A lean halfling man with quick brown eyes, an ever-ready grin, and a travel-worn face that never seems to stay in one place for long. He dresses in practical ranger's gear, a well-fitted scale mail over layered earth-toned clothing, with a hood, a weathered longbow, and small hidden pockets sewn into nearly everything he owns. His hair is dark, kept messy on purpose, and his left ear is pierced with a tiny brass ring that he claims is a lucky token.

Wry, curious, and hard to embarrass, Perrin treats danger like an inconvenient business partner. He is generous with jokes, stingy with the truth, and surprisingly attentive when someone is being unfairly treated.

Perrin Underbough was born in a burrowed lane where every halfling knew the value of a warm hearth and a convincing story. Perrin loved both, but not in equal measure. He found the tale more useful when it opened a door, won a meal, or made a suspicious guard look the other way. As a youngling, he learned to copy accents, forge travel papers, and read the moods of strangers faster than most folk could read a map. That talent made him useful to smugglers, caravan masters, and local grifters, but it also made him restless. He was always one lie away from trouble, and one forest trail away from freedom.