"mutie" Alfiermollo

[marimbamonk 1498]

Character Name: Alfiermollo
Nicknames: Deckhand "Mutie", Midget "Sand", Halfling
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Race: Halfling 
Status: Alive

Description
Height: No taller than the leg of the average human.
Weight: As heavy as a small sack of fresh potatoes.
Body Type: Nimble, quick, and light.
Eyes: Deep blue
Hair: Dark brown
Skin: A light, pinkish brown
Markings/Tattoos: None
Health: Often starved
Personality: He was once quirky, spontaneous, and childish. This young halfling had never really grown up.

Inventory: Many tiny knick knacks and doodles. 
Further Details: Voluntarily mute.

 

Selections†

 

Selection 1: Footsteps of Sorrowful Rain

 

 

The spatter of rain echoed across ocre buildings, creating a sullen dew that swept the ground like a fog. It was one of those nights. The nights where rain was depressing, the time when every drop hitting the cold stone was like a torturous tick that made you want to plug every hole in your home with pillows -- just to evade the sound.

It was in twilights like these that Alfiermollo thrived. His little feet pattered with paired rhythm to the rain, making little noise opposed to the colossal droplets falling from the clouds. Everyone in this dank little town was asleep, the little halfling hoped. He didn't really mind interruptions, but it was, of course, better to operate without them.

He finally made his way to his preferred building of choice. The church of this town was its most prominent feature, and Alfiermollo was positive that it would hold what he needed tonight. As he reached the impressive ebony door to this sanctum, he hoped...

 

An audible sigh passed out of the halfling, interrupting the rhythm of the rain for a mere second. As he had tried the door, he found that it was locked. But, as most would think of what next to do, the halfling was already moving once again. 

He found himself on the west side of the church now, which was rather rubbled due to little care from the groundsmen. He had noticed a week before that the window belonging to the worship room -- located at the back of the church -- was crumbly as well. He had spent the past seven days chipping away at it with a small stone he had gotten from the gravel path outside the city. 

He figured it was ready to break when he needed it to. Carefully making his way to the window sill, the halfling pulled the same small stone from his back pocket, and then pulled his dagger from the scabbard at his side. Holding his dagger so the hilt was at the receiving end, he began pounding the stone against the glass.

 

After a few minutes, the window finally shattered. The pang that resulted was rather loud, but the fair rain covered up the sound like a charm. The halfling pounced inside, noting that dawn would come soon and he had little time.

He scampered along the edge of the room. The middle area of the room had a dark maroon carpet, and he knew that placing a foot on that -- although saving time for his plans -- would leave a wet impression of his tiny feet for the priests to investigate.

After eventually making his way across the perimeter of the room and to the door to the main sanctum of the church, he placed his hand on the handle of the door, turning it anxiously. Luckily, they did not lock these inner doors, and it creaked open with ease.

The inner sanctum of the church was rather large for such a small town, but Alfiermollo took no care towards that. He was so near what he had come for that he could only think about retrieving it.

 

Large candles, now cold and oily after being put out after the night service, were suspended from chandeliers above the seating. The halfling made his way to the ladder that led to the supports of the building, and made his way up. 

Although they moaned from age, the support beams of the church held the small man. Alfiermollo carefully muddled across as he reached the nearest chandelier. Three of the candles were just within reach, but that would be more than enough.

He pulled his small dagger out from his scabbard, and held it in his left hand. With his right, he produced a small leather pouch. Carefully and meticulously (and while balancing half his body on the support beam), the halfling sliced the candle wax off of the chandelier and into his leather pouch, until the pouch was full.

 

As he made his way down the ladder again, the halfling pulled a small white cloth from his backpack and wiped the remains of his wet feet and hands from the ladder. And, even as he made his way across the circumference of the stone worship room again, he wiped diligently against the stone, removing not just his tracks but also dust and grime from ages of neglect. 

Having finished his job, Alfiermollo vaulted out the window again. He smiled, seeing that the heavy rain was still present in this sad town. The small man swept up the crumbs of glass left behind by the shattered window, wiping them into another pouch in his belt. 

 

One might think that the halfling left after cleaning up after himself, and disappeared out of this town. His little footsteps -- although almost perfectly blended with the patter of droplets -- might have been heard disappearing into the distance from the gate. But no, after second thought, he returned, with a large wooden plank in hand. He spent the next dozen minutes nailing the plank meticulously to the stone window sill, where the window once was. 

Yes, now, it was only then, where the church had been mended of its gaping hole, that Alfiermollo's footsteps where never heard in this dank town again.

 

 

Selection 2: Nourishment √

 

 

Silent nights are found either in fright or peace, never in between; especially in the turmoil filled worlds of Elysium, Asulon, and Aegis. Silence can follow the last dying breath of a warrior fighting for his people, or found when the last butterfly flutters by the glassy trees of a clear winter forest. Silence comes once a day, in fright or peace. Tonight, it was peace.

 

A small, constant gurgle of water from the farm streams disturbed the cityscapes of Oren, but otherwise, all was still. Wars weren’t blazing these streets, and children could finally sleep with clarity through the night. One might notice tiny footsteps in this darkest dusk, but they were crafted so carefully by their master that they blended with the gurgles from the farm stream.

