Dar Tubthumper
"Yum"
Born:
Pass of 3795 (approximate)
Race:
Halfling
Age: 21 (approximate)
Class:
Druid
Level: 4
Alignment:
Chaotic Neutral (good)
Statistics:
Strength: 10
Dexterity: 21
Constitution: 16
Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 14
Charisma: 8
Background:
It was a calm sea when the Sparrow first set sail. Of course it
was a calm day. If it had been anything less than calm, there
would have been no need for the voyage. For Drogo Tubthumper, his
wife Frieda and their two children were perfectly respectable hobbits,
and perfectly respectable hobbits do NOT travel in incliment
weather!
Drogo was a perfectly respectable spice merchant. The only
unfortunately unusual thing about him was that his occupation
occasionally called for sea travel up the coast...NOT something a
perfectly respectable hobbit takes lightly. So it was on the
calmest day of the calmest season that Drogo and his family walked
trepidatiously up the Sparrow's gangplank.
The first week of travel remained calm, not surprisingly, as Drogo had
paid a good sum of money to a diviner he knew when planning this
voyage, after all. This is not to say that the voyage was
uneventful. On the contrary, several instances had occurred that
Drogo would have greatly preferred to avoid. And they all seemed
to include his children! One of the sailors, a brutish barbarian
of a human, had decided to make a gift to the older boy a book.
Not a scholarly tome, or even a marginally respectable treatise on
history... no, his older boy was now firmly enthralled with "Lord
Falstaff and the Dragon", a picture book filled with the most
un-Hobbit-like things, from the armored paladin of the title, to
trolls, ogres, orcs and dragons. Worst of all, he resisted all
efforts to separate the book from his grasp, holding tightly to it even
at sleep. At least the youngest was not yet of an age to read
more than a few words.
But the book wasn't even the worst of the their
turmoils. No, that award was saved for the dog. Dog, as if
you could call that monster by such an unassuming name. The beast
stood half again as tall as Drogo, a hulking brute who's apparent
shipboard duty was to mop the plank with it's drool.
About 3 weeks into their journey, less than 3 days from land, disaster
struck. As the ship was rocked back and forth in the storm, the
foremost thought in Drogo's mind was the legal actions he would
undertake against his diviner "friend". Thoughts of disaster did
not even cross his mind. He was a respectable hobbit, and
respectable hobbits do NOT shipwreck. But apparently, the
youngest sons of respectable hobbits do.
Dar woke the next morning with water on his face and salt in his
eyes. The water was not from the sea, that had long since
evaporated in the sub-tropical heat, no, it was the stickier fluid
flowing steadily from the mouth of the monstrous dog. Terrified,
Dar threw the hulking head from his chest. A moments thought
would have shown that he owed his life to this beast, obviously it had
carried him to shore protectively...but Dar in his terror knew no
rational thoughts. For days he chased the dog away with rocks and
sticks. Eventually he was too weak from hunger even to stand,
much less to fight, and the beast came for him, its mouth already
bloody. He awoke to the smell of roasting meat, and opened his
eyes to the sight of the huge dog sitting patiently at the side of the
most bestial humanoid Dar had ever seen. The goblin, though he
claimed to be an orc, it was hard to tell, was gaunt, almost
skeletal. He spoke in guttural goblin, but managed to make his
story known. For 30 years he'd been stranded here, alone... and
as tasty as the halfling looked, company was that much more desirable.
Years past, and before he died, the old orc taught the young hobbit
many things. The forming of armors and weapons from the bones and
hides of past kills, the track, the hunt, the ways of the swamp and of
the swamp magic. Little by little, Dar Tubthumper died, and Dar
the hunter arose in his place. His only connection with the
mainland was the book, the precious book, and its unlimited
knowledge. Spurred on by the pictures of heros atop noble steeds,
he conquered his fears of the dog, and devised a saddle and barding for
his "mount". Many strange and dangerous beasts roamed the cut-off
peninsula, but with each kill, Dar's arsenal grew, as did his skill.
Eventually a rowboat capsized nearby, and what started off as a new
food source became first traveling companions, and then family.
Eventually their travels led to the land of his birth and reintroduced
Dar to civilization, but the swmp lived on within him. Pity the
civilized world, for Dar the hunter has returned!