Birth and youth
He was born in a back alley of Tradeburg. “Tossed out with the other trash,” is his rueful spin on that. Somebody threw a nearly empty beer bottle on top of the heap and Thulkred lapped up the drops that fell on his face. Beer was his first meal, and it has remained his chief nourishment ever since.
Despite the beer he might have starved, but that night he was visited by a glowing ginger cat, who suckled him. Thulkred doesn’t remember this, but Ginger Bastet does. She was looking for a hero and was attracted by his red hair and green eyes. Unfortunately one of Thulkred’s hands found her tail and pulled it. Hard. There was a yowl and a hiss and Thulkred simultaneously acquired his first scars and lost his first patroness.
One who has been suckled by a goddess, however briefly, is blessed above other mortals. A passing merchant was attracted by the golden glow from the alley. Although she was disappointed to find a smelly infant instead of a pile of coins, she had recently lost her own baby and so she rescued Thulkred and brought him home.
To amuse her new child, the merchant — whose name, at her own request, is not recorded — hung gold coins above his crib. Thulkred’s love of gold and of shiny things was kindled by the sight of these fascinating metal butterflies that were eternally just beyond his reach. He vowed to dedicate his life to accumulating gold coins — between pub crawls.
He roamed the Strip from end to end, talking to heroes and heroines in hopes of getting a free beer from one of them. He never intended to become a hero himself. Privately he thought they were kinda dumb, running back and forth fetching golden bricks to build temples for their gods. You could do some pretty good damage to your liver with the proceeds from selling just one of those shiny bricks!
That might have been the end of his tale, but gods talk among themselves.
—“∩”—
Para Bolus’ Story
I came to him one morning when he was sleeping off a massive bender, face down in the gutter.
“Waken, Thulkred.”
He snorted and blew bubbles in the technicolor puddle he had created.
I sent down a gentle influence. His trouser seat began to smoulder. He quivered and seemed about to wake up, but instead a tongue of blue flame erupted through the fabric.
I zapped him again and this time he rolled over, focusing blearily on my golden aura. “Wha? Whaaa? Ooh, shiny!”
“Thulkred, I need a hero.”
He scowled — or perhaps just squinted — and waved his arm at the west side of the Strip. “Lots of heroes over there.” He rolled over again. I zapped him again. “Wha? Whaaa? Ooh, shiny!”
“Thulkred, I have chosen you.”
“Chosen me? For wha’?”
“I want you to be my hero.”
“Why me? And who’re you?”
“I am the god Parabola.”
“Paira Bulls …”
I restored a charge. “Parabola.”
“Para Bolus. Gotcha.”
“Parabola.” Too late, he was snorting the puddle again. I expended another zap. This was getting expensive.
“Wha? Whaaa? Ooh, shiny!” Another charge, another zap. “Ow! Ow! Whatcha want?”
“I want you to become my hero.”
He scowled. “Why me?”
“You were recommended to me by another god. She alone knows why.”
“What’s in it for me?”
I had a flash of brilliance. “Beer.” That got his full attention. “Here’s the deal. You hero for me and build me a temple and you get to keep a share of the gold to buy beer. More beer than you can afford now.”
He checked his pockets. Pulled them out. One had a hole, the other a fake gold coin. He looked rueful.
“There are perks. If you get in trouble, I can zap your enemy. If you are injured, I can heal you. If you die, I can resurrect you. You get to see the Arena in Godville. Once the temple is complete, you get to plunder ancient treasuries and save extra beer money for your retirement.”
I had him. I could tell by the glaze in his eyes —
I sighed and restored another charge. Zap. “Wha? Whaaa? Ooh, shiny!”
It was going to be a long morning.
—“∩”—
Thulkred’s Story
I was born in Tradeburg, centre of Godville’s financial world, so you see I was always gonna be good with money. My god picked me for that.
I dunno who my parents were. I was left in a pile of junk in a back alley — tossed out with the other trash. I like to think I was some noble’s bastard son. I have these special scars on my chest, like some I seen on nobles from Los Demonos. Some people claim they look more like cat scratches, but what would they know? They wasn’t there.
So, my Mammy found me in an alley. She was a merchant. We was never rich. Her stall was not on The Strip, but just off it on the west side. We did OK; lots of big heroes looked up Mammy to sell their trophies because they knew they’d get top gold from her. Mammy never could resist a prime Alpacalypse ear.
