“Clang...rattle, rattle, rattle... clang, clang”
“For the love of Odin, can’t you do something about that cart of yours. You’re announcing us to every orc for miles around. Even now I bet several bands of them are sharpening their swords, preparing themselves for our arrival,” said a very disgruntled Thomkin Ballyforth, proprietor of the Traveler’s Rest Inn. He wished longingly that he was back at the inn at this very moment with his feet up and his hand filled with a mug of ale, instead of here playing nursemaid to an elderly merchant and a neophyte cleric turned fighter.
The small group of adventurers had been traveling for a day and a night accompanied by the constant clatter of Scrounger’s wares and a constant drenching rain. Scrounger purposely shook his cart a little more at Thom’s complaining, just to be obstinate. He too was in a foul mood. The rain was causing his bursitis to act up, and he was having trouble pushing his cart on the narrow, muddy road.
Only Jamie, the novice adventurer, seemed to be enjoying the trip so far. He chatted away happily as he munched on some popcorn he’d brought along. “Orcs? Do you think we’ll see one?” he said excitedly. “I’ve seen pictures of them, but never one up close. They’re quite fierce, aren’t they. Are they all evil, or only some of them?”
“Jamie?”
“Yes, Mr. Ballyforth?”
“Shut up, boy.”
Jamie just shrugged and continued to look around at the woods they were currently traveling through. It would be getting dark soon. The group would be making camp, and Jamie smiled as he thought about the nice rabbit stew he’d make for them all. The other two tromped on in gloomy silence.
Several yards back, hidden in the trees, a figure was watching the small band make their way. “So you want to meet an orc, eh?” it said to itself. “Well, we’ll see about that. Heh, heh!” With that, it disappeared into the forest.
Later on, at camp, Jamie had started a smoky fire and was attempting to cook the rabbit he’d caught earlier. Meanwhile, Thom and Scrounger were busy arguing. “We’re not putting up a tent, you imbecile. We need to be able to MOVE at a moment’s notice. In case, you hadn’t noticed, we’re in orc country. And you!” Thom shouted, pointing at Jamie, “Put that fire out!”
Jamie looked surprised, “But, sir, the stew.”
“To hell with the stew! All that smoke is doing is letting everyone know where we are.”
“It’s your shouting that’s letting everyone know where we are, ya big windbag,” Scrounger shouted back. “Whatcha so nervous about. We’re perfectly safe. I’ve been in these woods for 40 years. I’d know if we were in danger. We’re not, so you can just plant yourself on that log over there and wait for dinner. You really should get out more, Thom. That inn has made you twitchy.”
“Aw, stuff it. It hasn’t been that long since I was on the trail, you old coot...”
At some point Jamie stopped listening to the two old men bicker, and was contenting himself with the cooking of the rabbit. He was staring intently into the pot, trying to decided whether to add salt or basil, when he caught some movement in the brush to his left out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, a piggish face poked out from among the foliage at the side of the clearing. He stared at it, and it stared at him for a long moment before the boy found his voice.
“Hello, who are you?”
“Snort! Kieldlo mowme woala canut?” said the new arrival.
“Thomkin?” Jamie called. The halfling didn’t hear as he continued to argue with the old merchant. “Thooomkin!” he called a little more urgently.
“Whaaaaaat!” screamed Thomkin as he turned to face Jamie. Just then he glanced where the boy was looking. He hesitated a moment, gawping at the tall, ugly figure before he regained his composure and tried to pull out his short sword. He fumbled it to the ground, but then dived for it and came up holding it in front of him. “Damn! I told you. I TOLD you. Now look!” he shouted as he pointed his weapon at he creature.
Scrounger looked over. “Hi Ralph,” he said after a moment.
“Hi Scrounger. Got any grub for an old friend?”
“Sure! Come on into camp,” Scrounger said, waving his arm in a welcoming gesture. “What’s the big idea, sneaking up on us like that.”
“Thought I’d give the young one a cheap thrill,” Ralph said with a smile.
“Are you an orc?” said Jamie with wonder in his eyes.
“No, son, that’s only half an orc,” Thomkin remarked as he looked at the man closer.
“Really? Which half?” Jamie asked.
“Jamie?”
“Yes, Mr. Ballyforth?”
“Shut up, boy.”
Ralph
Chaotic Good 5th Level Fighter
Half-orc Male, 26 years old
5’8”, 295 lbs
Str 17 Con 15 THAC0 16 Wis 13 Dex 12 HP 43 Int 15 Cha 10 AC 5
Weapon Proficiencies:
2-handed Bastard Sword (S), Battle Axe, Halberd, Long Bow
Non-Weapon Proficiencies:
Alertness, Blacksmith, Hunting, Intimidation, Tracking
Languages:
Orc, Hobgoblin, Common
Equipment:
2-handed Bastard Sword (S), Battle Axe, Halberd, Long Bow and Quiver with a dozen arrows, Chain Mail, backpack, breeches, tunic, vest, hard boots, belt, water skin, money pouch with 3 silver, 10 gold and 21 platinum, flint and steel, hooded lantern, 50’ hemp rope, pouch of dried venison, bottle of cheap wine and a gaudy ring on his left hand.
Background:
Ralph is the leader of a small band of half-orcs who inhabit the forest west of town. Aside from the band, he’s been alone in the world since the age of 14, when his father, a great witch doctor, died. His father’s tribe had barely tolerated him as it was, and without his father to protect him, the rest of the tribe wasted no time in kicking Ralph out. He learned their skills, and was quite accomplished with the sword, but was never ruthless enough for their tastes.
Ralph physically takes after his father’s side of the family, which is to say he looks quite orcish. However, he is a kind, fun-loving soul like his mother, which explains why the tribe didn’t take to him very well. After leaving the tribe, Ralph wandered about for a while adventuring with whatever group would take him as a guide. Eventually, he met a few others of his kind, and using the leadership skills he’d learned from his father, began to form his own little tribe of half-orcs. They support themselves by scavenging amongst ruins and taking on other adventuring activities. Occasionally, the more human-looking of the tribe will go into town and get supplies, but mostly the tight-knit group stays to themselves.
Occasionally Ralph will attempt to find his mother, so far to no avail. All he knows about her is that she had brown hair and sky blue eyes, and that she abandoned him in the forest where she was sure his father’s tribe would find him. The only clues he’s been able to dig up so far is that she might have been a ranger who used to live in the forest, and that her name is Amanda.
(c) 2000 by Erica Woollums