The footsteps moved swiftly across the night, and they soon left the ears of sleepers and dreamers. The gurgle of water continued, and the steps were gone.

The footsteps continued outside of town, down a gravel path. It was here that the silence had stopped; this area had already had its time. The groans of zombies and clatters of ghouls could be heard in the distance now, giving a shadow to the fear of darkness.

 

The footsteps were soon buried under the sound of these moans and groans... One would think they died out. Ah, but just as one would think that, they reappeared on the other side of the gravel once more. Having evaded the ghastly forest and entered the torchful light of camp, the footsteps were now revealed.

A small halfling, nimble and actually quite skinny in stature, had been the controller of these footsteps. He approached the monk village more noisily now, knowing that the most tedious part of his nightly endeavor was over. He approached each tent of the camp, inspecting the inside of each carefully.

The tents were empty, and he approached the main campfire. Pulling a small shovel from his bags, the halfling began to dig near under the side of the fire.

 

He never looked back to see if anyone was watching; he simply dug deeper and deeper, the ground getting hotter as he went due to the heat of the fire.

After a few feet of dirt, he stopped. Plowing his shovel through a mud wall, he found himself in a small excavation, directly beneath the campfire. It was about as big as the fire, only a couple feet wide. In the corner of the dirt cave lay a chest.

The halfling dropped his shovel on the ground, approaching the chest. It was unlocked (it had no lock on it, in fact), and he opened it a tiny crack. Mumbles could be heard from inside the chest for the short time it was open, and he slipped a chunk of pig’s meat from his back pocket and slivered it into the chest.

“In time... In time, my friend,” the halfling thought.

 

 

Selection 3: The Portrait √

 

 

He had never seen a more beautiful woman in all of his life. This halfling, perplexed by nothing but a painting, stared at it for what seemed to be an eternity. He found himself lost in her luscious hair, her beautiful eyes... 

Yes, this little halfling was trespassing, if only to grab something to eat. The smell of roasted meat wafting from the basement of this building was too alluring for him to resist. But then, he saw her. He decided, then and there, he had to have it.

 

 

 

 

Alfiermollo ripped the painting from the wall with care, making sure not to damage it too much. With it's heavy girth in his hands, he looked down at it. He was still amazed by her beauty... Astounded by it.

 

 

 

 

With the long, awkward portrait across his back, the halfling managed to sneak out of Kaldonia, and to his home in Mali'Fenn. There, he stored it under a floorboard.

 

Satisfied with his new attraction to paintings, the halfling ventured out once again to find another. This time, he found himself deep within the sewers of a foul human city.

Coughing and trying not to look at all of the waste, the halfling pondered around the slums of the sewer, looking for anything interesting. It was then that a little underground tavern caught his eye; and so did his next item.

A painting of "Saint Stran the Protector", it said. Alfiermollo gave a little grunt, and then with some quick prying, he hoisted that same painting across his back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He ran out of the sewers and back again to his little home in Mali'Fenn. Two paintings now. His collection was building! The little halfling gave a silent cackle. Later that night, Alfiermollo traveled to Alras and spent the night there, hoping to do some pillaging in the morning.

 

This was when tragedy struck. As he woke up, the halfling heard of the devastation that struck Mali'Fenn; his home town! He ran as quick as he could out of Alras, but he was too late. 

Through some form of devastation, the city had been raided, pillaged, and completely destroyed. Alfiermollo ran to his home frantically, knowing that his double-chest of paintings surely mustn't have been touched... But he was wrong. Not only was the floorboard he had placed removed, but the chest (and its contents) had vanished. With no trace of his paintings, the halfling felt defeated. He slumped down in the remains of his home, giving a sigh.

 

~-~ A few days later... ~-~

 

Alfiermollo skulks near Kaldonia again, hoping that he might be able to find some other paintings within the city. Because the gatehouse was closed, the halfling managed to find a way to sneak up and enter through the top. There, he began searching through the chests of the guards there, for the gatehouse itself was empty.

The first chest, nothing but some dirt and a wooden sword.

The second, an old sock and some gravel.

Ah, but the next one he encountered surely must have had something interesting behind it. It was an iron door, with no button on the outside.

 

Quickly, the halfling searched the premises of the gatehouse, managing to pry a level from the wall of another mans room. He clamped the lever on to the wall adjacent to the iron door, and -- voila -- the door was open. 

Knowing that great loot was at hand, the halfling opened the chest. Oh, you just wait. Here's the good part.

 

Opening the chest, guess what Alfiermollo finds? After having no idea where it went, or who might have taken it... 

 

 

He had her again. She was scratched and chipped, but there she was! There she was! Alfiermollo jumped for joy, grabbing his wonderful portrait. By some act of miraculous luck, he had found her.

He vowed silently to himself that he'd never let anything happen to her again.

 

And as far as Stran... He is yet to be found. Alfiermollo now knows who is responsible for this theft... And they will regret it.

 

 

Links

 

• Mountebank's Minor VA for 1a (Accepted)
• Mountebank's 1st Major VA for 1b and 1c (Denied)

 

 

 

* To Be Added

† Selections are in no particular historical order.

√ This selection actually happened in-game.