One of two twin nephews of Malcolm Quickskitter, Serenity of the Scroll, Daniel Halftail has become a distinguished servant of the House of Light in his own right.

     The young Daniel idolized his famous uncle (much to Malcolm’s distress), but his restless nature would never let him become the "parchment prelate" Malcolm would become in his later years. Daniel, whose childhood surname was Scattertrack for his incessant fidgeting, found the decisive action required of servants of the Peacekeeper more to his liking. Certain that Daniel’s decency, courage, and almost instinctive swordmanship would serve Rifkis well, Malcolm quietly guided his nephew towards the silver-trimmed helm that marked the Peacekeeper’s servants. Daniel’s training tempered him; he traded his erratic pacing for a strong, measured stride, the most visible sign of the discipline that permeates his entire being.

     Daniel’s present surname was given him a century ago, under grisly circumstances. While traveling alone through the vast plains of the Thunderhoof, he was ambushed and captured by barbaric human tribesmen. Dragged back to their camp, he found out why: the chieftain’s son was deathly ill, and the blame was being fixed on the monstrous rat-demon that had invaded their territory. The tribesmen chained the Rat to a tree, and used their daggers to flay the flesh of his tail until it broke off at the stump.

     But throughout the ordeal, Daniel refused to beg for mercy, and saved his breath for prayer. Finally, with unconsciousness drawing near, Daniel made a startling proposal. "Free me," he called out to his captors, "and I shall try to heal the boy. If my prayers should fail, you may slit my throat with my own sword."

     The tribal shaman, whose chants and ministrations has failed miserably, shrieked in rage at this challenge to his position. And though he was sure the Rat would say anything to save its furry hide, the chieftain agreed to let the demon try. He could always kill the creature later.

     Once freed, Daniel staggered to the boy’s bedside, reeling from pain and loss of blood. After wrenching his holy symbol from the hands of the infuriated shaman, he fell to his knees and uttered his most potent spell of healing.

     The True God was listening. The child’s skin became warm, his breathing steady. He opened his eyes, only to gasp at the huge rat sprawled on the ground beside him. The chieftain stood above the Rat, ready to disembowel him—but stayed his hand when he heard the final prayer of the wretched animal. It was an oath of peace and courage in the face of death—and a plea of mercy and compassion for his tormentors.

     The Rat was freed with the dawn, his broken body gently carried by the chieftain, his son carrying the cleric’s possessions. The two had been banished from the tribe, having dared to question the power of the tribal god. As he mended the half of his tail that remained, the Rat revealed the likely reason why the shaman’s chants had failed. The tribe gave its favor to True God Borron, the Lord of Battle—a Power who’d have scarce interest in a body cut down by illness and not by the sword. Daniel offered the exiles a future where their swords would be wielded in a true and noble cause, as servants of the House of Light.

     The three proved such an intriguing and effective team that others followed. The first two were an aging hill dwarf and an adolescent gnome, both accused of crimes they hadn’t committed. Then came two beautiful young women, disinherited noble daughters of the Sorrosenni elves. Next in line were a half dozen burly humans, a former press gang that the Rat and his comrades had beaten to a pulp. With the addition of a enigmatic half-elven mage, the adventuring party known to Miren as "The Ratpack" was complete.

     Each member of this curious team had three things in common: unflagging courage, lethal skill with their weapons, and a steadfast belief in their furry leader and his cause. Their many successes earned the Ratpack renown throughout Miren, and Daniel himself the coveted post of Knights Commander, in recognition of his masterful leadership. Though the Ratpack has lost its share of members since its founding some 200 years ago, other pious and daring souls have taken their place, and their adventures continue to this day.

     Daniel has a well-deserved reputation as an atypical servant of the Peacekeeper. While the popular image of a cleric of Rifkis is that of a gentle, effacing soul, polite and kind and filled with a wistful sadness, Daniel Halftail is none of these things. His social graces are practiced and stiffly formal, and whatever gentility he has is rarely seen, even by his comrades in the Ratpack. He has an aversion to most humor, and his smiles are as thin as they are rare. He allows himself few creature comforts and dines on the simplest fare. To many, and perhaps even to himself, Daniel is more soldier than priest.

     The Rat is a detached and aloof enforcer of the peace, and negotiates only if there is anything to be gained from it. If not, he charges in with sword drawn, without hesitation or regret. Most clerics of the Peacekeeper are reluctant to draw their weapons, thinking it a failure of sorts. Daniel in fact adheres to this traditional view; it’s just that centuries of experience has taught him when the judicious use of force is the best approach.

     Unlike his flirtatious twin brother, Daniel seems to have no particular interest in female company, either from his own kind or from outsiders. The female Knights under his command gain no special consideration from their gender, and lay ladies find the Rat to be cool, even intimidating at times. Daniel is ill at ease with small children, and does not suffer fools gladly.

     But for all of this, Daniel’s heart is not cold. His services to the needy and helpless are as heartfelt as any of his faith, but something within him will not allow his charity to be made public. His good works are shrouded within a strict anonymity, and he often has them tended to by other clerics of the House.

     Daniel rarely indulges in philanthropy on a personal level. His gifts are usually those that enrich whole communities: his favorite beneficiaries are orphanages, schools, libraries, and services for the homeless. The Ratpack is always ready to part with the rich treasures they win in its wanderings to help finance such ventures.

     During the time of the Rending, Daniel's hard outer shell cracked severely. Unable to reconcile his memories of a loving father with the increasingly paranoid creature Richard Spatterpelt was becoming, the Rat succumbed to a brief but shattering depression. The Knights Commander went on a violent three-day drinking binge that his fellow Wanderers barely managed to conceal from the Order and the public. Daniel is consumed by guilt and remorse to this day, scarcely able to forgive himself when all around him, god and mortal alike, did so long ago.

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