek justice or vengeance depends on who pays their coin.
The Lunebloom Eggs: Hidden in a secret compartment beneath his bunk lie two perfect orbs, pale as moonlight and webbed with faint blue veins. These are Lunebloom Eggs—living relics said to hatch only under precise lunar harmony. They are rumored to contain familiars not born of this world but grown from its memory itself. Scholars would kill to study them. The Ministry would kill to own them. Tarlach would kill to protect them.
The Kindness Debt: On lonely roads, he sometimes breaks his own rule and intervenes—using spells to heal, to shield, or to banish danger. Days or years later, those he saves sometimes reappear, desperate to repay him… and not all arrive alone. One carries a cursed item once sold from his own wagon. Another brings an imperial tracker in tow.
The Folded Enigma: The wagon’s lockwork design is no simple trick of carpentry. Rumors claim the inside of the Folded Wagon doesn’t always agree with the outside—corridors that shift, cupboards that echo, and a door that sometimes leads elsewhere. A curious thief or ambitious mage who tries to map it may find more world than they bargained for.
Closing Notes
He travels still—one old man and one great beast—trading warmth for safety and stories for silence. Some say the wagon carries half a century of regret; others claim it carries the world entire, folded neatly until someone worthy asks to look inside.