Quinn Tosscobble, the Wanderer


Short, of course, with a bit of an emaciated look. Dark hair, long side burns. If a Halfling could be dangerous emo … but impeccable teeth. How does that happen?

His arms bear his family’s marks, of which he is secretively ashamed, though outwardly proud. Resemblance of dark tribal tattoos.


Quinn Tosscobble, to foes a veritable insult-tosser, for friends he’s coin for back-tossing grogg chugging, and ne’er caught cold by maiden’s glimmers tossing catchy glint (nor cagey glances), charming, always catching fair-skinned up-skirt glimpses, in mornings to the local ladies, and tossing quickies to their daughters on their father’s cobblestone walkways.

A stealthy, charming, Halfling rouge, constantly in motion, having left his poor family out of necessity at an extremely young age, wanders from city to shore in search of whatever it is he’s in search of, and he isn’t sure of it, himself, to be sure. Both a proponent of wander, and a victim of wanderlust. He hates that he loves every bit of the travel. And in staying alive, he’s picked up all the necessary skills to provide a meal when money is low, escape danger with death is nigh, and find entry to a woman’s thigh.

Insatiable love of blonde elves. Loves all women, really, and for the most part believes it part of his duty to keep them safe, even if he’s just met them. He’s the best guardian for a naked roll in the hay, because he’ll slice somebody down for you, ladies. But especially blonde elves.

Drinks the ale whenever it is around. And has a horrible potty mouth.


An Unwelcome Reclamation quad