The door flew open with a furious kick and in strode one of the more strange creatures the storekeeper had ever seen. It was only about three feet high, with a beard that drug upon the floor, two black eyes peering out from underneath bushy eyebrows, and a stomach struggling to escape the confines of a smart waistcoat. As if this wasn't enough to make this creature seem curious it was arrayed in the most outrageous fashion! His feet were shod with the most horrific pair of boots anyone could ever imagine, save for the most nasty of orcs, for many spikes seemed to grow out of it, growing upwards, with the most prominent one sprouting from the toe. Added to this was the rather large rock being half drug and half carried, presumably this person's weapon of choice. Upon his back was strapped a folding ladder that when unfolded would stand a good head taller than the little man. Of all these odd points none compared to the chicken, perched upon what would have been a pointed hat, with an air of comfort and smugness indicating it would not move from its acquired roosting spot.

“My good . . . sir? Are you friend or . . . foe? I'll tell you, I don't have much gold on me but I'll defend it with my life,” stated the storekeeper, in a halting tone.

Amidst all the hair the queer little person seemed a might perturbed. “Sir, if 'e please! Do I look like a bloomin' broad? And I be friend, isn't that obvious, or have 'e n'eer seen a half-dwarf half-halfling a'fore?” he spat back.

“It's not that, it's not that at all, but you are attired in such a frightening manner I was unsure. . . .”

“What 'tis wrong with me clothes, eh?” grumbled the half-dwarf in return.

“Your boots. . . .”

“What about 'em?” interrupted the half-dwarf. “They're my boots o' butt kickin'!” he exclaimed with great pride. “And b'tween you an' me, they work quite well,” he chuckled.

“The rock?”

“Why, 'tis a good weapon!”

“What then about the chicken?” the shopkeeper nearly screamed, the oddness of this little man nearly getting to him.

“Oh that,” was the grumbled reply. “It seems one o' my former friends though t'would be a good gag to a'curse me wit' this blasted bird.” The little man shook his head and flung his arms about trying to shoo the chicken away, but it merely sat there, undisturbed. “I'll get 'em yet! I'll repay his act of diablerie with one o' my own!”

“What might I do for you?”

“I want to sell you some o' my treasures.” At this he pulled a broad sword out of his pack and a singing sword.

Greatly confused that the half-dwarf would use a big rock rather than a normal sword the storekeeper could not refrain from asking, “Why do you insist on using a big rock when you have these two fine swords?”

“Are 'e blind you fool? This 'ere, is a broad sword, and I ain't no broad! And that,” pointing to the singing sword, “I simply cannot use, for I'm a thief.”

“A thief!” cried the storekeeper in alarm, “But by your hat I assumed you were a wizard!”

“I am. How do you expect me to 'perpetrate some diablerie upon mine enemy' -- that is how you fancy pants would say it right? -- if I t'wern't a wizard?”

“So you are both?”

“Aye. Haven't yer ever heard of a Super Munchkin?”

“Y-yes. Yes of course. I can offer you 800 gold pieces for them both.”

“You'll give me 800 fer that broad sword alone!”

Sighing the shopkeeper nodded. “Alright, 1200 then?”

“Done!” The half-dwarf, half-halfling, wizard thief, wearing the Boots of Butt Kicking, and carrying a Really Big Rock, with a Chicken on His Head, walked out of the shop, slamming the door, all the while cackling gleefully. Just before the door slammed shut the shopkeeper could hear him say, “Now I'll get 'em back for the chicken.”