Name: Roondar Garrick
Age: 115
Race: Gnome
Height: 3 ½ feet
Weight: 40 lbs
Physical Description:
Roondar has light tan skin and short, stark white hair whose bangs fall slightly in to his face. His trimmed side burns blend close to his face until a small, well groomed tuft of hair gathers at the point of his chin. His almond-shaped eyes are an ice blue complexion and always seem to be gazing at whatever he casts his stare upon. He has pointed elongated ears with several hooped pieces of stylized earrings laced along them. For someone of short stature, his body tells the tale of a lot of physical labor. While lean and compact, his muscles are well developed and proportioned denoting a man of great agility. On several locations on the side of his neck, his chest, and rib section are scar lacerations from injuries received “on the job.” As well, he has several tattoos covering his chest, arms, abdomen, and back. Each has a specific image to help identify him throughout ‘the rings’ that he might associate with. His walk is very smooth and catlike – and due to his lean build his tumbling skills are hardly matched by anyone. This grace allows him to stalk like no other and accomplish some of the more discrete jobs that might come across his table. Though do not let this elegance of movement fool you. Even when this man stands in place he seems to demand respect.
Possessions:
Several “Accounts” at undisclosed locations holding a lot of savings and earnings – Roondar’s line of work finds him in much need of dealing with the finer things in life: like money. He holds several accounts with several members of his “personal clientele” each keeping tabs of the current going currency of crime syndicates, black markets, local towns, and foreign towns/cities alike. He always seems to be on the up-and-up when it comes to currency and most come to him for foreign exchange; and rates change by the moment!
Safe Houses in the same locations – When the going gets too tough Roondar gets the hell out of dodge! The reason he is so well versed in the currency of the lands is having Safe Houses in such locations. So when the heat gets too hot in one location he can move himself to another undisclosed Safe House locale! Each home is inconspicuous on the outside but decked to the nine for all his Racketeering needs on the inside. All doors are protected with top of the line gnomish make locks and traps. And all of his homes have 2 trap doors which allow him to enter or leave secretly; and only he knows these routes.
Tools of “The Trade” – On the rare occasion that this Racketeer actually decides to personally take a job, he seems to have any tool necessary to accomplish it. This is from years of directing “traffic” and living the life to make his way up the ladder himself. Everything from assorted sized and material crowbars, to lock picking tools, skeleton keys, rope, and more. Roondar even possess just as much assorted parchment and seals, and exotic inks as he does currency so he may properly forge letters of merit, letters of mark, assorted commonor royal scrolls. Terms and rates are negotiable depending on the job at hand. He also holds in his possession marked playing cards, regular playing cards, loaded dice, and regular dice just incase times get really rough or he just wants to make some impromptu cash on the locals.
Knows somebody who knows somebody that knows a guy; unless it's me- In dealing with the “cream of the crop” when it comes to the crime world Roondar has come across his fair share of criminal masterminds. And in that, has connects on all sides of the map that can get him various tid-bits of information needed to extort, slander, or generally “learn” about a person, place, or object. Not to mention that he loves to read and can do much of the research about current and past events himself. Through this, he has become extremely known in the criminal underground for his Racketeering, Drug Dealing, and self-taken "hit" jobs.
The suit makes the man…erm…gnome…gnome male – Coming with the espionage turf is blending in with your surroundings. He has garb that makes him look as if he were the highest esteem or the salt of the earth: whatever the moment or the job calls for. In that, Roondar his his most favorite outfit which you would normally find him in. He wares a long red leather trench coat with a high popped collar that has the ability to mask half of his face. Over the shoulders are bronzed pauldrons and elbow cops aged from battle. On his back he bares a beautiful dwarf craft blade with a custom crafted gnomish hilt. Gnomish in that if not gripped by Roondar exposes sharp quill like needles to protrude from the hand guard and quickly retract. The quills actually manage to pull a small amount of your blood in to a special vial secretly hid in the hilt. So, when repossessed by Roondar he may take your blood and visit any local witch for a blood curse. Over his chest he wears a black leather vest with his chest exposed and matching black leather pants to match which are caught in knee high black leather boots. He bares a thick black belt over his midsection to not only add protection but hold pouches of varying sizes holding various contents. On the shoulder is attached a little book which is rumored to hold some of the names of those who are indebted to him and the description of just how much and the repercussions agreed upon if they do not meet his fees. All of these “contracts” are signed by a bloody finger-print and their signature besides.
And then there’s the gnomish arsenal – Being a gnome means having all of the best “toys!” Roondar has several contraptions, blueprints for contraptions, blueprints for traps, recipes for various drug mixtures from around the world, and weapons all of gnomish craft that can aid most adventurers or criminals on most any job. And if he doesn’t have the contraption or the blueprint handy he is not afraid to get his hands dirty and put something together. But in this he has various black powder guns, shock-blades, TNT, etc.
