One glance at Stumpy and it's clear how he came by his disparaging nickname. The tall, haggard, grizzled old teamster hobbles around on a wooden peg leg attached to the stump of his right knee.

Preferring to spend his time in the driver's seat of his wagon, Stumpy can typically be found staring out at the road with weary indifference in his cold gray eyes, muttering occasional threats to his animals and raising his hand from his trusty crossbow only long enough to take a swig from his favorite whiskey flask. The stink of failure and wasted potential clings to him. Where once he might have stood strong and proud behind the chiseled features and stark blond hair of his youth, he is now bent slightly by the weight of decades, the light of his hair darkened by spreading patches of gray and his face lined with both age and perpetual drunkenness.

When not on the road or tending to his animals, Stumpy can usually be found drowning his sorrows alone in the nearest tavern. Perhaps if things had gone differently for him, if he hadn't lost his leg or his confidence along with it, then he might have become a great warrior or famous adventurer. But as it turned out, fate has left him just Stumpy, everyone's favorite surly drunken curmudgeon.