Rogues are so misunderstood!
“Worms and Grubs”, Kal mumbled to himself. “That’s all this weather’s good for. Worms and grubs.” Luck did not seem to be favoring the halfling, as he walked along the soggy dirt road under a warm spring rain which just would not quit. He had thought his luck was changing when he escaped the circus, but as-if-to assure that he would not get too excited about his changing fortune, the skies immediately opened up and began a rain which had now soaked his 3 foot-tall frame to the bone. Well, at least he was away.
His grandfather, Dalgenreen Quicksilver, had told him stories of his adventuring days since Kal was little; Little being a relative thing for an adult standing just 3 foot tall and only 37 pounds. He told stories of adventure and daring; both below the earth, in the most sinister of dungeons, and above on the streets, in politics and intrigue of cities. From an early age, Kalbranden knew he wanted to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. The problem was his father.
Brandalgen Quicksilver, was to his young son, everything he did not want to be. He was dependable, hardworking and thoroughly boring to the core. He would always stop his father from telling Kal about his adventures. “You’ll only make a dreamer out of him, or worse!”. Bran was a Waggoner. He would take food and supplies, grown or crafted by the halflings of Elmshire, to markets around the area. From Greyhawk west to the County of Urnst east, Bran would drive his two pony team up and down the roads of the countryside, away for weeks at a time, and never see a blessed thing! At least that was the impression given by the stories he’d tell young Kal. Kal sometimes wondered if his father was just trying to tone down his wanderlust, but it all boiled down to the same conclusion in Kal’s mind. Ol’ Da was plain dull. Oh, Kal loved his Da. When he wasn’t out driving his wagon around with, as Kal suspected his eyes closed and a bag over his head, he was willing to teach Kal a few things of interest besides farming smokeweed and feeding animals.
One lesson that Kal never forgot was the day his dad showed him how to use a dagger. “Son, we are a small people. There is no way that you can defend yourself standing toe-to-toe with an enemy if you try to match his brute strength. You’ve got to be faster, and smarter.” Bran displayed an iron dagger. Size-wise, an iron dagger is a lot like a shortsword in the hands of a halfling, and he spent the better part of a summer when Kal turned 18 showing Kal how to defend himself, and his mother if needs be, with as little risk to himself as possible. “Pretty good, try that again”. Sweaty, and tired, but actually loving the exercise, Kal was instructed how to dive, somersault, twist and basically use his size to his advantage, always avoiding his enemy, and somehow popping up right behind his back. “The key is, Kal, you’ve got to know WHERE to hit an enemy. Some may have armor. Some may have a LOT of armor. But all creatures, and all armor have weak spots. They have to or they couldn’t bend. You have to use these weaknesses, study them, and learn to take advantage of them.”
Much of this practice was done with the aid of a 6 foot dummy made from straw and a burlap bag. Outlined on the back in red were targets Kal was to attempt to hit as he stood up from his tumble. “Here and here, you’ll hit the kidneys. Big blood supply to the kidneys, and you’ll make the most of a puncture attack. Across the middle and you’re more likely to sever a spine, but you need a slashing or crushing attach there and a fair deal of strength on impact. It’s a tough one. The most deadly, and fastest would be here,” Outlining another area on the dummy’s back, Bran demonstrated on his 6’ straw adversary. “A puncture attack here, guided upwards, can actually puncture the heart. Death is so fast that your enemy won’t even have a chance to yell. A nice touch if his friends don’t know you’re there yet.”
These lessons went on for most of the summer, but by harvest time, Bran was off on the road again, and Kal was left at home with nothing to do. Kal continued practicing, but the impossibility of being hurt by a straw-filled burlap sack, somehow just didn’t make it real enough for Kal. So, he continued his farming, and dreaming, and planning and hoping that something would come along that would allow him some excitement. That’s when the circus came to town.
For two straight days Kal watched with breathless excitement as new-thing after new-thing presented itself. Animals, from who knew where, all of strange colors and shapes. Magic, which was not very common in Elmshire, was in abundance here, with evokers and illusionists creating fabulous displays for the free-spending halflings. The most exciting for Kal, however, was the tumblers. He thought he had gotten pretty good under his father’s tutelage, but he was nothing compared to these people. Humans, elves and halflings, all performing flips and stunts which made his back hurt just to watch, but he knew he had to learn how. So the night before the circus left town, Kal decided. He packed a small amount of food, some 15 silver pieces he had squirreled away, and the dagger his father had given him, and stowed away in the equipment wagon. Now his life would get exciting! Little did he know how exciting!
The circus owner was a greasy, skinny human named Trefario. And if there was one thing Trefario hated, it was stow-aways. “Sure, my little one. I’ll be happy to allow you to practice with my tumblers, but first I have a little job for you. Take him away!” If Kal had thought that chicken and sheep feces was rank, he’d have never believed how bad the shit from a 1000 pound, grey-leather, big eared critter named ‘Daisy’ could smell. Daisy could drop a load that was 2/3 as tall as Kal and at least 5 times wider. Kal’s new assignment was to chop up the droppings, load them into a wheelbarrow and move them at least 100 yards from the circus’ camp. True to his word, though, Trefario allowed Kal to learn tumbling. For at least 30 minutes each week. Any grumbling, and he caught the stinging end of Trefario’s whip, so Kal decided that silence was the better part of valor. He did however learn. For two months he would spend his weekly 1/2 hour with the tumblers, and then every night, tired and stinking from Daisy-dung, he would practice for at least 2 hours behind one of the tents. The fact that he was improving, however, went totally unnoticed by Trefario. All he cared about was that he had himself a ‘free pooper-scooper’ and he didn’t cost much to feed.
The end of Kal’s circus career came a little more quickly than he expected, but he was definitely free of the circus. In fact, everyone, was free of the circus. They had just finished their shows in Borneven, in the Kingdom of Nyrond, two nights before. Their second day of travel behind them, Kal was on his last trip out to his 100 yard dumping point where he stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow and admire the last bit of glow from the sun as it sank in the west. A sudden shout from the direction of the camp drew him around, just in time to catch the full effects of the stunning white light arcing through several tents. Why someone was attacking the camp, Kal had no idea, he just knew he didn’t want to get caught by those lightning bolts he could see blasting through the camp. Tipping his wheelbarrow over, Kal hid himself underneath it, and stayed as quiet as he could. Despite the smell and the heat and the loud noise made by his chattering teeth, Kal eventually fell asleep.
The morning’s light was a welcome site, but the rain, which had started several hours earlier, had made the entire campsite into a mud-blood-lake. Searching through the destruction of the previous night, Kal found bodies of several of the attacking group’s members as well as what looked like all of the circus. Even the animals had been killed. Underneath one of the wagons, with a crossbow bolt sticking out of his neck was what appeared to be some kind of dog creature, wearing leather armor. Shuddering as he touched the dead creature’s body, Kal stripped the armor off and donned it himself. Two daggers and a small purse of gold were also among the treasures he uncovered, as well as a crossbow and several dozen bolts. Looking up, he could see the carrion buzzards circling and decided it was best to get moving before someone showed up wanting an explanation, or wanting to finish the job. Heading east, away from the road in case his group’s attackers were still about, Kal started off to find somewhere dry. That was two days ago.
Now thoroughly soaked, his curly brown hair stuck to his head, his armor chafing in several uncomfortable spots, and beginning to wish he had never left his farm and his nice warm bed, Kal approaches a road, and a sign indicating a village nearby. Northmark, pop 534. Finally, a place to rest?
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