I loved playing in the back of the shop, rummaging through the bags and the boxes of stuff there. Every now and then I’d find some toy that Mammy had hidden away. Once while Mammy was out shopping, I found one that had a button on the side. Pushed the button, of course, and a monster appeared. Being so small, I slipped out through a crack and stayed away for the rest of the day. The monster broke out of the shop and got bumped off by some passing heroes. When Mammy came home she thought we had been burgled.
Living so close to The Strip, I hung out there a lot. The other merchants’ kids were kinda boring, but the heroes all liked to talk. They were kinda boring too, but there was always someone to slip me a beer under the table. If they didn’t, I just hadda smile and nod until they were under the table and then I’d finish their beer for them.
Gruyere1 was my favourite. You always knew when he came to town, because he was big and wide and hairy and all the verandahs creaked like they was going to break. They called him The Bear, but to me he was the Big Cheese. He always had plenty of gold, and if I was respectful he’d let me handle his gold bricks. He already had his temple, so they was just something to sell. Only fly in the ointment was this snot called Claude Remains. I swear, I could not turn around without finding Claude sucking up to Gruyere1. It drove me mad, seeing him score some choice bit of loot from The Bear’s loot bag.
Claude was older than me and got adopted by some friend of Gruyere1’s god. Boy was he hoity toity then! Made out like he didn’t even remember me. I caught up to him in the Arena years later once I got a god of my own, and we had a good old ding dong fight. I had him, I swear it, action locked him, he was trussed and ready for the hospital. I woulda won it, if my god’s voices had just worked. Ten failed VCs in a row, and what can ya do? We was friends after that. But we was rivals as punk kids.
I had a good scam going once on The Bear. He’d get blind drunk and I would steal his purse, leaving the coins. Then when he woke up I’d tell him Mammy had one just like the one he’d lost and would sell it to him cheap. He fell for it every time! Paid thousands for “new” purses. I never saw anyone so fond of buying back a ratty old moleskin pouch. He never figured out that the new one had the same blood stains on it as the old one. I guess heroes don’t hafta be smart.
Times got hard after Mammy was bankrupted. It wasn’t pretty. A bunch of heroes got together and claimed she was scamming them, stealing their stuff and selling it back to them. She kept her mouth zipped in court, but the looks she sent my way told me she knew who was doing it. I felt so bad I snuck up behind the judge and tied his shoelaces together. You shoulda seen his face when he tried to walk out after convicting Mammy!
They sold the shop to some crook from Bumchester to pay off the fines. He went bust and sold it to a consortium of monsters. They got busted and run out of town. Then an insurance gang bought it and burned it down. The town woulda been better off leaving it to Mammy. They sent Mammy to the workhouse to pay off the remaining debt washing clothes at a brass obol per sock.
Me, I was making a living as a raconteur at “Boatmurdered”. I tried to get a job there as a barkeep but the owner said it would cost him more in lost trade than the job was worth. I told him I would drink on the job, but he wasn’t convinced.
I had a room in a flophouse behind “Boatmurdered”. It was a dive, but the rent was cheap and it was close to work. I’d get up around sundown and make my way to the bar. I’d take a seat in a corner and wait till the heroes started trickling in, checking out their coin purses to spot the fattest mark. Then I’d sidle up to him or her and say some stuff to break the ice. After that I’d chuck in some yarns and see how the evening developed. When the last drunks passed out, so would I.
It was a living, alright? Most nights I’d get a skinful and a few coins or an artifact. Sometimes they’d buy me a flagon to take home — the owner of the bar would trade me one full for five empties, so I even had some savings. I was doing OK.
One morning I was sitting on The Strip enjoying the dawn and waiting for my landlady to wake up so I could persuade her to take her padlock off my door, when this blast of golden light shone full in my eyes and this booming voice echoed in my head. And me with a hangover you would not believe!
“Thulkred,” said the voice, “I need a hero.”
I waved my hand at the snoring doorways down The Strip. “Right you are, plenty of heroes around here — take your pick.”
I meant it humorously, but my Lord didn’t see the joke and hit me with a Punish. “Owww! That blooming well hurt! What’s the game?”
“Thulkred, I don’t need just any hero. I need a clever hero, a resourceful hero. One with noble blood and a noble nature.”
This was more like it. I had always known I was better than others. Smarter anyway. “You’re talkin’ my language. What’s in it for me?”
“Here’s the deal. You gather bricks to build me a temple and you get to keep a share of the gold to use as you please. Pray to me because I like that kind of thing. I will raise you from the dead when necessary, and I’ll heal you up and zap your enemies for you sometimes. Once the temple is built, we settle back and both get rich together.”
