Dill Picklepants

"Another round over here!"
User: John
Race: Halfling
Gender: Male
Role: Striker
Class/Level: Fighter/Thief/1/1
His parents bestowed their only child with a humorous name upon his birth to match the family surname. They were an affable and cheerful people. Dill is the opposite of them. Halflings are similar to humans, but about half their size. Dill’s skin has faded from a healthy tan to pale with a ruddy cast, and his hair once sandy brown and wavy is now greasy and dirty. His hazel eyes squint in both the smoke filled taverns he frequents and the snow blanketed backwoods. He is outfitted with simple leather clothes made to last a lifetime. He has an exotic skin dagger bandolier strapped across his chest and throwing knife sheaths for his lower back and legs
Dill has gone sour. It was just the idea of living in this fraudulent idea of happiness. He sees no future in the world since winter has arrived. The Undead, plague, monsters, and decades of winter to come? A generation will be born, live and die without feeling the warm earth beneath their hairy toes or the taste of a fresh vegetable. He worships no God. He’s been spiraling out of control for months. Luckily, he has a racial talent for burglary. Drunk most days, with a chip on his shoulder due to his unfair impish nature, constantly trying to prove he is as strong as everyone else, it usually doesn’t take long for him to find a fight.
Dill is thirty years old, weighs forty pounds and is forty inches tall. Once a diminutive, chubby, furry-footed home-body, his ass was a wad of bread dough. After a few months, he was carved out of wood.

Age: 30 years

Languages: Common

XP Bonus: 20%