Name: Tolem Earthspoken
Age: 194
Occupation: caravan guard
Genre: fantasy
Rough description: ruddy hair, dark eyes, 4'1"; short, thick, stocky

More:
Tolem left the deep kingdoms as a lad of 90, the son of exiles who'd chosen the wrong side of a brief but furious conflict between two noble clans over the disposition of two precious mineral veins near the south of his home city. His parents died not long after, leaving him to make his way on his own. He quickly found there was a great deal of work leading caravans through the shallow network of tunnels that criss-crossed the earth above the deep kingdoms, though he rarely finds his clientele to his liking. It's his hope he'll eventually earn enough coin to buy his way back into the deep cities he once called home.

Sample:
"Check on them."

He looked up from his weary contemplation of the horse's dusty flank and frowned, the expression safely lost in his thick beard. His employer waved a spidery hand in the direction of the nearest wagon.

"Too many fighters in that bunch -- make sure they're docile."

He grunted his assent and stumped to the wagon, pulling himself up the first too-high step and working the latch. The first time he'd stepped into a slave wagon, he'd held his breath against the stench of fear and excrement, but now he made his down the line of captives unblinking.

It was not technically his job to see to the man's wares, but he'd discovered that any show of defiance was an easy way to find himself out of work. And word traveled.

They were barely conscious from a combination of heat and drugging, but one at the back stirred at his approach and snarled.

"I'll bite my tongue out if you touch me, I swear it!" She spat, but there was little energy in it.

He met her gaze, hands unhurried as they checked her bindings. "Can you do that?" he asked, finding them secure and leaning back on his ankles. "If you feel you can, you may find it preferable to the fate that awaits you."

She stared at him, wide eyes filling suddenly with tears. Then she spat again, and this time he felt something wet strike his cheek and trickle into his beard.

"Monster," she snarled, and he spared her a bare smile.

He waited until he was out in the sun again to wipe the spittle from his cheek and scrub what he could from his beard. His employer chuckled.

"Still spirited?"

"One of them," he said. "She threatened to bite out her tongue."

"Does she need sedation?"

"I doubt it. Are we ready to move?"

"Shortly. Did you say anything to her?" his employer asked, sudden suspicion in his tone.

"I told her to try, if she thought she could." He reached up to pat the horse's flank and nearly stumbled into it when the man cuffed him sharply in the side of the head.

"You don't bait them, half-bit," he snarled. "If she does it, I'll take the loss of her out of your pay."

"She won't," Tolem said. She'd probably be in the same half-daze as the others before another hour was out.

The man straightened his vest, dusting his hands carefully off. "For your sake, you'd best make sure she doesn't."

He waited until his employer was well away, eyes half closed as he considered the route he'd planned. It would take only one missed turn to mire them in the tunnels for weeks -- forever, if he chose to take his leave of them. He rolled his shoulders and walked toward the head of the caravan, dropping his hand to brush his fingers against the satchel at his side. Coin clinked faintly as he shifted it away.

But word traveled, and every paycheck brought him a step closer to home.

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