“Hey, old timer! Have you seen a Halfling pass through this way a little while ago?” barked the city watch.
“Hrmm… A Halfling you say,” the codger’s voice creaked. “Tarbold Tallbottom. Is that the one you are seeking? I have not, m’lord. Nor would I expect to either.”
“What do you know of him? Speak old man! Don’t dare try to lie or it will be the dark cells for you!”
“The Halfling Scourge of the High Seas? Oh, I have heard a great many things. The rumors of him are vast and voluminous in the cities. They say he survived the destruction of his home when he was merely a young boy. Scraping by, traveling from town to hold to city, stealing as he went. Conning those that had plenty of pieces – great of greed, but very short of sense. It was also said that during a daring escape from the city of Shoreline he sailed away on a ship as a stowaway in the guise of a youthful child of man. He is a Lightfoot with a list of lineaments.”
“Yes, yes. We know all that!” spat the watch. “Do you have any idea where we would find him?”
“Oh, certainly not. Tallbottom is not a creature I would begin to guess as to his location. He is quite the sneak, they say. Very friendly with the shadows, they say. Oh, yes, indeed.”
“Bah! You are no use!” And with that the guard stormed off, stopping to poke his blade in the shadows cast through the alley.
After he rounded the corner, the old man stood, much shorter that his posture and height on the bench would have suggested. He picked up the pack that had been hidden under his cloak and his ass. Pulling off the cloak, he stuffed it into the backpack, as he did the floppy hat and empty boots sitting upon the ground. “Works every time,” he smirked; his voice now much smoother and steady then before. “The only thing is that damned voice makes for such a sore throat. Let us go find ourselves an ale to wash away that scratch. Shall we?” he asked the night as he finished removing the disguise.
“Aye, let’s,” replied the old man.