Powers or Strengths:
Roondar is all about stealth when he fights. In a toe to toe battle he will manage well due to years of street fighting; but physics is physics- and he’s small! So unless he can use the terrain to his advantage and fight VERY dirty he will never prosper fully toe to toe. But once you put his blade, or blades for that matter in to his hand he becomes a mini-fan of destruction. He does not possess any magical abilities but does highly respect the art.
Slight of hand - Being a student of the shadow arts, Roondar is adept at picking pockets; opening locks of varying difficulty from children's toys to gnomish engineering; he can palm items out of the sight of the untrained and keenly adept eye; and creates believable diversions.
Silver Tongue - Working around so many con-men one has to become well versed in their lingo, and as such Roondar has picked up their tongue quite well. His razor sharp wit has has aided him linguistically to manipulate thoughts, points of view, and situations to his whim.
Intelligence - Being able to weave in and out of perception, con criminal geniuses, and dictate critical outcomes amongst the politically powerful and those of the black markets of the worlds takes a person of high intelligence. Through his countless years of study, trial, and error he has become quite a savant in his field.
Agility - Through his years on the streets and having to evade the authorities, Roondar has become quite the tumbler. His movements can be compared to that of a practitioner of parkour.
Martial Arts- Roondar has been the "little guy in the room" his entire life. And especially in the down and dirty profession that he finds himself their are many muscle-bound meat-heads that love to manhandle the smaller folk. So in that, Roondar had to learn to defend himself at an early age. He has been a practitioner of the eastern martial arts his entire life and can fair rather well toe-to-toe with an opponent despite his obvious height and weight disadvantage by utilizing leverage, terrain, and weapons.
Gnomish Engineering and Alchemy - Being a child of gnomish decent meant learning how to work the steam pipes, alchemy labs, clock work studios, heavy machinery, and gem crafting of his ancestors. He struggled through countless factory jobs in Marn's Industrial District through his early adult hood before turning his talents to a more profitable future.
Presence - Due to his prowess in his profession he has grown quite the name for himself. And even to the god(s) of the there-after they whisper of his name, awaiting his arrival. His eyes tell the tale of a man who is not afraid of death, and has escaped it time and time again. Not to mention, someone who has delivered many a person to its very door step. One might believe that Roondar is so self-driven that he feels that death and defeat are the ultimate failure. And through this he aims for nothing short of perfection. This ideology does something to a man that others can "sence". His presence alone demands respect, be it through admiration or fear.
Weaknesses:
Size - Roondar may speak a good game; but at the end of the day is a three and one half foot tall, fifty pound entity with no magical abilities. Strength-on-Strength he is no match for someone who is much larger than he is.
Ego - Our gnomish friend has been around the block and as so has grown quite Egotistical over the years. His cocky attitude has lost him some would-be-important clientele over the years
Addiction- As one could imagine this line of profession is very stressful. Roondar has found release through Alcoholism and constant drug abuse.
Bounty on his head- Even though Jarek was taken down many of his die hard followers continued his work and put a rather large bounty on Roondar's head.
Magic gives him the heebie-jeebies-While Roondar respects the bibady-bobbady-boo of it all, the ritualistic nature of the magic scares the hell out of him. This is equal parts "fearing the unknown" and "those damned rituals are just freakishly bizzare!"
Stubborn As Hell!-- Being alive for 115 does something to a man; one thing is that you'd become set in your ways! Roondar is NOT a fan of change, to say the least.
Over Confident- In order to 'be the best' you have to 'act like you're the best'. And as thus, Roondar has grown very cocky which becomes evident in the way he walks, speaks, and interacts with others.
History:
The “Childhood” of your dreams…{Chapter 1}
We find ourselves in a dim lit alleyway; the only form of light is from a large pale moon hanging high overhead. Yet, storm clouds linger around it causing only abstract strands of its reflection to be cast upon the grounds below. The normal hustle and bustle of the Historical District is muffled by the sound of heavy rain hitting cobblestone, dirt, and busted crates that are found strewn along the thin walkway. Set back within the shadows of this dead end road is a small figure resting atop of a couple of crates. His presence is made known by a red glowing circle of embers before he reared his head out of the darkness. A well groomed beard traced the jaw-line of a male gnome, a cigarillo wrapped with a tobacco leaf was protruding from his lips. His drenched hair fell lazily over his face before he took a leather gloved right hand and ran his fingers through them, allowing his ice blue eyes to settle on me. After a deep, slow inhale he released the intoxicating marijuana fumes in to the air. His eyes closed tightly in the extacy of taking in the sweet euphoric effects before speaking out to me in a surprisingly deep, grumbling tone.
