| Full Name |
Stitch Millerson |
| Race |
Male, Human, Trapper |
| Size |
HP: 4 |
About Stitch Millerson
Occupation: Male, Human, Trapper
Ability: DEX
STR: 14
CON: 10
DEX: 16 (Switched WIS-->DEX)
INT: 9
WIS: 7+1=8
CHA: 10 XP: 2/5
Luck: 6+1-1=6
HP: 3+1=4
Traits: Cruel, Chaste
Appearance: Notable Laugh, Straight Hair
Item: Saddlebags
Equipment: knife (1d4, precise, hand, 0 wt), traps [roll 1d4: 1=2d4 rat traps (0 wt); 2=1d4 rabbit traps (2 wt); 3=1 snare trap (1 wt);
4=1 bear trap (2 wt)]
Trap Roll: 1d4 ⇒ 1 (Rats)
# of Rat Traps: 2d4 ⇒ (1, 4) = 5
Stitch Millerson is the son of Gregory the Miller. The pox that passed through the village ten years ago took his mother and his looks. The disease left a brutal scar that crawls from the base of his chin and up the right side of his face as if his visage were sewn together by some macabre, drunken bone cutter.
The combination of poor looks and a very practical, cynical outlook on life that many take as cruelty and sinister has left him often looking in on the outside of most village events.
Yet ever since he was a boy he was always good at catching things. From flies, to spiders, to mice, rats and rabbits. Stitch had a knack for knowing the routes and habits of the worlds smaller pests. He initially used his gift to keep his fathers grain stores at the mill free of rodents which allowed Gregory to build a reputation for clean grains unspoiled by rat droppings.
Stitch took that reputation and wove it into an actual business as the village rat catcher, even taking his services as far away as Gallow's Green or Jasper's Bend.
Quote: "It'll be half a bit per mouse, a full bit for a rat and two bits for anything larger." Stitch says to the young mistress of the house, his finger tracing down the drawn up list on the slate tablet. "Now, what about the remains. Do you want to keep them for the pot or shall I remove them?"
"What? Eeeewww. No, no, no. Take them away." Is the squeamish reply.
Stitch shrugs and smiles causing his scar to twist and pull in a eerie, some might say, unliving, manner. His horse laugh whispers from his thin, dry lips.
"Heh heh heh. Meat's meat, some might say. Still suit yourself. I'll dispose of the remains. Now about..."
*SNAP!*
"Ahhhh...got one. I'll just tally up a half-bit."
