Calamity "Callie" Shortfuse

So, Miss Shortfuse... Neat name. Very nice to meet you. May I call you Calamity?

Callie, if it's all the same to ya. You only call me "Calamity," when you're beggin' for your life. So Callie is just fine.

Fair enough. So Callie... Considering your background and rather colorful history as an assassin, what organization trained you in the art of killing? How did you gain membership into it?

I don't know if I'd be so technical as to call it an "organization," but I guess ya get the picture all the same. I work for the "Rough Rattlers," naturally. A band of assassins led by good ol' Sweet Sylvia, a snake-headed humanoid beauty. Don't let her name fool ya, she's deadly as they come.

The Rattlers are known for poisoning people with the venom of our snakes—giant, I'm talkin' massive, meaner than mean diamondback rattlesnakes. My snake's name is "Slink," if you were wonderin'. He's a good boy, always keepin' his scales shiny for the ladies.

Right. Slink. Another neat name. So how'd you gain membership into the, erm, "Rough Rattlers?"

Sylvia looks for those with nowhere else to go. I was one of those years ago. I owe her my life and am proud to take others' lives in her name.

Our target is usually the Harlan family. Ya know, those snobby fuckers born with a silver spoon in their mouths. They control trade in the Drylands and they're notorious for planting spies in our ranks, blowin' the place up from time to time, even tryna steal our snakes' eggs. Don't you worry your pretty lil' head though. We sniff 'em out quick and dispose of 'em.

Dispose of them?

Nothin' you gotta worry about.

Okay. Interesting. And, besides the Harlans, who else does your group target?

Oh ya know, the usual... Traders, merchants, travelers, mining companies, you name it. Anyone with loot and no real need for it. Our snakes attack wagons and trains, and we rob 'em blind. The Rattlers is based underground, hiding in plain sight.

Really? Underground? Your snakes, they don't miss sunlight?

Oh, they get plenty of it. They stay out most of the time, guardin' the place and all. That's why no one's ever found out where we are. Rumor is, you get too close, outta nowhere, you start hearin' pourin' rain in the middle of the desert. Then it's lights out.

Yikes. Um, let's change the topic a little. Just switch things up. I see here in my notes, throughout your entire career, one target has eluded you. Can you tell me who they are and maybe share a little bit about how have they managed to slip through your fingers?

That's an easy one. That stupid bastard Gnarly Pete. A coward and a half.

We trained together, and he betrayed the Rattlers. I've been lookin' for him for years, told not to return 'less I had his head. Heard he tried to take Sylvia's life and steal her snake, the largest and oldest of the nest. That gal's venom is potent, deadly and extremely valuable.

We suspect Pete is a Harlan, though there's no real way of knowing. Ya see, whenever one of our members and a Harlan encounter each other, one ends up dead—hard to report back what the other looks like. Pete's a slippery son of a bitch, a master of disguise and a damn surgeon with a shotgun. The Halfling low-life dresses like a kid most of the time, ya know, to avoid capture. He knows the Rattlers doesn't like killin' children.

Good lord, that's, brutal. You don't like killing children... So, you're saying you're not flat out opposed to it?

Take it or leave it mister, I don't question Miss Sylvia. She has her reasons.

But, children?

Only if it's necessary.

Um, okay... Last question. You always do what you must to take down your target, but there's one line that you will never cross. You say you're good with killing children, hard to imagine there is a line, but if there is, what is it?

Climb down off your high horse there, mister. Lemme tell you somethin'. I'll skin a man while he's still breathin'. I'll unload my rifle into 'em. Hell, I'll feed 'em to my snake, Slink'd be happy for the fresh meat. But mark me, I will never, ever torture or maim a child. No sir. Only quick, painless deaths for them. No exceptions.

...Alrighty then, that'll be all. Thank you very much Calam- erm, Callie. Take care, now.

Right back at ya mister. Hey now, don't look Slink in the eye on the way out. Might be the last thing ya ever do.