BROWSE

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About Harlon Happytoes

ESSENTIAL GAME STATS

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LANGUAGES

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FEATS, FLAWS AND SKILLS

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PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION and PERSONALITY

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Harlon Happytoes is a frail-looking Halfling that stands 3’2 in height. Never chubby as a child, the years of famine he endured as a refugee seem to have taken a permanent toll on his body. Despite his fragile frame, the hardships that Harlon has experienced as a war child, and also as the victim of bullying and domestic violence, have made him incredibly tough and resilient, both physically and mentally. Harlon’s tragic life forced him to grow up much faster than other children, but it has also made him exceptionally quick-witted and strong; failure to develop those attributes early often yields a quick end to those thrust into the brutal conditions that characterize the lives of many refugees, especially among the little folk. Harlon is a survivor.

His skin is pale, though whether due to poor nutrition or extensive periods of time spent indoors is difficult to determine. His bright blue eyes always carry a hint of sadness, even when he smiles. Harlon’s smile otherwise is infectious when it manifests itself. A thick mane of shoulder length, straight brown hair hangs limply down the back of his threadbare, green traveler’s cloak. He has a broad nose, and could be described as "cute" (an adjective he despises).

The few items that Harlon possesses either were scavenged as his family escaped the onslaught of invaders from the lands beyond eastern Tynear or tried to get by in refugee camps, or purchased with hard-earned coin in Diamond Lake. Given the poverty he has lived in all of his recent life, Harlon only spends money on necessities, and as a last resort. He would rather save every last copper coin he makes, hoping that they may someday finance his escape from Diamond Lake and reunion with his mother and sisters.

Harlon has four prized possessions: the spear and carpenters’ tools he inherited from his father, and the winter blanket and signal whistle given him by his mother shortly before they were separated. The carpenters’ tools, of poor quality though they be, enable him to carry on with his father’s craft, and to occasionally earn a few coins. His father taught him to wield the spear at a young age, as they fled their home in Greenfields; Harlon now keeps the weapon as a treasured memento of the elder Happytoes’s brave deeds (before his spiral into alcoholism, despair, violence and vice), and as a last resort for times of trouble. The winter blanket and signal whistle occupy a special place in his heart, higher even than the tools and spear. The whistle emits a distinct sound, instantly recognizable to members of his family. Although he has not blown on it in more than a year, he often stares at the trinket and thinks of using it, just in case his mother and sisters might be closer than he thinks… but he knows that to do so would only tear him apart. He cannot sleep without his mother’s ragged, wool blanket, which he has not washed since they were separated for fear that it will lose whatever sent of hers is left within.

Harlon was raised to believe in Yondalla and in the goodness of the world. Yet his life has left him lost in a moral vacuum, very confused about his beliefs and values. He no longer believes in or cares for the gods—if they were so great and powerful, then why did they allow so many atrocities to occur? Why did they allow his once loving father to become a twisted, hateful monster? Why did they not respond to his prayers, or those of other poor, downtrodden folk? Harlon wishes ill upon no one, but he worries that hoping for peace and the reign of good on earth is a futile exercise that will only lead to greater sorrow. Thus, for now, he is primarily concerned with self-preservation and finding his mother and sisters. He desperately wants to leave Diamond Lake… but is also torn by his desire to solve the mystery surrounding his father’s death…

Many would be surprised by the intensity of Harlon’s personality. While he comes across as shy and sullen in most circumstances (largely due to years of abuse, neglect and bullying), he can be remarkably charming and convince anyone of the validity of his point of view at the drop of a hat, thereby confirming his potential as a leader. This “gift of the gab,” although typical among halflings, also has honed as a survival tool required by necessity. Conversely, if the wrong buttons are pushed, his fury can be surprising and downright terrifying (intensified as of late by the demons that frequently share his body and soul).

His new penchant for the occult has enabled him to “remember” skills and knowledge that he never knew before… and he has become prone to violent mood swings and even temporary but dramatic physical transformations as a result of the pacts he has been making with otherworldly entities… Despite these changes, Harlon remains an insecure child at heart that was forced to grow up far too quickly in the unhappiest of circumstances, with a great deal of pent up rage and sadness that he is still uncertain how to channel and that can erupt without warning...

BACKROUND

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Harlon Happytoes is anything but happy. For four years, he followed his father, Narlon, from refugee camp to refugee camp, escaping the ravages of the invading barbarian armies that have razed eastern Tynear and their home of Greenfields. During the shift from one overcrowded and undersupplied camp in western Tynear to another in the Freehold Nations two years ago, father and son became separated from Harlon’s mother, Dayla, and two younger sisters, Raena and Welyn. For more than a year, father and son relentlessly sought word concerning the whereabouts of the other half of their fractured family, even attempting to return to Tynear, without success.

After years of destitution, heart break and starvation, the elder Happytoes stumbled upon an opportunity that would enable him to earn a living and better support his son, and to collect funds that would finance search efforts for the rest of the family and a new home for the day they were found. Narlon Happytoes responded to a call for skilled workers in a remote mining community called Diamond Lake. The name itself suggested that riches were there lying in the open, there for all to take. With glittering eyes, Narlon travelled to the village with Harlon in tow, expecting to make a fortune there as a master carpenter.