“So, you’ve come all the way to this rat infested shit hole on the grimmest of eves to speak to me about my past like some head-shrinkin’ know-it-all? I don’t know what makes you think so confidently as to feel you can meet me here alone and not walk away with a few extra breathing passages in your rib cage. But for the balls you’re showing I’ll entertain your conversation. So, where should I begin? I’m assuming with my mother and father? Is that not how you guys always attempt to diagnose the criminally insane?”
Roondar brought the cigarillo to his pursed lips and took another deep hit of its contents, eyes closed as if lost in thought. He then released the fumes with a bit of a deep sigh and nodded his head, agreeing with himself.
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly where you would like to begin. So that’s where I’ll start. NO – my parents weren’t some deranged ass backwards alley rats who took their kid in tothe life with them. My father was said to have been a very well respected and hard working steam worker in the Industrial District. My mother; she worked with my father on the line; or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I don’t know too much about them because they died in a pipe explosion when I was about three. Their names had been lost to me being a child “of the system.” I never went in to a foster home, or foster homes for that matter. Since the age of seven I worked in the Industrial District sorting Gems in to different categories for the cutters. I did that till I was ten; which is when I switched to clock works and helped on the assembly lines. Then at 13 I worked the steam pipes much like my parents trying to learn the ins and outs of the trade. Most of the factory positions held in that district I did for most of my young adult life all the way until the age of 60. I was damned good at it too; but as you could imagine – I had an itch for adventure.
”The Business“{Chapter 1a}
There were homes in the historical district where forgotten children like me would stay for a stunt. Sleep for a couple of hours, get up and eat, and then go off to work till the factories shut down in the wee hours of the night. That was my routine for 60 years. That was before I met…” His voice trailed off to nothing, the corner of his right lip caught in a snare illustrating a fiendish smirk. You could almost read the name of the individual come across his mind, yet no name was spoken. “…my first business acquaintance.” That’s how he left the individual to be identified. “This individual” he continued on, always respecting the anonymity of his clientele “ …showed me the ropes so to speak. This person noted me taking inventory for the Gem Factory, and I missed a notarized signature from one of the leading project managers. So, I had seen the signature over a couple hundred times and forged their writing. When this person brought it to my attention that they witnessed me forging the signature I was pretty sure that they were going to aid in bringing me up on criminal charges. But instead, this person asked me how I was able to copy this signature so well. And so I told them; throughout my years in the factories I was under many managers who had me work the books on their behalf. Some would insist that I sign documents for them while others never knew I wrote their names. Sometimes it was easier to simply forge the name than finding the manager to sign for themselves. This also got me out of a metric shit ton of trouble. This person felt that I could be an asset to their ‘business transactions’ and put me on their books.
It quickly went from something that I did for faster paperwork processing to writing up letters of merit, pseudo “work hits”, and a slew of other fictitious documents. I’d written documents pulling people out of the fire and throwing them in head first!”
At this point, the gnome had pulled the low-burning cigarillo from his lips and tossed its remaining contents in to a near by puddle. His shoulders shook slightly as a creepy smile took over his face. He was obviously lost in thought again as he shook his head and squinted his eyes to the rain, staring up at the moon.
"The signature forgery is what lead in to the money counterfeiting. My artistry and gnomish attention to detail drew me to want to learn more and more skills. To push myself deeper and deeper in to a vast well of knowledge and further and further in to hell itself. It almost came easy, ya know? Researching the type of fibrous paper they used, and what inks. The combination of color inks worked through in secret Alchemy laboratories by geniuses! They began teaching me the plants to use, the temperatures to burn them at, and the correct mixtures to color match any item. This also lead me to find certain lands that use our Bishan gems, gold, bronze, iron, or steel coinage. Obviously, my expertise till then was paper. But I did have a background in gem cutting, and now some herbology from the ink mixing; so that lead to finding what materials would be needed to counterfeit the coins of the realm. It was interesting charging money for money; or foreign exchange as my colleagues called it. The money i'd made off of that was more than I ever made during my countless hours slaving at the factories. Obviously, this lead to me doing all of this "full time." By that time I had enough money to get my very own homestead in the Historical District."
He gestured outwards with his hands as if showing off the finer aspects of the alley's characteristics. A deep chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head, placing his elbows on his knees so he could lean forward and continue his story.
Home Sweet Home {Chapter 1b}
"In our line of work we can't flash our goods off to one another. Why are you looking at me so puzzled?! Obviously it's because your enemies want what you have! One step forward always meant five steps back. And if they knew just "how much" you were worth they'd run you through and through. So my little shanty is somewhere over there...shitty as the lot. But inside...inside is where all the amazement lies. Years of collecting and acquiring all that I need to complete my job. But I did not only work in Marn. At least, not anymore thanks to my first business acquaintance. I ended traveling to Eyropa, Darleone, Norroenirlund and the like! So naturally I had to set up camp in these locales themselves. I ended up acquiring more lead finders and contacts in these areas and bought similar Safe houses of equal care. I finally found a use for my foreign exchange and began upping production, and starting smaller production lines in those areas to keep in "the know". As well as to have fingers wherever life may need me to stick them.
