Trap is often found working in the local tavern. He also takes odd jobs repairing and to a small degree (very small), building some traps for the purpose of protecting things. He only does a job if he is recommended by a previous employer. Trap tells everyone that no trap is a guarantee, but only an attempt at preventing someone from taking things. He never asks what is being protected, is very professional, but again is getting bored with small town life, and is looking for ideas, types, and styles for new traps.

Cause of death: smooshed by a hill giant after removing his armor and leaping out from behind a tree.

Four Feather was born into a normal Wood Elf family of rangers, living an unremarkable life until the summer of her 68th year. In that fateful year her family and home were taken from her by an Orc uprising. Four Feather and her uncle Silver Hawk were the only survivors. Her mother gave her life to save her, taking a blade meant to pierce Four Feather’s heart. Her father was the first to die, trying to fend of the Orcish forces, hoping his companions could get back to warn the town. She would be dead if not for the heroic efforts of her uncle who broke down a burning wall to pull her out. Together they fled into the night. When Silver Hawk finally stopped to tend to his niece’s wounds, he nearly fainted from the sight.

Four Feather’s face was badly scarred from the flames. For a moment he thought of killing her, so she would not have to live a life with that face, but mercy soon filled his heart. Over the years the two kept themselves secluded, Silver Hawk fashioned a mask to cover the upper part of her face to hide her scars. He taught her of the ranger ways and of right and wrong. He taught her to hide, and fight, to read tracks and find healing plants. For many years things were good.

One day in her 76th year, Silver Hawk’s friend Coho (an Osprey), delivered a message to him. He never told his niece what that message was, only that he had to leave, and if he did not return in two weeks, to head east until she reached the Elven Nation of Celene, and stay there, for he would be dead.

After two weeks when he hadn’t returned, she knew what to do. She gathered up her belongings and went looking for her uncle, or those who killed him.

Cause of death: should have played dead, but stabbed upwards at an orc standing over her fallen body in battle.

Times of This Halfling

In the simple rolling hills west of the Silverwood I was born. Not to an Elfish family with speed and grace. Not to a Dwarven family of strength and courage. Not even one of those Humans who seem to be sprouting up everywhere. Not me, I was born into a nice quiet Halfling family, close to the earth and at one with nature. Of all the races of this known world, I believe only the halfling has been successful in living, without destroying the world around them.

Now, I am not complaining about the other races, they all have their purpose in this world. In fact I have been studying them, I am constantly amazed by how different we all seem, yet the same also. My father, Herron, often told me that is why I will never become a good farmer. I guess he was right, after all, at age 16 I left home to see the world.

Now looking back, a 16 year old halfling running away from home to see the world, is not what I would call a good idea. Having never met another race or a dishonest person, I am lucky to be alive. It took me all of one day to find myself tied up in a bag being carried off to be someone’s dinner. As luck would have it, the first member of another race that I met, (thinking him a dwarf), turned out to be a gnoll. Let me tell ya, it is hard to get a conversation going with a creature that wants cook you. As I was making my peace with my god, I heard some screams. When the bag opened up to show me the sky, I found the gnoll dead and a long thin woman looking down at me. Instantly I knew this had to be one of the humans I had been told of. Nope, she introduced herself as Loriana Lightfeather, youngest daughter to Pothar Lightfeather, a lord of the Elven land I was intruding upon.

Loriana was and still is the sweetest woman I have ever met. She took me in to her world, and began teaching me more about life. It is amazing how much them elves learn, did you know they live very long lives? Soon I became smitten by her, yet how could a simple halfling make a wonderful woman like her happy. I was invited to stay in their family home as long as I wanted. Deciding it may be a good idea to learn more of life before going on my own again, I became a common fixture in the Lightfeather home. After a year of learning about the elven society, I decided to become a part of it instead of a guest.

Then began the next chapter of my life, learning to be a soldier. Yes halflings can be soldiers. And after seeing all the paintings and being told of their bravery in battle, I decided to model my fighting style after dwarves. I found that Loriana’s brother, Corthiar, was delighted to teach me. He actually traveled with dwarves for 20 years. Hum..., the axe. This took some time. But determined I was. With a few cuts and a lot of swelling I actually learned to fight ok. I also became good friends with Corthiar, who invited me to become a member of his house guard. He informed me that I may be a respectable fighter for my size, but my size and bravery would benefit his family well. Having no intentions of disappointing my friends, I accepted.

