Chance is a local farmboy turned archer who until recently has been serivng the village of Kepplshire as a shepherd.
Chance's family had lived in Kepplshire for, well forever. Generations tilling the land, raising enough root crops to feed the family and a bit extra to bring to market. Farming was good enough for Chance's Da, his Granda, and untold generations of his family. The only problem was that Chance didn't want to be a farmer. He despised it. All of the plowing and planting and weeding. Work from sun up to sundown, sleeping on the hard packed dirt floor of cottage, just get up and do it again. His older brother, Jerome, was well suited to the life. Built like an ox (and with the personality of one too), Jerome stood to inherit the farm when Da passed on. This left little in the way of prospects for Chance.
As he disliked farming so much, Chance has taken to shepherding Kepplshire's communal sheep herd. It gets him away from his family and the boring farm work and allows him time to think about what he should do with his life. It also allows him to practice his favorite pastime: archery. Several years before, in the fall, an old soldier who had mustered out of some nobleman's guard passed through. The cold mist had taken up in his lungs and he spent the winter getting his health back in the old inn. He spent that winter regaling the village youth with stories of the wider world and passed on some knowledge on how to hold a sword.
Chance wasn't too good at the sword bit, never quite grasping the subtlties, but the old soldier did show him how to fashion a bow with only a hatchet, sharp knife and seasoned piece of hickory. Chance's first effort was crude, but a little refinement and he was launching arrows in no time. The soldier had moved on long ago, but Chance continued practicing the lessons he was taught, and now comes home from shepherding more often than not with a brace of rabbits or a fat partridge to show for his skill. This in turn has stopped some of his father's nagging about wasting his time looking after the villages sheep.
His great exploit to date, has been shooting the wolf that had been harrying the flock. He caught sight of it's eyes in the firelight one night and loosed a shaft that flew true. It's skin along with an old but well cared for hatchet and knife are some of the only possessions that Chance has of value. After reaching what he suspects to be his full growth, he has just finished making what is his best bow yet.
Recently being deemed an adult, his Ma has been making noises about finding him a match and getting him settled down. Chance finds the thought terrifying, valuing his freedom above all else. So when group of the younger villagers decide to go see what happened to them Freebooters up there on Goblin's Watch, he gladly gathers up his bow and the straightest of his arrows, tucks his hatchet and knife into his belt, and goes forth to meet his destiny.
Chance is fairly tall at a little over six feet with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes that flare toward the green when he gets excited. While well muscled from a lifetime of manual labor, he does not have the thick and stout build of his father and brother. He dresses rather plainly in homespun breeches and tunic. Sturdy leather shoes adorn his feet, but he is more used to going barefoot and tucks them in his belt whenever he has need of surer footing.
Now that he has gone adventuring, he has added a simple leather vest, the outside made from supple cow hide with the inside a thinner sheepskin. Sandwiched between these layers are small disks of bone and rams horn, which will hopeful prove sufficient to turn a blade. A leather bracer adorns his left forearm and a three fingered shooting glove is on his right hand. A utilitarian hatchet and horn handled knife hang from cords knotted to his belt and a sheep skin quiver rests against his back next to a small cloth bag that appears to only be half filled.