Character 6 - Halfling Barbarian
You were born in a small, mostly halfling farming community just outside of the Free CIty of Endmere, a large city on the north coast of the region called the Frontier Lands. It offered typical surprising halflings of the Pastoral culture, but there was something about you that never quite fit in. And you know what it is... it's that occasional feeling of rage that wells up inside you from time to time. Halflings are a friendly and trusting people, and they love a good practical joke from time to time, but your acquaintances learned early on that you were not a good choice of target for these. After you broke Adalhard's arm when he slipped an egg onto your chair during your 12th birthday party, you were never the target of a practical joke again. But you knew your friends were a bit afraid of you. A few stuck with you -- Sophie and Odulf Hornwood would always be there for you. And you had lots of good times. But even with all the good times, you just didn't quite fit in.
You once talked to your parents about this, and after a few minutes of them looking at each other in funny ways, they told you the "family secret". It seems that your great, great, great, great, grandmother wasn't "Pastoral Folk" like everyone else around here... she was a Free-Spirit. And those Free-Spirits have always been a little odd. Something must have snuck into the bloodline through her, and it's coming out in you. That must be it, your parents decided. What "it" was, they either didn't know, or wouldn't say, but you were a good, happy Pastoral... surely you'll manage. You weren't so sure.
As you reached physical maturity, you turned out to be one of the tallest halflings in the village. Not a lot taller... just a few inches... but enough for everyone to notice. You were exceptionally strong, too. At last year's Harvest Festival, you won a few of the "test of strength" contests - even beating out some of the Tall Folk that were visiting the event. One of these, a huge, burly, bearded human wearing some sort of animal skin armor approached you afterward, claiming there was something "kin-like" about you. You accompanied him back to his tent at the edge of town, listening to his tales of adventure.
When you reached the tent, he retrieved a sword - the biggest sword you've ever seen - and handed it to you. "Let's see if you can swing this around at all, though it be as tall as two of you." To your mutual amazement, you wielded it easily. What's more, swinging it around felt... good! You felt your strength surging... almost but not quite like the anger that welled up in you in the past, and as it did, your control of the weapon improved. The burly adventurer just smiled. "I knew it when I saw ye," he said. "Ye're not meant fer this quiet life here... Ye're meant for Adventure!" He tapped the sword, adding "Ye keep that. Ye'll be needin' it once ye make up ye're own mind". The few times you saw him again during the rest of the Festival, he'd just smile at you and wink.
It took another year for you to build up the courage to say your goodbyes to your family, and to Sophie and Odulf. Another year to convince yourself that the burly adventurer was right -- you didn't belong here. It also took you almost that whole year to fashion crude hide armor for yourself in secret - made from the memory of what the stranger was wearing.
For a year and and a half, you traveled. You learned to survive on your own, relying sometimes on tips and tricks you learned as a child from the others of your village, and sometimes on your sheer will and determination. You performed odd jobs in the towns and villages you passed through, but you never stayed in one place too long. You got by, and your skills grew. What became apparent to you, though, was that life would be easier if you found a group to travel with. This realization came as you were loading crates onto a wagon for a shopkeeper in Feybridge Crossing.
You had heard that an Inn along the the road to Karnstown was a gathering place for adventurers, so that is where you decided to travel to next. And so, here you are... sitting in the Bugbear's Head Inn. As you quaff another pint of that great summer ale that Maydillbass makes across the road from where you sit, you wonder where life will take you.
You once talked to your parents about this, and after a few minutes of them looking at each other in funny ways, they told you the "family secret". It seems that your great, great, great, great, grandmother wasn't "Pastoral Folk" like everyone else around here... she was a Free-Spirit. And those Free-Spirits have always been a little odd. Something must have snuck into the bloodline through her, and it's coming out in you. That must be it, your parents decided. What "it" was, they either didn't know, or wouldn't say, but you were a good, happy Pastoral... surely you'll manage. You weren't so sure.
As you reached physical maturity, you turned out to be one of the tallest halflings in the village. Not a lot taller... just a few inches... but enough for everyone to notice. You were exceptionally strong, too. At last year's Harvest Festival, you won a few of the "test of strength" contests - even beating out some of the Tall Folk that were visiting the event. One of these, a huge, burly, bearded human wearing some sort of animal skin armor approached you afterward, claiming there was something "kin-like" about you. You accompanied him back to his tent at the edge of town, listening to his tales of adventure.
When you reached the tent, he retrieved a sword - the biggest sword you've ever seen - and handed it to you. "Let's see if you can swing this around at all, though it be as tall as two of you." To your mutual amazement, you wielded it easily. What's more, swinging it around felt... good! You felt your strength surging... almost but not quite like the anger that welled up in you in the past, and as it did, your control of the weapon improved. The burly adventurer just smiled. "I knew it when I saw ye," he said. "Ye're not meant fer this quiet life here... Ye're meant for Adventure!" He tapped the sword, adding "Ye keep that. Ye'll be needin' it once ye make up ye're own mind". The few times you saw him again during the rest of the Festival, he'd just smile at you and wink.
It took another year for you to build up the courage to say your goodbyes to your family, and to Sophie and Odulf. Another year to convince yourself that the burly adventurer was right -- you didn't belong here. It also took you almost that whole year to fashion crude hide armor for yourself in secret - made from the memory of what the stranger was wearing.
For a year and and a half, you traveled. You learned to survive on your own, relying sometimes on tips and tricks you learned as a child from the others of your village, and sometimes on your sheer will and determination. You performed odd jobs in the towns and villages you passed through, but you never stayed in one place too long. You got by, and your skills grew. What became apparent to you, though, was that life would be easier if you found a group to travel with. This realization came as you were loading crates onto a wagon for a shopkeeper in Feybridge Crossing.
You had heard that an Inn along the the road to Karnstown was a gathering place for adventurers, so that is where you decided to travel to next. And so, here you are... sitting in the Bugbear's Head Inn. As you quaff another pint of that great summer ale that Maydillbass makes across the road from where you sit, you wonder where life will take you.
Children
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