It was then, through my traveling that I had got the snot beaten out of me in an area of Apefmhet called Semerkhet. I must have been unconscious for a day. I woke up in an alley with nothing but bruises, blood, and my junk in my hands. I had to use contacts that I had acquired earlier that week to get in touch with my first business acquaintance. They were able to clothe and loan me funds to make it back to Marn."
The gnome's jaw clenched tightly at the thought of this tragic act. It obviously was some form of turning point in his life. His chest puffed up as if to show resolve, but his eyes told a different story. They told a story of the deepest sorrow. He slowly and softly continued on:
"But I never made it back to Marn. I heard some rumor of an Elven Monastery in a far eastern mountain region of Tan Xia. The mountain range was said to hide a temple which trained these elves in the ways of martial arts. I paid some backers for their silence and lies and paid note on a loan to the eastern boarders of Tan Xia. Upon my arrival I was greeting by the elven monks who never questioned my race, creed, or purpose. They simply saw me for me: starving, injured, and lost; they took me in on that alone. I sent letters to my top clientele of my whereabouts so I may continue my stay and train. They trained me for nearly a decade before I decided to take my teachings, my connects, and my new found knowledge back to Marn."
Revenge is a GNOME! {Chapter 1c}
"Upon my travels back to Marn I stopped in Semerkhet to pick up some intel on just who sent of the jump on me and why. Again, I used my contact to find out that the jump was set up by a Dark Elven man named Jarek. I heard of the crime syndicate that he ran in this territory. They would do hit'em up jobs on certain marks that came through their territory unannounced. Well, this was the first and last time I ever had to learn that mistake. But this did not mean that I would not pay Jarek a visit."
The skies seemed to open up at this point of the story as if to add extra dramatic effect to what the little man was about to say. He hopped down from the crate, and I finally caught a full glimpse of his frame. He stood at about three and one half feet tall and could not be more than 40 pounds. At least, that would be without that heavy red leather trench coat he had been wearing. It seemed to have bronze pauldrons and elbow cops on them as well as leather bracers. The large sword he carried on his back startled me! For a man of his...'physique'...he truly demanded respect let alone attention. He slowly walked to me, the tiny index finger of his right hand pointing out towards me, trembling:
"I found where his syndicate made birth and managed to manipulate my way through air ducts to reach where he made business transactions. I noted two troll guards on patrol in front of the door. I used the element of surprise and a bit of martial arts gymnastics that I had picked up to slowly lower my body down from the air duct above one of their heads. I'm so damned short that my legs did not even touch the top of that huge bastard's head. As his partner turned to scratch his ass i allowed the weight of my body to fall on his shoulders, straddling his shoulders with my legs and I burried his face in my crotch to muffle his surprised grunt. I used a knife that I had hidden in a scabbard on my lower back to stab the point of his neck where I would get a sure one shot kill. I'm crazy but i'm not an idiot! I'm not going to go toe-to-toe with a troll! This puncture instantly dropped the large troll lifeless. When his body plopped on the ground I tumbled in to a near by corner hidden by shadows. His partner turned to witness his associate had fallen. When he went down on his knee to check and see if he were alive I deftly leaped out at him and made one clean slice from ear to ear! Two perfectly silent kills, you see! It gave me enough time to peer through a key hole and see Jarek sitting behind a desk stacked with Bishans! Word had it that he was trying to move in on my contacts as payment for me entering his turf unannounced. I used some tools that I had stashed in a leather pouch on my side to pick that human made lock in less that 10 seconds flat. Then I shit kicked the door open and walked in there in a heap of rage. When he leaped out of his chair he looked as if he were seeing a ghost. I lashed out at him and we had quite the knuckle dragger! As you can see by me standing here before you; you can tell who won that!"
The gnome let out a hearty laugh, stopping his advancements on to me. He turned his back as to peer in to the depths of where he once sat. He placed both hands on his hips and spoke over his shoulder unto me.
"Since then it's been nothing but work work work. Their are a lot of big names in Marn by my aim is to leave my mark among the best of them. Their are many people in this city that have not heard of me that soon will. Their are many business avenues that I've taken in my 115 years kickin'. But their is so much more opportunity with this generation that I need to advance upon that I can't sit still. So, I'm assuming that's why you're here...work? I don't know if you're ready for it!"
All of the sudden a large crash startled me from behind, and I quickly drew my attention to it. As I looked forward the gnome was gone. Damn, he was good; almost better than I'd heard.
