Podrig is a halfling male. He has shaggy medium length dark brown hair. Blue eyes that nearly resemble that of opals. His skin is pale but does grow darker in the sun. He is of a medium build. Average for the height of other halflings. He has a small belly, which is likely due to the ale. He had a humble beginning and still wears the dark green tunique his father gave him on this 18th birthday. Beyond this his clothes are made from the skin of animals on his family farm. His only marking is the scar he got on his left arm while trying to learn from his father on the forge. He possess few skills and is a master of none.
Podrig was born on a cool spring day. His father and mother quite young to be starting a family. When asked his father insists he was not a mistake (Podrig has his doubts). They were happy, but life was not without her hardships. When he was born his father was still an apprentice blacksmith in a small village, and his mother the 4th daughter to a poor tradesman. After his birth the new found parents packed their things and settled on a small plot on the edge of town. It was cheap as it backed onto the wild forests. Podrig's father Rungant would work daily from sun-up to sun-down in the smith. He has fond memories of seeing his father at the top of the lane coming home only visible by the torch he carried.
Podrig would spend his time on the farm exploring and learning through nature and the few books the Journeyman blacksmith of the town would provide to his father for Podrig's birthdays. He thinks of that man often, but can't even recall his name. These books helped him slowly get a basic understanding of common tongue. Though he is able to read at a beginner level he has never learned to write. He loved to sit by the fire in the small burrow they called home. His mother would cook dinner while his father would tell him tales of Knox. He would tell tales of him walking through the neighboring forests making ale from the nectar in the trees (or so he said). He would talk of man, and beast, and creatures you would never see around their small town.
On his 18th birthday his father and mother had saved up some money for a nice cloak. This was an uncommon occurrence. Clothes were often made from the animals on the farm and not dyed. This cloak was dyed a deep dark green, almost like the darkest leaves on a tree nearest the trunk. It was stitched and woven by skilled hands, and held together by a sturdy black clip. This would forever be his pride and joy.
Not long after his 18th birthday it happened. Pordig waited by the window as he regularly did to see his father's torch light at the top of the hill. This signaled he would soon be home and to start warming up the dinner his mother had prepared. The night grew darker and darker. Finally he mustered the courage to go to the smith himself and see what has caused the delay. He traveled over the hill and into the town, across the market square to the bottom of the valley where the journeyman's blacksmith was. He saw the windows lit by oil lamps and knocked heavily on the door. He was ready to raise his tone to his father for causing such a panic. Heavy foot steps rang out across the wooden floor. The door was swung open wide, and a shadowy figure stood there. It took a moment for Podrig's eyes to adjust. It was the Journeyman. His face was empty and cold. His eyes were bloodshot and glossy. The look of a man who had been crying. He invited Podrig in and sat him down. To this day he does not remember what the man told him exactly. Only that his father had collapsed at work and was taken to the local doctor. He had passed. The walk home in the dark felt short. His body felt light almost as if he was floating. He isn't even sure if he said "goodbye" before leaving the journeyman's house. Nor if he closed the door behind him. Once he got home the tears came quick and heavy, but the words didn't. His mother knowing something was wrong embraced him and sat him on the floor nearest the fire. They both sat there in eachother's arms till dawn.
The next day he began to pack. He was a young man who had not even seen the closes neighboring town. He refused to live his life like his father (may Knox bless his soul). It took three sunrises for Podrig to raise the courage to leave town. With the last bit of his courage he went down the road through the valley and into the unknown. He was not the first of his family to venture from the village. His wild uncle Bredford had gone before him. Wildly disliked by most of the village due to his loose tongue, and fondness for the drink. He would visit irregularly and tell of the world beyond. The tales of the ale houses across the lands drove Podrigs first steps along that cobble stone road. Off into his new adventure.
Since then Podrig has set out to see the world, or perhaps run from the fear of facing his emotions back home. He regularly returns to see his mother and leave her with any spare coin he has gathered along the way. Podrig does not seek the glory of battle, or the riches of plunder, but simply the friendship of others, and of course a good pint of ale.
