Unnamed D&D World
Fexton the Gray Goat
World's Greatest Adventurer, friend of Otis
Fexton the Gray Goat (male human rogue) is a thin rakish man in his mid twenties.
Dark (but graying early) shoulder length hair. Poorly shaved face, especially on the scruff of his chin. Almost colorless blue eyes. Considering growing a stylish fencer’s moustache, if he can pull off the look.
Gray hooded cloak, frayed at the ends but it keeps him warm and dry in addition to making him look like a genuine professional instead of an opportunistic scoundrel.
Mom was a bar wench in The City. Bad teeth and one eye, but she did what she could for her boy. Dad was an adventuring wizard who never stuck around long enough to be disappointed in his dirtbag son. Needless to say, Fexton doesn’t care much for wizards and will never, under any circumstances, treat a bar wench poorly.
Learned early on how to get people to do what he wants. Either by lying to them, or by quickly pointing something sharp at them. Or, rarely, by showing admirable qualities of genuine leadership. Usually after drinking.
Would have made a name for himself in The City when he fenced Clubber Ted to death in Pickneck Alley in a “totally fair fight”, but no one was there to see it happen.
The Duchess thing is a long story.
THE DUCHESS THING:
The incident with the duchess is pretty hard to explain. For starters, there is no “Duchess of Hornbeak”, which I certainly didn’t know at the time. (There’s a Marquess, but she’s like 10 and supposedly half-goblin.)
So when I accompanied the “Duchess of Hornbeak” as her guest to the fanciest gala in the Noble’s District, things could have gone much more smoothly if the actual Duke of Hornbeak himself hadn’t also been in attendance.
Still, a clever snipe like old Fexton knows how to improvise, even when the best con springs a leak. The guards threw me (and my “Duchess”) in irons down in the basement, careful to not make a scene around all of the finer element of my fair city. Once we we had a few floors between us and noble ears, that’s when the oafs started in on the beatings. I took a few licks before it grew wearisome, but once I slipped off the manacle and got my hands on a bottle, things got better for The Gray Goat.
My Duchess made a break and hopped out through a window into the hedges. I made to look like I fled as well, but really found a good dark spot and waited out for the party to end, then made my way up through a chimney – the fires were all dead by midnight and my fine party clothes were already a write-off. Eventually I made it into Hornbeak’s guest quarters and found the pervy old goose snoring away, his ledger book and signet pleading with me to end their neglect.
After making the rounds with the Most Honest Men Of The Bowery, I was flush with marques of cheque cashed in the hand of Madame Hornbeak herself.
And the best part about it is that I’ll never possibly cross paths with the Duke of Hornbeak ever again!