Dimension 20: Fantasy High OCs

Half-Dwarf-Half-Gnome, Nissa Riswynn "Hammerkick" Boliéta of Clan Motsognir, and her Tiefling bestie.

Dimension 20: Tiny Heist OC

Dimension 20: Escape From The Bloodkeep OC

Dimension 20: The Unsleeping City OC

Perith Anbira Jenynzem

Feywynn "Speckle" Foundfarthing

Appearance:

Gender: Female Race: Lightfoot Halfling Age: Approx. 14

Weight: 27 lb Height: Exceptionally short, even for Halflings. Approx. 1'8"

Hair: A dusty-brown poof of frizz in a small ponytail.

Eyes: Hazel of golden brown with mossy flecks

Complexion: Pale, freckled, and scarred

Personality:

Alignment: Chaotic Good Class(es): Rogue & Artificer Background: Urchin

Quirks:

• I like to squeeze into small places where no one else can get to me, or if I can't do that then I like to keep my back to a wall or tree, protected.

• I often ask a ton of intrusive questions and have great difficulty in keeping myself from bluntly announcing what other people are hinting at or hiding.

• I hide scraps of food and trinkets away in my pockets.

Ideals:

• I'll do whatever I need to to take care of me-and-mine. We have to take care of each other, because no one else is going to do it. (Lawful)

• People. I help the people who help me — that’s what keeps us alive. (Neutral)

• Change. The low are lifted up, and the high and mighty are brought down. Change is the nature of things. (Chaotic)

Flaws:

• It’s not stealing if I need it more than someone else.

• I’d rather kill someone in their sleep than fight fair.

Bonds:

• I owe my survival to another urchin who taught me to live on the streets.

• I owe a debt I can never repay to the person who took pity on me.

• No one else should have to endure the hardships I’ve been through.

Worships:

• Yher, God/Goddess of Chaos

• Saais, God of Shelter

• Widarr, God of Tricks

Bio:

Me name be Feywynn Foundfarthing. I were named by Auntie Mevah, the kind, motherly human lady what runned the orphanage whens I’s first abandoned theres. She always told me that she name me “Feywynn” after a famous Halfling Bard who toured the countryside when Mevah was but a wee thing herself. And wells, me surname “Foundfarthing” come from when Auntie Mevah first found me right outside of the door of the orphanage and she looked around for any sign of who’d left me—you see, only thing she found, asides me that is, was a stray coin of very little worth that must’ve fell through a hole in someone’s pocket and got lost. Fars as given names go, mine’s as good a name as any I suppose, but mostly me friends call me "Speckle" on account of the flecks of mossy green stippling I’s got in me otherwise golden-brown eyes and cause of the fact that I’s near covered in a generous splattering of rust-color freckles that stand out plain startling against me pasty-pale complexion. Sos, I reckon you can call me "Speckle" too, seeing as hows I'd like us to be being friends and all.

That being said, I’s be figuring I might’n ought to tell you a bit more about meself. For starters, I’m a Halfling, as you can clear see, but I ain’t growed-up in no picturesque Halfling community. Instead, I were left at The Fitzkirdle-Blarng Home For Orphans, Foundlings, & Wayward Youths with absolutely nothing of wheres I come from, not even a wee blankie fors to be swaddled in or any other token of me parents. And I ain’t really ever been around many other Halflings neither—in fact, I only knowed two other kiddies of me kind at the orphanage wheres I’s used to live, a cute-as-you-please pair of twins what got adopted out faster than you could say “pudding.” Sos, I’s guess you could rightly say that me knowledge of me race’s culture is generally lacking. I knows more about other people’s than me own, given that I’s been around folk of all sorts me whole life and have long thought of all of those what were wards there at the orphanage with me as me true people, me real family regardless of what race any of us be—a fact of which I’m rather proud. Not that I ain’t proud of me own natural heritage, mind you, cause I am. I’s might’n still be learning what it mean to be a Halfling, but that don’t make me no less proud of being one. And anyways, I’s not totally ignorant about me birth culture, as Auntie Mevah use to teach alls us Fitzkirdle-Blarng tykes about our peoples afore she left off of working theres to marry some merchant, a strapping young widower with three lil’uns of his own. It were real important to Auntie Mevah that us kiddies at the Home each had a connection to the traditions of our own kind and that we’s all felt us-selfs our own unique individual’s.

I’s always figured that that were why, when Auntie Mevah first found me and picked me up to carry me inside, she had picked that coin she’d found up too and then, after having bore a hole throughs it, fashioned a little necklace out of it fors me with an old bit of leather cord that she’d used to’ve laced up one of her boots with. This necklace’d been a great deal too big for me when I’s a bae, but it’s been years since then and now it can no more fit over me head as it could fit around the glowing orb of the moon. From since I’s can remember I’s thought of it as me good-luck charm—so now’s it don’t fit me head, I use it to tie up the tangled frizz of me dusty-brown hair back into a little poof of a ponytail.

Nows, as for me age, wells I don’t rightfully know how old I’m. Me best guess is somewheres between 13 and 14, though I might’n even be as young as 12-going-on-13 and mayhaps as old as newly 15—it’s hard knowing on account of the fact that when I was left, a bitty bawling bae, on the steps of The Fitzkirdle-Blarng Home, I was the size of a newborn what was delivered premature, but when a doc looked me over I’s seemed to meet the developmental markers fors a 15-month-old, other than those related to size that is. Way the doc figured, I could’ve been a real advanced infant or a real tiny & underdeveloped 2-year-old, or anything in between. It’s been over 12 years—near 13 years—since then, so’s I tends to just say I’s 14, for the sake of to be keeping things simple. Its as fair as guess as any &, though I's still incredibly small for a Halfling of that age—what with standin' onlys about 1'8'' tall & weighing just barely 27 lb—, I reckons its about as close to accurate as it could get in describin' me intellect & level of developmental maturity.

