The life and times of Thurkear (Lord of the Arcane) and Vorastrix (Lord of Flatulence) Thricrauhiss, as told to Kaumin the bard at a local tavern by Thurkear late one night as he was deep in his cups.
Yea, so when we were first born, our pater took one look at us and said "That Thurkear is a boy destined for great things. But Vorastrix, blech, what foul stench is this?" He then slapped our mater for not stopping with perfection after I came out and accused her of sleeping with a goat, for surely something as foul smelling as Vorastrix didn't spring forth from his loins.
My mater claimed she didn't sleep with a goat, but I (and I suspect my father, though he doesn't say so) think she ordered a number of goats slaughtered that night for a feast in honor of my birth to cover up Vorastrix's true parentage.
Don't get me wrong, I love my mater, but there's no way, as bad as the farts that Vorastrix blows out are, that he came from the same loins that I did. I...
<composer's note, the little drunkard paused here for a full minute, methinks for dramatic reasons in his mind, more likely because he actually lost his train of thought>
...am a KOBOLD OF DESTINY! Yes! You heard that right. From a young age I knew I was destined for great things. I could feel the sorcery running through my blood and knew I was going to do great and powerful things when I came of age.
Unfortunately I was saddled with Lord Farts Alot. Did you know that it's not really normal for kobolds to fart? No, it's true. Sure, we belch, but farts just aren't normal for kobolds. At least, not for kobolds not born of a drunken union with a goat.
What? Oh, sure, sure. I know, that casts aspersions on my mother. What? Yes, I do know what "aspersions" means, thank you very much. I'm not my goat-like brother, now am I? Wait, you're not one of those bigots that thinks all kobolds are stupid are you? You with your non-draconic pink skinned self. Pfft. Shit, you probably weren't even born speaking the most important language of all: draconic! Everyone knows that all the best people speak that from the get-go. Perhaps you're not smart enough to truly understand the glory of my story...hehe, glory of my story, hehe, now that's some funny stuff. I make a better bard than you, I can rhyme! But yea, maybe I'm done talking to you...what? Oh, sure, I'll have another drink.
Now, where was I? Kobold of breastiny? What? Boobs? Yea, I like boobs. What are you...? Oh, DESTINY! Why didn't you say so? Stop slurring your words so much man. By Hlal you're an obtuse one!
So, anyway, yes, yes, I know saying that makes my mother look bad, but it's the truth. And, to rise up to face my destiny, I had to accept my half-goat brother and take him under my wing to make sure that he didn't ruin my chances at becoming the most powerful kobold sorcerer ever.
My father is a mid-level merchant with the Exotic Merchandise Combine here in Aodar. Not the wandering tribal kobold life for me. Nope, we're civilized, not country bumpkin types. Well, my folks and I are at least, my goat-brother, not so much.
That's not to say we didn't have it rough. We still grew up on the street. Running around, fleeing from other kids out to beat us... Huh? Which street? The Avenue of Stars. Yea, the one in the merchant district. Yea, the one with guards patrolling it all the time. What's your point? You trying to say I had it easy growing up? What? Yea, I'll take another drink...
Where was I? Oh, yea, well, maybe I didn't have the roughest life around, but it was still tough going, being saddled with a half-goat brother. I mean, by the shiney thighs of Hlal, it was annoying always having him tagging along behind me, trying to bask in my coming glory. Every time I was trying to practice my sorcerous arts, he'd sneak up on me and mess with my casting, disrupting my training. He always said it was just to practice his sneakeration, but I knew it was because that goat-like snout of his could smell out the treats in my pockets.
Yea, he was always sneaking around, trying to scare mater and pater and the servants. What? Of course someone that grew up on the streets could have servants! Are you trying to be glib? Are you saying I don't know the history of growing up on the streets?
See, see, what you're not getting is that there's a smaller part of street life you're not aware of. It's the non-street urchins that like to hang out on the street and act tough part of street life. See, you've got the overall subject of street life, and then the subgenre of middle-class kids hanging out and acting like they're from the street.
Huh? Oh, yea, I'm damn tough! Just because I had servants doesn't mean I can't scrap it out with the best of them. Just because I went home and slept in a feather bed at night doesn't mean I don't know street life. Stop laughing jackass! That's it, I'm done with...yea, I could use a refill...
So, yea, anyway, while I was preparing for my grand destiny, my brother was learning to file down his hooves and practicing sneaking around because...yea, I said hooves. What you expect? He's half a goat. Jeez! Anyway, pater had him training to become a scout or spy or some such for the merchant house. I figure that was because most of the time he'd be wearing a big hooded cloak to cover up that goat snout and bucked-toothed overbite of his.