Soon my dreams were coming true. The House of Lightfeather is not an all-powerful family, but it had a decent standing in the elven community, and Pothar’s opinion was often sought when it came to making treaties. I got to travel with him on many a trip, to meet many people. So far I have met humans, kobolds, gnomes, and an ugly creature they called a half-orc. This half-orc went by the name of Doth, and strangely enough we became friends. Doth was what they called a ranger, all I know is that he traveled to many of the same places and was always happy to see me. He would put me on his shoulder and tell me of his travels.

One day a chance to travel far came along, to the dwarven mines to the north. Pother was asked to come north and help settle a argument between these dwarves and a group of elves from a far off place in the East. Pothar took just me and two other guards with him as we headed North. He insisted that he didn’t want to take to many people with him, as to not insult the people he was going to meet. I did not understand this, but I doubt anyone would confuse me with a wise man. As we neared the dwarven lands, we stopped to camp for the night. I was to stand the last watch, yet it never came. During the night they came, we all got up and fought. Even I was impressed with the skill I displayed. They were too many, I killed six of them, and still could not see my comrades though the thick pack of intruders. I heard Pothar scream, then everything went black.

When I awoke, I was chained to a cave wall with an ugly green-skinned creature trying to pull my pants down. I kept my pants, and gained an amazing new collection of bruises to prove it. Even though I survived that encounter, I found myself afraid to go to sleep.

After three days of no food and water I am getting weak. I will try to get his weapon the next time he tries.

It is getting dark now, that seems to be when the scraggly one I now refer to as Stink Face, gets his nerve up enough to attack me. One way or the other I will be free of him tonight. Either he dies or I do.

For the first time I hear other voices, maybe Pothar has survived and is coming to free me. Stink Face is running out of the cave, he looked scared. I hope that Pothar runs him through....

I must be confused, I think I see my brother coming, no, it is not my brother it is a halfling though. Oh bless the gods, I am being saved!

Cause of death: saving the party from the lich Markus cast the lightning bolt at. Captured, and most likely, killed.

I grew up in the small farming village of Grandville, and wanted to make a name for myself, so I took what little I had and the first job that came along. I was doing well too, made enough to custom make all my own armor and equipment. I also took some time to learn how to make them. I created a symbol (picture of a sword point down in the earth with the sun rising behind it) for myself and had it put on all my stuff.

Then one day I was approached for a job. Simple enough— guard a caravan. About 2 days into the travel, we were attacked. There were 8 of us I watched most of the others die. I ran into the woods; there were too many attackers. After awhile of running, I realized no one was persuing, and I was lost, I wandered for weeks. I actually lost track of time.

Eventually I ran into some hill giants. I fought as long as I could, and the last thing I remember about that fight was a large gray figure coming towards me.

When I woke up I was in a cave surrounded by stone giants. They told me in Common that this area was unsafe, and I shouldn’t be here. I told them I got lost and wanted to go on my way. They told me to rest for a couple of days, and something about I had not been drinking enough water, and so here I sit, resting and rehydrating!

Cause of death: a big hug from a shoggti (demonic outsider).

Born to a family of spellcasters, Markus took to the arcane arts almost immediately. He learned all he could from his father, and his mother showed him how to hone and focus his natural talents. Visiting the Church of Boccob often, he became a regular, giving offering whenever he could. Not much for conversation, he keeps some of his talents a secret— always with another spell up his sleeve or tucked away in the back of his head. He doesn’t mind helping another spell caster with a spell or getting components, but will eventually ask for something in return. After all, one good favor deserves another.

Petting Fry, I’m reminded of how I met him. Some friends of mine (who I haven’t seen in a while) and I decided we didn’t approve of the way a wizard was treating his familliar and some creatures he summoned from Boccob knows where. We put a stop to him. In the process, we set free several creatures from different planes: a couple of small elementals, a few shocker lizards and several other creatures— I’ve no idea what they were. Fry decided to stay, and was my friend for a while before he became my familiar. The others we released were allowed to go home, and were thankful. I only wished there was more I could do for them. I need to make a trip one of these days to see how everyone is doing. Maybe next summer....

