A short history. Part I of II
The one known as Trogdor was born 20 years ago, in a dark damp cave in the jungles of Sccor. No one knew where he had come from. Not even the kindly humans that took him in as their very own child. To raise and love as if he were one of their own... At least that what the most of the story is.
I would think the first thing a normal human would do after chancing upon a little scaly freak would be to gasp in horror, and then think about the probabilities of selling him off to a freak show for a nice big bag of gold. Fortunately for the Trogster, Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were 2 very un-normal humans. Un-normal enough to resist the call of wealth even when they were poor as church mice. Or temple mice, if you please.
They christened him Trogdor. After the title of a terribly peculiar song about a dragon. Or maybe it was about a man. Or maybe a dragon-man. My memory fails me.
The next 15 years of Trogdor's life was lived as a human. He learned to read and write like a human. He learned to hunt like a human( if that's at all possible, with his dragonborn claws and whatnot ).
On his 16th birthday, Trogdor effectively set fire to half his cottage as he blew out the candles of his cake, which was now probably as tasty as a lump of coal. Lightning infused dragon breath is truly a wonderful thing.
Not all was lost, as crowds of the town flocked to see Trogdor and his new act. People there had heard of fire-breathing creatures, but certainly not lighting-breathing ones! The amount of gold they made after a few months was enough to repair the cottage and put another few stories on it. With more than enough left to finally get a mailbox.
The family was rich now. But we all know what happens in stories when people get rich. Shit happens. Benjamin squandered almost half of their savings on buying rounds of drinks for the tavern and the company of women. Alicia spent the other almost half on shopping and "exotic massages". Whatever happened to the nightly family dinners where they would sit around the table with a missing leg? Whatever happened to the weekend hunting trips into the forest? Whatever happened to his family? This made Trogdor a very sad dragonborn.
Then, everything went downhill. Trogdor sort of still blames the cursed mailbox.
The famous Penistus' Slave Circus came to town. Made up of slaves from all over the continent, the circus was popular because it was, you know, cheap. Being made up of slaves and all that.
The Great Penistus had heard of Trogdor. He had just lost his best fire-breather. He had a terrible cough, and died in his own bed. Not as simple as it sounds, but you do the math.
A thousand gold pieces was the offer. A thousand gold pieces could buy rounds of drinks at the tavern for a few months. A thousand gold pieces could buy that exquisite lizardman handbag in that little shop next to the weaponsmith. A thousand gold pieces that Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were ready to accept.
The very next morning, Trogdor woke up in a cage. A good, sturdy wooden cage.
Remember when I said that everything was going downhill just now? I lied. This is where shit really hits the fan( for the Dragfuds, at least).
(To be continued in Part II of II)
I would think the first thing a normal human would do after chancing upon a little scaly freak would be to gasp in horror, and then think about the probabilities of selling him off to a freak show for a nice big bag of gold. Fortunately for the Trogster, Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were 2 very un-normal humans. Un-normal enough to resist the call of wealth even when they were poor as church mice. Or temple mice, if you please.
They christened him Trogdor. After the title of a terribly peculiar song about a dragon. Or maybe it was about a man. Or maybe a dragon-man. My memory fails me.
The next 15 years of Trogdor's life was lived as a human. He learned to read and write like a human. He learned to hunt like a human( if that's at all possible, with his dragonborn claws and whatnot ).
On his 16th birthday, Trogdor effectively set fire to half his cottage as he blew out the candles of his cake, which was now probably as tasty as a lump of coal. Lightning infused dragon breath is truly a wonderful thing.
Not all was lost, as crowds of the town flocked to see Trogdor and his new act. People there had heard of fire-breathing creatures, but certainly not lighting-breathing ones! The amount of gold they made after a few months was enough to repair the cottage and put another few stories on it. With more than enough left to finally get a mailbox.
The family was rich now. But we all know what happens in stories when people get rich. Shit happens. Benjamin squandered almost half of their savings on buying rounds of drinks for the tavern and the company of women. Alicia spent the other almost half on shopping and "exotic massages". Whatever happened to the nightly family dinners where they would sit around the table with a missing leg? Whatever happened to the weekend hunting trips into the forest? Whatever happened to his family? This made Trogdor a very sad dragonborn.
Then, everything went downhill. Trogdor sort of still blames the cursed mailbox.
The famous Penistus' Slave Circus came to town. Made up of slaves from all over the continent, the circus was popular because it was, you know, cheap. Being made up of slaves and all that.
The Great Penistus had heard of Trogdor. He had just lost his best fire-breather. He had a terrible cough, and died in his own bed. Not as simple as it sounds, but you do the math.
A thousand gold pieces was the offer. A thousand gold pieces could buy rounds of drinks at the tavern for a few months. A thousand gold pieces could buy that exquisite lizardman handbag in that little shop next to the weaponsmith. A thousand gold pieces that Benjamin and Alicia Dragfud were ready to accept.
The very next morning, Trogdor woke up in a cage. A good, sturdy wooden cage.
Remember when I said that everything was going downhill just now? I lied. This is where shit really hits the fan( for the Dragfuds, at least).
(To be continued in Part II of II)
Quite Possibly Your Worst Nightmare decided to be hip and blog at 10:35 PM
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