But then part of my grand destiny rubbed off on him. Yea, that goat-faced bastard stole some of my glory. He was out on an errand for pater one evening when he walked his goat ass right in front of some fellow running out of an alleyway. The guy bowled my goat-brother over and fell flat on his face. Vorastrix said a cloaked figure vaulted over him and stabbed the fallen fellow to death. Vor, having the courage of a nanny-goat, quickly did his one-trick pony show of hiding in the shadows to avoid detection.
Well, long story short, the killer lost sight of him, but waited him out whilst hiding down the block and then followed him and approached him, telling him that he was impressed with his ability to blend into the dark like that. He then invited him to become his apprentice. But apprentice for what profession we probably shouldn't say. Goats have good hearing don'cha know.
See, that's what goats do! They steal your luck, your glory, your tasty treats! By siphoning off some of my destiny like that, he's got me languishing here in this tavern, drinking with you, when I should be out amassing fortune and fame!
Huh? Why am I here? Oh, waiting for that smelly goat bastard to propel his way down here with his farts. See, we, uh, stole some stuff from a rival merchant house after they cheated our pater out of a contract. What? Don't look at me like that! It was justice it was! Well, okay, maybe not justice, but it was pretty damn funny. You should've seen Trade Master Simmonz's face when he opened that chest of his to get the money to pay for the stuff he snagged out from under pater. Hehehehehehehehe! It was a riot I tell you! Almost funny enough to make me not notice I was standing down-wind from my brother. Almost, but not quite.
So, anyway, we're off to seek adventure and lay low for a while. Simmonz probably at least has an idea that it was someone from our pater's trade house. That sort of thing happens a fair bit, given the cut-throat nature of mercantilism around this city. What? Oh, screw you! Of course I know what mercantilism means. By Hlal's shiney bunghole, you're starting to piss me off you are! I ought to put a magic missile right up your...yes, yes, another flagon would be nice. How hospitable of you!
So, yea, we figured we'd play it safe and lay low for a while. We told pater what we did, and he was kind of pissed, but at the same time, he saw the humor in sticking it to Simmonz after what that old git did. Pater's a big fan of Hlal he is, so he tends to see the humor in most things. Probably where we got our sense of humor from.
But, the humor aside, he thought it'd be best for us to lay low for a while too. Not that it's easy to do so with a smelly goat-thing tagging along with me. Huh? How much did we steal? Oh, about 300 shiney pieces of gold all told. A pretty penny to be sure.
So, that's why we're hanging out on this side of town for the time being, looking for something to maybe give us a reason to take off outside the walls for a while. Eventually Simmonz will get over losing the money and we won't have to sweat it. Or, and this was my pater's suggestion since we'd already spent the money, we could collect enough to stick the money back in Simmonz's chest and he'd probably blow it off after that.
Enh, we'll figure something out. I could always join a carnival for a while and make some money charging people to see the "Stinktacular Goat Creature of Aodar." I bet plenty of people would pay to see him, assuming they could stand the smell.
Speaking of that, who just took a big shit in here? I swear, it smells exactly like my brother just...
<composer's note; at this point, another kobold, identical in appearance to Thurkear, and noticeably missing any goat-like features or particularly strong odor, appeared from out of nowhere in the tavern's crowd and began throttling Thurkear and yelling something about "maligning his good name;" Thurkear began fighting back, yelling something like "begone foul smelling, destiny stealing goat-beast, back to the outhouse that spawned you!" The two then tumbled this way and that, crashing into tables and patrons, knocking over drinks and spilling people out of their chairs onto the floor, rolling on top of the other patrons, stepping on them, dodging between their legs, all the while attempting to strangle each other. They kept yelling out at the tops of their lungs the whole while, and their voices were similar enough to each other that I eventually lost track of who was who, as they were wearing the same clothing. Eventually their fight spilled out the front door into the dark night street and one of them sprung to his feet, threw dirt in the other's eyes and began running away down an alley. The other one wiped his eyes clear and gave chase, both of them disappearing into the night. It was shortly after they disappeared that a number of the more inebriated patrons noticed they were missing their coin purses or that their pockets had sudden holes in them. I suspect that Thurkear (or whichever one was really talking to me) was sizing up the crowd in the tavern while talking to me to see which were most inebriated, and "led" the "fight" into crashing into those patrons to pick their pockets. None of the more recent patrons nor anyone that hadn't been drinking heavily seemed to have been targeted.
Unfortunately for the ones that lost their money, one kobold looks much like another. I could have given them their names, but seeing as I got an amusing story out of it, and they didn't try and steal my money, I saw no reason to ruin their "fun.">
Thurkear and Vorastrix appeared in the very first Merisyl campaign ever run. We were short on players, and so Shawn doubled-up...