Cause of death: cast lightning bolt at lich, and received fireball in return.

Aramil Nightstar never did really fit in. Being the brunt of most jokes, he tried to keep to himself, and study his magic. He was curious about his Elven heriatage, but being in human lands there was only so much he could do. One day he got the nerve to ask a neighbor to help him learn to use weapons and armor, being as the family he grew up with were farmers. Being as Aramil was willing to pay, or work for it, the neighbor agreed. About 3 months later, some of the local teens were mocking him. Needless to say, there was a fight, and Aramil was suprised that he didn’t need magic to defend himself. Bruised and tired though he was, he was the victor. Now, Aramil is trying to find a way to blend the 2 together. Casting spells in armor is difficult at best, but with practice, he believes it can be done. This town doesn’t have much to offer, so he figures if he travels a bit, practises, maybe soon he’ll figure out how to do this.

Cause of death: fighting a demon unarmed or armored.

Calen ‘Pockets’ Tolais is the youngest of 7, from a proud and honored family. When he was very young his family discovered that Calen was not like the other children, he was a packrat of incredible proportion. Not only did he hoard his belongings, he wanted to carry them all with him. Calen’s parents were very patient, hoping he would ‘grow out of this stage.’ Alas, by his 50th year, Calen was beginning to collect things that may not have been his. This was unacceptable to the Tolais family. The harder his father (Rathail) tried to clamp down on his son’s habit, the worse it got. And, Calen got better at creating stories about how or where he got his items, a careful weaving of truth and lie.

By the age of 75, he was well known in the community as Pockets, a fact that infuriated his father to no end. There was a day of reckoning. Rathail decided to take his son out hunting one day, Calen new the meaning of this for his father had never taken him hunting before. Once the two were far beyond the eyes of any ...umm... witnesses, Rathail began beating Calen. His intentions were to teach his son a lesson about honor and respect, the lesson his wife (Lythara) would never let him do.

As mentioned, he began to teach him a lesson. Maybe this lesson was long overdue, but at this point that didn’t matter. Rathail bludgeoned Calen to the point of near death. Confused and scared by what he had done, Rathail thought Calen dead. The father stripped the boy of all identification and tried to bury the boy. Still scared and confused, Rathail returned home to tell his family of his son’s death at the hands of highway bandits. He had torn and ripped his clothes to match his story. The community rallied around his story and raised up a hunting party to go find the boy. Rathail led the party to find his son’s body. Somehow, they never found it.

Meanwhile in a shallow grave, barley covered with earth, Calen regained consciousness. The pain and swelling of the event were the least of his thoughts. How could he be so betrayed by his father? This will never happen again. Never will he allow someone control his life. Calen climbed out of his would-be grave and walked toward a road he had seen a few miles back; when he got there he collapsed from blood loss.

This could have been his death if not for a traveling carnival group that was passing by. They found him and did their best to heal him. Calen traveled with them for a while, listening and learning. He had now begun to only answer to the name of Pockets. After 5 years he parted company with the travelers and began his life on his own. He was very thankful for all the help they had given, but he sensed his path led elsewhere.

For many years he traveled from town to town, city to city. He joined any and every thieves’ guild he could find. He may not have been a natural, but he was determined to learn. On occasions he would make good friends, but this always scared him more than comforted him. ‘Never would he have a family’ was the oath he told himself.

Despite the road he had traveled in life, Pockets was not a particularly mean person. In fact he gave freely of his possessions to those in need. And while he didn’t care much for the law, he did care about evil. He had grown quite a hatred of it in fact. One day while liberating some funds from a ‘wealthy bastard,’ as he called them, he came to the conclusion that he will have to start standing up more for what he believed in. So by his 124th year, he began to join adventuring parties to use his skills for some good.

And this brings you up to the current, with his journeys and his heart. Maybe he breaks a few rules here and there, but no one ever gets hurt.

Cause of death: sneaking in a bad area.