Thomkin sat at the end of the bar, watching his new handyman, Jamie McCall, happily retrieving various adventuring equipment and piling it in the middle of the bar room. He watched the thin lad go back and forth for a while, and occasionally took a swig of ale as he waited for the boy to finish his activity. There was no use talking to him, Thomkin knew. He’d tried. He’d finally decided to let the boy finish before giving him his first lesson in adventuring: the art of traveling light.
“Finished, Jamie?” he said after the pile had grown to astronomical proportions and the boy had finally stopped moving.
“Aye, sir! All ready!” Jamie replied.
“Fine. Now put half of that back, and then we’ll start packing.”
“But, guvnor, we’ll be on the road for quite a bit guarding that merchant friend o’ yours. We should be prepared.”
“Oh, we’ll be prepared, boy, don’t you worry. Just do me a favor and try not to think for yourself for a while. I’ll do the thinking for you where adventuring is concerned. I’ll let you know when you can reengage your brain again. Just listen for now, okay?”
The next morning, Thomkin and Jamie, properly outfitted now, were standing outside the inn waiting. “Damn that man, he’s late again,” said Thom as he watched the sun slowly coming up. “He told me he wanted to leave at dawn. I could have gotten another hour’s sleep!” Suddenly, a racket came from down the road. Jamie turned to stare in the direction of the sound, but Thom just looked at his nails and said, “It’s about time. Hurry it up, Scrounger!”
From down the road could be heard a crotchety old voice, “I’m comin’, damn it! Keep your breeches on, you old coot!”
“Making enough noise, aren’t you?” Thomkin shot back.
“Aw, shut up! You gotta be prepared for these trips, you know. Never know what you’ll need!” By this time, the owner of the voice was clearly visible. And quite the sight he was, too--a thin old man dressed in rags, toting any manner of brickabrack on a rickety cart that he pushed before him. “Ready to take me to Bellhaven?”
“We’ve BEEN ready. What TOOK you so long?”
Jamie shot Thomkin a glance. “Travel light, you said.”
Thomkin continued to look at the ragman as he said to the boy, “Yes I did. We need to travel light because we’re the ones who are trying to protect this fool. He can do as he likes. He’s the client.”
“Doesn’t make it easy, does he?”
“Nope.”
Scrounger banged his staff on his cart to get the attention of his two guards. “If you two are done yappin’, we should get going. It’s late!” he piped up loudly. He got his monstrosity of a cart in motion and with a sigh, Thomkin and Jamie followed behind.
Scrounger, the ragman
Chaotic Good 9th Level Thief
Human Male, 72 years old
5’2”, 130 lbs
Str 11 Con 15 THAC0 16 Wis 14 Dex 18 Hp 42 Int 12 Cha 8 AC 4
Weapon Proficiencies:
Dagger, Hand Crossbow, Quarterstaff, Short Bow
Non-Weapon Proficiencies:
Appraising, Cooking, Direction Sense, Local History, Read and Write Common
Languages:
Common, Elven
Thieving Skills:
Pick Pockets 75% Hide in Shadows 85% Open Locks 65% Find/Remove Traps 45% Move Silently 90% Detect Noise 45% Climb Walls 70% Read Languages 20%
Equipment:
Ring of Protection +2, Dagger, Hand Crossbow, Quarterstaff, Short Bow, Quiver with a dozen +1 arrows, backpack, outfit made up of various rags sown together, shoes made from swatches of leather and string, belt, many small pouches filled with everything from various kinds of food to gems to lucky items and small tools, cooking pot, water skin, money pouch with 25 gold, flint and steel, lantern, magnifying glass, 50’ hemp rope, merchant’s scale, cart carrying Scrounger’s supplies and the various wares he has for sale (bolts of cloth, pots and pans, brushes, exotic food, jewelry, maps, fishing hooks, oil, soap...a little bit of everything)
Background:
Scrounger makes his living as a traveling merchant, peddling all manner of wares from bits of cloth to pots and pans to fine pieces of jewelry. Everyone in the surrounding towns know him, but no one knows where he came from or anything about his background. To everyone he might as well have been born an old man in rags, since no one remembers him as being any other way. He used to make the rounds to various towns without much help from anyone. However, old age is creeping up, and he now finds that it’s safer to have a friend or two along on his travels. Even so, he can still be quite lethal with his staff if he’s attacked by bandits. He knows all about bandits you see, because he used to be one when he was young. He was young once, you know. But that’s all in the past. Now he’s just a humble merchant in rags. He’s too old for that nonsense, he figures. What he does now is easier on the bones. It would be a mistake to underestimate him, however. He can still pull a trick or two if he needs to.
(c) 2000 by Erica Woollums