Role

Chapter 2

The beauty of being an Arial in the swamps is that you glide right over the
muck and the goop. Life is better with wings. The downside is that living in
such an environment is that when you live in the backwoods, you become
backwoods yourself. Polunt and his family are no exception - they are as
country as they come.

Being the fourth child, third son, young Polunt wasnt trained in running the
business. His job was to be both the muscle and the spy of his generation.
Tasked to gather information about their competitors and root out spies within
their own organization, he was sent to train with the assassin guildmaster in
Hamsah Mutazz and took to the shadows with keen instinct. That doesnt mean
there werent problems. First of all, life in the city was much different
than life in the swamps and he stuck out like a sore thumb. You see, growing
up labeled "the muscle" is never easy - people want to test you and Polunt has
his fair share of scars. Coupled with the fact that hes a strange looking
hillbilly that constantly smells like booze and swampland, well, lets just
say he hasnt won any beauty contests. Alright, he is ugly, downright ugly.
In fact, his guildmaster once nicknamed him "the Swamp Chicken" and it stuck -
both as an homage to his fluffy white feathers, as well as to his overall
dirtiness and goofy looks.

And then there is his addiction to alcohol. One doesnt grow up in a
distillery and not drink. In fact, from the time he could fly, he was given
all the alcohol he could drink - and let me tell you, he took advantage. In
fact, he became hooked and doesnt go a day without drinking copious amounts
of whatever drink he can get his hands on.