What’s dung, is dung…

Hapstred "Happy" Longstreet
Born during Tarsakh in The Year of the Claw 1299
Hair : White
Eyes : Right - dull blue Left - milky white
Height : 5'10"
Weight : 160 lb
Class : Druid of Nobanion


"Shut up idgit, I can recall the day with clarity. It was a miserable day half-way through the second tenday of Kythorn back in 1314. The fields were overrun with damnable wildflowers and it was difficult to breath between the sneezing fits." Hapstred eyed the magistrate's assistant with disdain. "I was going on fifteen summers, born a bastard son of a two-bit whore, and rightly didn't much care what folk thought about it. But ye see, I never had much coin, and I was aiming to get myself a horse."

The sun outside was rising to near mid-day, and Hapstred could see the changing of the guards outside the magistrates office. He sneered as he watched the men mount their horses and prod them into movement with a heel to their sides.  He reminded himself not to spit at them, now was not the time. "So I took a walk out towards where the Tejarn gate stands now. Low and behold, a beauty of a mare stood at the roadside. She was well groomed and the saddle was clearly expensive. There were mayhap four or five other horses there as well, and a man standing guard. I waited and watched until he turned his back and I snuck up and untethered the horse. And with a few quick steps and a leap I was off before the guard could react."

The magistrates assistant motioned for him to pause a moment as he jotted down some notes, then motioned him to continue. "It took a while for those louts to catch me, but they eventually did. Guess the mare belonged to one of the King's princesses, and before I could finish shittin my trousers I was in chains. Spent some 12 years working the mines, and eventually got appointed to tend to the mules as part of my daily punishments." He nearly smiled at the memory, but the lines of his face had settled into a permanent scowl, and no amount of effort could provide more than a gruesome curling of his upper lip. It was when he was with the mules, mucking out their stables, prying nails and rocks from their hooves, and providing them their daily meals he felt most at ease. After several years of tending the mules, he had begun to wonder what they had done to deserve their hard labor. Which eventually became a source of animosity he held over those who used them. Around that time he became aware of them on a fundamental level, and he awoke a kinship that would not be broken to this day.

"Were a cold winters day in 1343 when two of the mules fell ill. Not sure why, but I could tell they were suffering from the food they were being fed, and I traded what little I had to get them new food and tossed out the old. When they came round thinking they'd be putting down two of the mules, the imbeciles were shocked to see they were feeling better. They took me out of the mines after that, and I been working the stables ever since. Not just mules mind you, horses too." He glowered at the man as he wrote, his right eye full of ire, his left covered almost fully in a milky white haze.

The assistant nodded once more and handed the paper he had been wrting upon to the magistrate. After a brief look over it, he handed it to Hapstred and informed him he was going to be permitted to travel, to see some of the other keeps and to aid the stablehands and farmers with any ill livestock they might possess. He would essentially be a free man for the first time in 48 years. Far longer than his original sentence had been, in fact, the record of his arrest was nowhere to be found.

For the past 8 years, Hapstred (sometimes referred to as "Happy" behind his back in sarcastic tones), has been diligently working to better the living conditions and health of the domesticated creatures of the land. Working with horsemonger's and farmers alike when they would tolerate his cantankerous demeanor.


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