Fling Dinderbottom was born fat and happy, a truly beautiful Halfling baby boy. And, if taken in isolation, the first 2 years of his life may rank among the most idyllic ever lived. He was born into a family well established in the shire: his father a local advocate and general mediator of intra-village conflict, his mother a midwife renowned for her tea garden and her fresh biscuits. Their humble, cozy burrow was the nearest in the village to the river, which ran lazily southwest, out of the clouded mountains, and down to the distant, invisible sea.
Fling would look back with tears of joy and happiness at these early years, could he only remember them. For on the eve of his 2nd nameday, in the midst of a terrible storm, a pack of wild and hungry Great Wolves descended on the hapless village. The smell and sound of their ravenous approach, obscured at first by the driving rain, broke like lightning at the stroke of midnight. Fling’s parents, living at the edge of the village as they did, had but a moment to prepare for the fell beasts assault, and, like so many others before them, they sought succor at the bank of the nameless river. Bundling Fling as best they could and packing with him a hunk of cheese, a bag of tea leaves and a small, brass looking-glass engraved with his name, - it was to be his nameday gift - they placed him in a basket lined with waxed canvas and, praying, laid him in the rushing of the river.
Here, history loses sight of this erstwhile quiet shire and turns its wandering eye south by southwest, to the Bustling Seaside Metropolis of Cir’qun, City of the Five Spires. For it is here, at the coastal caves below the city walls, that Fling Dinderbottom, starving, half-drowned and crying washed ashore. He was taken in by Ihck the Scavenger, and raised there by the sea; hardened by the salt and the sand, taught by the wind and the wave, haunted by dreams of screaming, sharp teeth, and bright yellow eyes…
In time, Fling would become a true scourge, pirating his way up and down the coast, returning to Cir’qun every month or so to fence his goods with Ninlil, an unscrupulous Dwarven maid who ran a well-respected curiosities shop in the market district. Things were just good enough to keep the second breakfasts flowing. At sea, Flings nightmares faded, replaced by a reassuring blank and black, a yawning gap between moonrise and dawn. But on solid ground, in the noise and clatter of the city, they never failed to return. And so he would strike out again. Back into the gap.
The sun rose and fell, lighter or lower, out of summer and into winter, until the day that Fling’s piratical ways caught up with him, and Gebhard Lahngau, Grand Constable of the Five Spires, Acolyte of the Brighting Lords, arrived on the scene and, through a series of unfortunate and highly irregular events, drove Fling from Cir’qun and its environs, forced him to the road. But Fling had been here before and he had learned. Nature gives nothing to the meek or the mild, and he’d be damned if ever he was known as either.
Fling Dinderbottom, Halfling Burglar
Age: 30
Home: Cir’qun, City of the Five Spires (Bustling Metropolis)
Raiment: A comically broad-brimmed black leather hat. Fling finds nothing funny about it.
Parents: Deceased (Gift: Brass Looking-glass)
Friend: Ninlil the Haggler/Fence
Mentor: Ihck the Seaside Scavenger
Enemy: Gebhard the Cleric of Law
Alignment: Chaos
Belief: Nature gives nothing to the meek or the mild; I’ll be damned if ever I am known as either.
Instinct: Never let them get the drop on you.
Traits: Hidden Depths; Adventurous
Will 5 Health 3 Nature 4 (Eat Breakfast, Fight, Adventure!)
Circles: 4
Wises: Needs-A-Little-Salt, Knots
Skills: Cook 3; Criminal 3; Fighter 3; Hunter 2; Manipulator 2; Scavenger 3; Scout 2; Sailor 2