Sos anyways, I grewed-up for near 11 years as a ward of The Fitzkirdle-Blarng Home afore I ranned away. That were abouts 2 years ago and, wells, I’s certain you’s wondering whys I’d leave from there, especially given hows I’s clear said that I’s consider theys there at the orphanage me family. And what with alls I done told you about Auntie Mevah, I’s bet that you’s be thinking that it sound right nice there at Fitzkirdle-Blarng. And, honest-true, I’s rightly can tell you that it surely used to be. That were when Auntie Mevah still run the place, back when me family might not’ve lived well or had much but were still cared for and shown some semblance of love. But whens Auntie Mevah left, the place came under new management. The new lady what took over as Governess of the children’s home was a strict and cruel spinster Dwarf who, after introducing herself as “Mistress” to us what lived at Fitzkirdle-Blarng, proceeded to run the place with an iron fist. It were plum miserable there, but I’s tried to keep me chin up and look out for the younger kids. Mistress would work us to the bones all hours of the day and if’n we didn’t do things good enough or fast enough for her then we’s were punished. Mistress was real creative with hows to punish us, too. Under her care, if’n you could call it that, our once happy home was transmogrified into a gulag and me family was broken in ways we’s had never been before. Once us sprogs had been poor, but happy, scamps who always looked out for one another, even if’n we didn’t always get along, and we’s always had each other’s backs. But Mistress’s rule turned us quick into miserable blighters, so affeared for our own sakes that we’s mostly stopped caring abouts each other. Mainly when one of us was in for to be punished, the rest of us was just relieved not to be the poor tyke about to face Mistress’s wrath. You’d never know what nasty thing Mistress would think up, sos we’d never knowed what we was in for or how bad to expect it. Sometimes it were simple, like that we’s weren’t allowed to eat none until we ‘learnt our lesson.’ Other times it were more involved, like when she’d force us to stay awake & standing for days on end or when we was locked up in the frigid cellar fors to spend a day or two shivering alone in the pitch-black. Those punishments were bad, mind, but her favorite punishments was worse by far, thems being anything what caused pain. And as luck would have it, I’s were one of her favorite targets on account of hows I’s was always trying to protect the other kids.

Sos eventually, things got real bad for me there at The Fitzkirdle-Blarng Home under Mistress’s reign. I’s stuck around long as I’s could tolerate the abuse and it weren’t until she used the thumbscrews on me, crushing me right hand in a vice until it were broke, that I decided to run away. Sos, soon as I’s made me mind up to run away, I gone to talk with Kankcur Grotnik, a Goblin foundling a year or two older than me who, ever since he first arrived at Fitzkirdle-Blarng near a year before, were always running away only to be caught and drug back again. He were always telling any who’d listen that he didn’t belong at the orphanage as he weren’t no orphan, that he had a family what were missing him—his Ma, Guinegore Grotnik—and a home he needed to get back to—the Bardbarians Traveling Circus, where his Ma spotlighted as “Sang-Guine, The Aerialist Bard.” He even carried a small souvenir cigar-box with “Bardbarians Traveling Circus” emblazoned of it in chipped paint that must have once been brightly coloured. And in this box he kept a collection of pocket-sized portraits of the circus performers, including a well-worn and much loved one of a handsome Goblin lady that he treated with the finest of care. This were his Ma and he were straight determined to find his way back to her side where he belonged. Sos anyways, I goes up to Kankcur ands I’s say to him that the reason what for he always be getting caught was that he ain’t had nobody to watch his back and I’s told him that with me he’d have a much better chance of getting away and staying gone. I’s even offered to help him track down his circus if’n he took me with him next time he made to run away. At first Kankcur weren’t real keen on me tagging along, but after some convincing he agreed, though he warned me that I’s better not slow him down none or get in his way no how cause he was on a quest to get back to his Ma and he’d have no problem leaving me behind if’n I caused him any trouble.

I’s won’t go into the whole tale of hows we runned, but I’s will tell your that the first couple of weeks after our escape from the Hell that was The Fitzkirdle-Blarng Home under Mistress’s thumb we's spent sleeping rough and avoiding capture all the while by having each other’s backs as we planned for our quest and prepared for to journey we knew not how long. During this time, Kankcur and I, we’s got to be friends and Kankcur taught me hows to throw knives, something he learned in that circus of his, and hows to pickpocket, another skill he picked up from the circus as he were working the crowds and which he had a trained pet mouse, Mr. Nikkers, what helped him. Turns out whiles my knife-throwing is, for lack of a better word, hit-or-miss, I’s a right natural thief, even with me gimp right hand. And sos, betweens us, me and Kankcur with his little mouse Mr. Nikkers, we’s soon had acquired enough to at least make fors to journey out of that particular city to a neighboring one. And we was readying to be about do just that when I’s came down with the Pox. Nows, even thoughs he had said he would leave me behind if’n I held him up none, Kankcur stayed by me side and nursed me back to health. He even took care of me whens it were clear that he were getting sickly his-self.

Long story short: I gots better, Kankcur didn’t. He gave his life taking cares of me and that’s a debt I ain’t never gonna be able to repay. But it ain’t in me neither to just ignore me life-debt. So’s with my lucky coin in me hair, Kankcur’s cigar-box for portraits in me pack & his blades at me side, & Mr. Nikkers riding up on me shoulder, I been trying to track down Kankcur’s mother ever since—she deserve to know what happened to her boy and, wells, if’n I can’t repay Kankcur the kindness he done me then I’s can at least try to give his Ma some closure and maybe that’ll give his soul something of peace.