This is the journal of Kinkal, a halfling ranger, and his adventures through a small piece of the Forgotten Realms and beyond…

First off, the history of KinKal:

“Here is your meat sir”, I said, knowing what would come next. The huge orcish fist came down and I rolled with it – to dodge it was to invite further punishment – and the meat and platter went flying. “I want this meat cooked not raw!!!” The large orc bellowed as the others laughed.

This is the way it always was – if we cooked it they beat us and said they wanted it raw, if we gave it to them raw they wanted it cooked. If they had killed one of the Halfling slaves we were often feeding them the meat from our own dead.

But tonight was different.

I scraped up the meat and took it into the kitchen. We quickly seared it the way they liked it; burnt on the outside, still raw inside. Then we added the poison made to simulate the herbs and spices the orcs and goblins preferred. Soon they would get tired and fall asleep then slowly their throats would tighten up, cutting of their breathing. We put the poison in everything; the meat, the ale, the rat stew, so that they would be sure to get several doses each.

As I waited I heard a commotion in the dining room. As I stepped out I saw an orc, laboring to breathe but standing with a dead Halfling in one hand and a flail in the other. He pitched the dead body and came at me. “You dirty little…I’ll kill you all myself!”

I ran into the kitchen. There was little time to think so I leapt onto the counter next to the door and grabbed two sharp knives. The orc burst through the door expecting to see me running for my life. Instead I jumped onto his back, driving one knife into his shoulder armor, more as a place to hang on than anything. Orcs have tough hide and I had little chance of killing him with my knives with a few stabs. But my mother had taught me a few tricks; in the folds of fat on the front of the neck there is a nice spot of tender, thin skin. So I reached around with my other knife and plunged it in. The orc gurgled as the sharp knife drove deep. I kept at it, driving the small blade deeper until my hand was practically in the wound. In a few seconds the foul orc pitched forward and lay dead as his blood formed an ever growing pool.

We didn’t get them all but we escaped. We ran out into the woods and set up camp. They hunted us and we learned to either avoid them, or hunt them right back.

2 Years Later

I stood there as the keep burned. It was an inferno. We had snuck in and lit the place up with their own oil supply. As they ran to safety we had cut them down with arrows. At my feet the slave master crawled, still trying to escape with half a dozen arrows protruding from his hide. I finished him with an arrow through the eye. Then I walked over, stood on his no longer breathing chest, and relieved myself on his ugly face. Our deed was done and it was time to go. The small band of us that was left would split up and go our own ways.

KinKal (meaning “quick” and “cunning” in Halfling tongue) is a Halfling Ranger. He was born into a slave family that worked for orcs and goblins in a large wooden keep. His life was tough and brutal at the hands of the orcs and many of his friends and family died. It was depressing and with little hope.

KinKal’s father thought that the Halflings should just do the best they could and master their crafts, and that was something they could be proud of. His mother, however, joined the growing resistance movement. This caused much strife, but that was ended when KinKal’s father was killed and eaten by the orcs.

Eventually the Halfling slaves revolted and broke free, then came back and killed the entire fort. From there they figured that it was time to split up so that the slavers (who visited the fort regularly) would have a tougher time hunting them down.

When winter came around, KinKal wandered out of the woods to a town called Loudwater, and that is where our adventure begins.

KinKal War Journals