“I dunno … I gotta lotta enemies. Some guys put out a trumped up court order on me, sayin’ they’re worried about some made-up debts I owe them and they don’t want me jumpin’ town without payin’. Like I would do that.” Yup, I’d do that in moment, if I thought I could outrun the posse.
“Heroes aren’t bound by those, Thulkred. You’ll literally be a new man. You’ll pay off all your debts in no time. Your old creditors will be falling over themselves to sell you things.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute. A new man? What does that mean? I like me just as I am. I don’t need no makeover.”
“I’m sure in your case it will be purely nominal, Thulkred. You were already touched by a god in your infancy. But being a hero is a tough business and you’ve been abusing your body. I’ll need to fix up your liver, for one thing.”
“Touched by a god, eh … hmm.” Hey, I always knew I was special but this was something else!
“OK, one final enticement. As a hero you can drink as much as you like without having to worry about liver damage. Whenever you check into a hospital at the end of a quest, if you need a new liver they will give you one, no questions asked.”
Who could ask for better than that? “Deal! When do I start — hey!”
Darkness, swirling wind, wrenches and tugs at sensitive parts of my body. What is this? What is going on? Who am I?
“Awaken the hero”
18:15 What happened? Where am I? Is this a temple? How did I get here?
—“∩”—
Cloudscape with deities
Two mighty figures, clearly gods. One is a noble, Zeus-like figure: the other, in his lap, is a golden queen cat. He is scratching her behind the ears and she is leaning into it.
“So, he fell for your diabolic — no, your parabolic little scheme?”
“Like bricks down a well. I tickled his vanity, offered him guilt-free beer and forgiveness of his debts, and he jumped at the offer.”
“He was far gone. Are you sure you can save him?”
“You know what we have to do to them to make them into heroes. He woke up with no memory of his past and all the personality of a marshmallow. Rushed out of the temple eager to start his first quest and got killed just outside town by a Godville Administrator.”
“They remember, you know. Their old personalities reassert themselves.”
“By then he will have spent a long time as a good hero. The honeymoon should last long enough for him to complete my temple. If he turns renegade after that, well, it’s no skin off my nose. It’s not like he can unbuild the temple.”
“Serves him right. He pulled my tail!”
“Yup, as divine vengeance goes, this is as good as it gets. We get even with him by doing him good, and he will be paying us for it forever.”
The gods laugh.
—“∩”—
A Hot Time in Tradeburg
Just at the end of The Strip there’s a turn where the road bends back toward Monsterdam. I tried to take it on two wheels, only to find that the wheel nuts were loose on that side. I guess I should’a paid the wheelwright last time I had the wagon serviced.
The wagon ended up on its side in a ditch, and I ended up hangin’ from a tree branch by me belt.
The pursuit lolloped up and sorta grouped themselves around the base of the tree to have a belly laugh. This took a while ‘cause some of them was kinda long in the belly, if you take my meaning.
Once they had laughed themselves breathless – those what wasn’t already breathless from their run – they fetched a scythe from a nearby barn and cut my belt. Hey! That cost me 1500 coins and weren’t even paid for yet.
They didn’t care. I hadda hold my pants up with my hands as they walked me back into town, no easy trick when you got a kid’s weight of chains and shackles hangin’ on you. They wasn’t takin’ no chances of me gettin’ away a second time.
So there I was, back in the hoosegow, just half an hour after breakin’ out of it. Nothin’ else to do, so I stacked my feet on the end of the bed and tried to catch up on sleep.
I’d been lyin’ there for an hour or so when with a groan and a rattle the outside wall of my cell fell out. While I was sittin’ there gapin’ at the rubble, a large rat appeared and squeaked, “Get the lead out, mud for brains! That racket is going to fetch everyone within earshot!”
I looked closer at the rat. It wasn’t no large rat, it was a very large mouse, wearing an odd assortment of miniature armour. “Mousie?”
“No, I’m your fairy godmother. C’mon, get a move on before the locals get their thumbs out of their ears.”
I was already on my way, hands still holdin’ up my trousers, my chains clankin’ and bashin’ my legs black and blue.
There was a wagon waitin’ right there, with a coupla horses hitched to it. In the middle distance I could see my double dragon, Nessie, galumphin’ away from us still chained to the half a wall he was draggin’ behind him.
We tumbled over the back of the wagon and Mouse’s pet firefox Rex suddenly flamed up like the fires of Hell on the driver’s seat. The horses didn’t like the flames and took off for the horizon, which got us out of there just as the aroused citizenry started to pour around the corner of the jail.
With nobody drivin’ the cart, we didn’t take the Monsterdam turn, just kept on beltin’ towards Los Adminos until the hue’n’cry faded in the distance behind us.
