Oscar

Quick Reference

Name	Oscar
Race	Halfling
Age	Somewhere between 18 and 25.... Probably
Class	Ranger
Background	Outlander

Background

Deep within an uncharted forest where trees reach the sky and silence speaks louder than words, a halfling infant was left behind. No one came looking. No one called his name. Wrapped only in a coarse blanket embroidered with ancient faded runes, the child cried beneath the canopy—until the forest answered.

From the shadows emerged a wolf—enormous, gray, and silent—with eyes that shimmered not with hunger, but with understanding. But this was no ordinary beast. It was Elaren, an old druid who had long ago shed civilization and taken the shape of a wolf to live in balance with the wild. Elaren knew who the child was—and why he’d been left behind. But he kept his true form hidden from the halfling.

The Halfling never learned to speak. He learned from the world around him: the way vines creak before a storm, how the wind shifts before danger, how a flick of an ear or twitch of a tail can speak volumes. He stalked, hunted, climbed, fought. His senses sharpened. His thoughts became instincts. He was not raised by a man, but by the law of the forest and the rhythm of the pack.

But not all instincts are animal. Sometimes, the Halfling dreams. He dreams of a woman’s voice singing softly in a tongue he does not know—fluid, mournful, and ancient. The melody wraps around his heart like vines around a stone. Sometimes he wakes with tears on his face. The song feels like a memory, but not one of his own.

As he aged, he developed talents of his own—keen tracking, an unnatural bond with beasts, and an ability to vanish into the wild as easily as a shadow. To him, Elaren was not a druid. He was simply the Wolf—a guardian, a guide, a parent. During this period, the Halfling never left the forest. Sometimes he would go to its edge. In the distance he would see buildings, people, but as curious as he was, he never dared to leave. On rare occasions, travelers entered the forest. The Halfling would stalk them, observe them, mimic them. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was not so different—but he never knew how to be like them.

At a later age, even though the Halfling never became familiar with the civilized world or learned of common technology, it came naturaly to him how to create simple tribal clothing and a spear. The spear wasn’t much more than a short and sharp stone tied to a branch, but it was useful enough to hunt rabbits, squirrels and deer.

And then, one day… The wolf was gone.

No scent. No trail. No howl in the distance. The wolf vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving Oscar without direction for the first time in his life.

Driven by instinct and a gnawing need for answers, The Halfling left the forest and stepped into the world of stone, fire, and noise. The so-called "civilized world" confounds him—its languages strange, its customs baffling, its rules invisible and absurd. He does not speak. He does not bow. He eats with his hands, sleeps on rooftops, and growls when threatened.

But more confusing than any city is the reflection in the water. He sees the halfling face he’s always had… but it feels wrong. Unfamiliar. His mind and soul twitch in rhythms of fang and paw, not speech and song. As he watches others—laughing, weeping, bartering, building—he finds himself torn between two truths: "Am I pretending to be a halfling, or pretending not to be?"

Through it all, he searches. For the Wolf. For the truth. For the reason he was cast away.

His only clue: the runes on his childhood blanket—worn and faint, but pulsing with meaning he cannot yet decipher. He carries them not as a comfort, but as a question. Something is watching him. Something is waiting. Whether it is nature, fate, or something darker, Oscar walks toward it barefoot and unafraid.

While foraging near the forest’s edge, The Halfling stumbled upon an orchard of apple trees. As careful as he was to grab a handful of apples without being noticed, he did not notice the owner of the orchard looking at him from a distance. An elderly man simply observed the young halfling without intervening. For this human observing the Halfling was almost entertaining, but at the same time the man pitied the boy. After a moment’s stillness, he fled back into the trees—apples in hand, heart pounding, belly full.

For the next couple of weeks the boy returned daily to the orchard and the man would wait for him. It took him a couple of days to notice the man, but when he did, he did not run or try to hide. He looked at the man with a curious eye, analyzed the man’s behavior. The man was calm, stayed at a safe distance, did not move or approach the kid. After this first encounter and every day after the man would be sitting at the fence of the orchard closer to where the boy would enter. The boy would notice the man, but focus on his objective. Until one day the man spoke to him: “What is your name?” The boy got spooked, showed his teeth and growled at the man. The man directly understood that the boy did not understand him, nor spoke in common tongue. The man looked at the Halfling and spoke: “Oscar… I will name you Oscar” while pointing at the young boy. After a short hesitation the boy fled back to the forest. While enjoying his well earned “Stolen” apples he repeated the words of the man in his head: “Os-car”. It made him curious… He decided that the next day he would return to the Orchard and find to the old man again.

The next morning, something felt wrong. Oscar crept toward the orchard—but the old man was gone. He did not smell, see, nor hear the man. No scent. No sign. No breath on the wind. His instincts screamed flight—but something deeper urged him forward. He wanted to find the man. Learn from him. During this moment of hesitation, he heard a whistling sound, and before he knew it, a bola had struck his legs. Instantly, Oscar drew his spear, started growling and hissing, and looked around him. Within seconds, a group of men on horseback had surrounded him—clad in bright, rattling metal that clanked with every movement. In a brief moment, he saw the old man in the background being held by one of them. The man holding him looked similar to the others. Before Oscar could act, a mace struck the back of his head—and everything went black.

When he woke up, one word rings through his head: Os-car…. Oscar…