Diamond Lake was not all that its name suggested. It was a rugged, filthy hole in the ground where the few made a fortune at the expense of the many. Many workers lost their lives and their souls trying to make their employers wealthy, for a pittance of a wage. Narlon did work as a carpenter on occasion, with Harlon assisting in whatever way he could, but more often than not the elder Happytoes ended up working in the mines and refused to take his adolescent son with him. At times, they would reside in workers’ camps, and when money permitted it, they might book dormitory accommodations in one of the town’s seedy inns. At first, the elder Happytoes’s spirit remained unbroken, and he constantly spoke of finding the rest of the family soon. Yet within the space of a year, Harlon witnessed a change in his father, which left the man unrecognizable in the eyes of his son.

The patriarch of the family came home drunk with increasing frequency. He would reaffirm that they would soon find Dayla, Raena and Welyn, but Harlon knew these were empty promises. In the year they had been in Diamond Lake, they had managed to save next to nothing. Harlon overheard talk around town and knew that his father had been making “deals” with shady characters, though he never knew exactly what. When he confronted his father with these allegations, his father denied them. Half a year later (just a few months ago), Harlon found his father dead in the gutter. The constabulary said little but concluded that he had drunk himself to death without investigating further.

Ever since they had come to Diamond Lake, Harlon had been bullied by the local kids, just as his father had been kicked around by his foremen and tavern ruffians. Assaults on “the little man” only seemed to increase in frequency and severity after Harlon’s father passed away. He was now completely alone in the world. He worked odd jobs, mostly as a carpenter now that he had inherited his father’s tools, enough to get him a cheap room at the inn most nights.

One night, Harlon broke down in his room, crying a river of tears from a well he thought had long run dry. He had lost his family, hated Diamond Lake, and could no longer take the beatings from the local thugs. He despised the gods that had done nothing to intervene in his family’s woes, even though the latter had prayed devoutly to Yondalla and the Halfling pantheon while they lived in Greenfields. In the refugee camps, the priests of Pelor, St. Cuthbert and others promised salvation if one placed their faith in their gods. Yet ultimately, those priests (and their gods) seemed to care more about human subjects, especially those who were in a position to make “contributions” to the church. The Happytoes of the world were far down the priority list of these churches, and would suffer an eternity until the gods of the tall folk took notice. Greenfields had been such a peaceful place, a place of love. Yet it was gone now. All that remained in Tynear and the Free Nations were places like Diamond Lake, full of greed and hate… or so thought Harlon in his despair. What reason was there to live on?

During that night of sorrow, Harlon dreamed strange dreams; dreams of beings that he had never heard of, yet that seemed strangely familiar; dreams of things long forgotten, or never even known, now remembered; of whispered incantations; of a woman burning at a stake, who knew his name. The following morning, he awoke to find himself lying on the floor, one of the pieces of chalk he used to indicate carpentry measurements in hand, and odd designs drawn with that chalk covering the floor where he had lain. He could not explain it, and he became afraid. Yet from the back of his mind, there came a name: Amon. And then, there came arcane words. Harlon felt compelled to kneel before the seal and to recite the bizarre words… and Amon, the Void Before the Altar, answered. The frightful spirit manifested in a burst of black smoke, howling foul curses at the terrified Halfling youth. It assumed a black wolf’s body with a ram’s head and it had a serpent for a tail. Fire escaped from its toothy maw as it addressed Harlon; and as it did so, the halfling sensed the power of Amon entering his body.

Harlon caught his reflection in his bedroom window, and cried out in fear when he saw the ram’s horns curling from his forehead. He did his best to erase the seal on the floor, threw on a cape and pulled the hood over his head, and raced as far as he could from the inn. Of course, it was only a matter of time until he was cornered by the local bullies. As they confronted him, they were surprised to hear the normally Halfling responding, from the shadows of his hood, in an angry and fearless voice. The bullies took this as a sign that the Halfling might finally provide a challenge. They looked forward to teaching him humility. The challenge was far greater than they ever could have anticipated. As the thugs advanced, Harlon threw back his hood, revealing his newly grown ram’s horns and spitting a long stream of fire from his mouth. The ruffians fled in terror.

That particular band of ruffians soon became the laughing stock of Diamond Lake. They had run back to tell their friends what they had just witnessed, but when these other parties again saw Harlon returning to the inn, they saw no sign of ram’s horns or brimstone on his breath—just the usual skittish Halfling. Clearly, the ruffians had ingested a little too much of their favourite narcotic.

For weeks afterwards, Harlon struggled with the meaning of the events that had happened that fateful day. Had he been possessed by a demon? Was he being seduced by evil? Who was the woman at the burning stake? Was this dark knowledge a special boon she was granting him, the power he would need to stand on his own two feet and, dare he hope, find the rest of his family? What would be the price of this power? The strange dreams became more frequent and intense and, in time, he was unconsciously drawing the seals of beings other than Amon on his bedroom floor: Aym, the Queen of Avarice; Ronove, the Iron Maiden; Naberius, the Grinning Hound; Leraje, the Green Herald; Malphas, the Turnfeather; the names go on. At first, he was reluctant to call on these beings. Then, curiosity overcame him… after all, he had suffered nothing more than a temporary transformation while under Amon’s spell, had he not? And the Void Before the Altar ultimately had saved him…

During the past few months, Harlon has discretely experimented by night with these other vestiges, learning to master their powers while studying their short term effects on his appearance. Fear has given way to confidence, though the Halfling is still worried that there may be a hidden, long term cost to pay for his new powers, or that he may one day end up making a pact with an entity that is beyond his control… but it is a chance that he is willing to take, and the gods be damned. For now, the vestiges are his key to solving the mystery surrounding his father's death, to escaping Diamond Lake, or, at the very least, to turning his sorry life around and making him the master of lesser men…

EQUIPMENT and ENCUMBRANCE

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MONEY/TREASURE:

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EXPERIENCE

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