“’Neaf da city mate. It’s there. I’m tellin’ ya! Big green scales an’ all!” Exasperated, the small statured halfling said with a huff. Sitting across from him, a half-elf, arms folded, gave him a raised eyebrow. In retort to the unspoken words, the halfling stood on his seat, a wall-adjacent wooden booth lined with cowhide. He pointed a small, wiggling finger at the elf, “You don’ know a fing about this place! I been there meself! I seen it with me own eyes!” The elf rolled his eyes, and with a heavy load of snark in his voice, finally spoke, “Rupert, I’m sure you did see it. Problem is, I think you may have seen a fairly large toad. Hard to tell what’s what,” He squinted for a moment in anticipation of his own statement, “when you’re all the way down there.” The halfling Rupert, now red as the tomato soup across from his waist, let out a scoff before replying, “Y-you little!-Rat-Bastard-I ought to!- “ He continued like this for some time, so filled with anger unable to form more than a few words in a breath.

The halfling, Rupert, was very small for his species, coming in at two and a half feet tall. Though, at times, passing strangers would lift him in the air to ask where his parents were, it also made him a very good thief. He and the half-elf, Lithmas, had worked together for only three months then. In this short period of time, the pair had managed to unlawfully inherit several thousand gold pieces. The many schemes and heists up to this moment had been small-time. Sneaking jewelry, temple altars wiped clean, and the sort. The height of their transgressions had only just been achieved, with Rupert taking the disguise of an orphaned child to steal a rather ornate grandfather clock. It had netted them six hundred gold to a very interested buyer, Thiddium, the city’s engineer in charge of crafting a brand new clock for the Duke. 

Rupert’s hair was a burnt orange, his face spattered with freckles, and his outfits consisted of a leather jerkin covered in dirt with padded socks. For stealth, he told Lithmas. Originally from Thimblehold, Rupert was an exiled plot-weaver. As he opted to not spend his time farming in the green hills, instead plucking away watches and rings from tourists and travelers. After being unpleasantly shaken upside down in front of Thimblehold’s mayor by a particularly angry tourist from Durhel, he had no choice other than to venture to the city of Halstad. In which he found Lithmas, standing, or perhaps leaning, into a pillory.

Lithmas, a fair-skinned, tall, angelic-looking half-elf, was not someone Rupert expected to see in such a state. Rupert had stood in front of Lithmas for some time, studying his face, as sweat dripped from his forehead all the way down his perfectly smooth skin. Eyeing the slight halfling, Lithmas spoke with much labor, “Get...” He took a large breath. “Away...” Closing his eyes and opening them again, as if Rupert were a mirage. When Rupert had still not moved, Lithmas, with great difficulty, twisted his neck to face the halfling. “You. Are breathing on me... Child.”  Rupert, never having experienced such rudeness, outside of his father, spoke stunned, “Chyle’d? I’m no bloody child! I’s merely neva’ seen da likes of you!” Rupert spoke, muttering under his breath, “Chyle’d... If you’s we’nt in the gallah, I’d treat you to somefing they’s neva ‘eard of ‘ere.” With that, Lithmas turned back and rolled his eyes while shaking his head. “Go on, big -- man. Leave me be. I would like some peace and quiet.” With a huff, Rupert stepped quickly toward the downtown of Halstad.

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But, as the fates would have it, the pair were destined to meet again later that evening. It just so happened to be, with Rupert, in a much smaller pillory, right next to Lithmas. Once again, Rupert spent a considerable amount of time staring at the half-elf. Lithmas, with his eyes closed, realized it was not the wafting wind from set out garbage, but rather the same halfling from earlier, staring, and breathing on him. Opening his eyes slowly, the then sweat-drenched half-elf spoke with sour tone, “You... What is it? Steal candy from one of your peers?” Rupert, again stunned by the rudeness of the half-elf, sputtered out, “I ought’a rip ‘dese cuffs off an’ show you wot I did!” He strained, kicked, and let out several yipping noises in an attempt to break the locks on the pillory. After a remarkable six minutes, and the gathering of a small crowd of late-afternoon shoppers, Rupert fell back down into his restraints, defeated.

“Oh, go on you sorry people! We’re suffering enough, especially the little one!” Lithmas spoke loudly at the dozen or so crowd. With grumbles and a fair share of guffawing, the crowd dispersed, leaving the city square quiet with only the echoes of downtown to keep them company. Exasperated, the gasping Rupert spoke up, “Oi.. Good lad... I owe yeh.” After which, the pair remained silent through the night. Until, precisely at the witching hour, Rupert awoke to a cloaked figure staring from a far street. “Oi...” Rupert spoke softly, attempting to swing a leg over to Lithmas, not coming within even five foot of him. Louder, Rupert yelped, “Oi! Mate! Bloody ‘ell, wake up! We’ve got someone staring again! Yell at’im!” Lithmas, dozing into reality, mumbled, “Stop... in the hall of... rymm-is...” Rupert, somehow even more alarmed by his new friend’s lack of care, strained his halfling lungs to yell, “I’on’t care if ye gran’s coming fru da otha side! This bloke’s gonna kill us!” With that, Lithmas awoke, and then the pair looked as far upward as they could, to see a cloaked man wearing a mask, depicting a skeleton.