By that time the horses was blown, so we pulled them back to a walk and picked a nice side road to follow to get off the main drag. The road led to a deserted farm with a run-down barn attached. The barn door still swung, and once we closed it behind us we was outa sight of stray passers-by.
I looked at Mouse. Mouse looked at me.
“So what’s your story this time?” she asked.
“I was framed!”
“Sure you were. Whenever people decide to invite you to star at a lynching, it’s always a misunderstanding.”
“No, really. You remember I owed some guys for breaking me out of Beerburgh?”
“Yeah. But Beerburgh’s a long way from Tradeburg.”
“They got friends in the drayin’ business. So I avoided Beerburgh and got to Tradeburg, only to find the fix was in here and I was arrested for stealin’ a wagon. Only it weren’t me stole it, it were some ringer usin’ my name.”
Mouse smirked. “Hoist by your own petard!”
I ignored the jibe. "So they hauled me off to the hoosegow, but just as they was closin’ the cell door I kicked it open and made a run for it. Shook the pursuit and got to the garage where I kept my wagon "
“The one you stole?”
“The one I own. Had it since before I was a hero. Piece of junk, but it was useful for smugglin’ stuff in and out of town. Anyway, I lit out of town on it but the wheels fell off. I guess you know the rest. Say, how did you know I was in jail anyway?”
“I saw your dragon hanging around outside the jail, and snuck a peek in the window. The outside wall had some big staples left over from the old public stocks, with the chains still on them. So I hooked the chains together and got Nessie to grab the loop, then told him to skedaddle.”
I looked at my bonds. “Speakin’ of chains –”
The barn still had some rusty blacksmithing tools, and a few minutes’ work freed me.
“What now?” said Mouse. “Back to your quest?”
“Nope. There’s some guys in town laughin’ at my expense. I reckon they oughta pay for the privilege.”
She looked resigned. “What do you have in mind?”
I scratched my head, and my trousers fell down. “Here,” said Mouse, handing me some braided leather.
“What’s this?”
“Rex’s leash. I never use it, and you need a belt.”
###
The “Legless Horseman” was the drayers’ preferred drinking spot in Tradeburg, and the boys were there in force tonight – along with assorted strays and hangers-on. Most people rubbed shoulders cheerfully, but everyone left space around the derelict in the corner.
His hat was more holes than felt, his clothes looked like they were off a scarecrow, and the delicate aroma of a pigpen surrounded him like an invisible barrier. His face was covered with mud and scabs, and his nose had bled – and had not been cleaned afterward. He nursed a pint of cheap hooch.
The local head of the Drayers Guild was the centre of a merry party, draining beer and spirits by the bottle and getting louder as the evening wore on.
It was getting late when the conversation turned to the goings-on around the jail. One of the drayers was unhappy that nobody seemed in a hurry to set out in pursuit of the heroic fugitives.
The kingpin laughed. “He’s well on his way toward Los Adminos by now. If he goes in there, he won’t be coming out any time soon.” He winked heavily.
“The fix is in?”
“Same as here, seems someone resembling Thulkred left a bunch of bad bar tabs there recently. Of course, I don’t know anything about that, but anyway, if he shows his face in Los Adminos he’ll be in the can before he can open a can.”
The derelict suddenly suffered a coughing fit and overturned his drink. Muttering and cursing, he made his way to the bar and demanded a free replacement. The barkeep twitched an eyebrow toward his bouncers, and a moment later the derelict sailed out through the doorway and landed in the street with a thud.
“Nice!” said the kingpin. “Didn’t even graze the swing doors on his way out.”
I hauled myself to my feet, muttering incoherently and tryin’ not to laugh. My hat was in a puddle. I retrieved it and dashed it against the trousers I had liberated from a scarecrow on my way into town.
With everyone at the pub, the Drayers Guild headquarters stood deserted. I made my way around the back and forced a window. Two shadows appeared out of the darkness and I tossed Mouse and her firefox into the room. There were some thumps and bangs and the unmistakeable sound of a firefox coughin’ up a fireball, followed by the smell of metal burnin’. Something creaked, and then a couple of heavy sacks flew out the window. I caught them on the fly and eased them to the ground, and caught Mouse and her pet as they followed the money out the window.
“That should pay us for our trouble, pay off that tab in Los Adminos, and pay these guys back!” I told Mouse. “Time we was outa Tradeburg.”
We snuck toward the town square, and came to a sudden halt.
There was a large metal cage standin’ in front of the jail. A dejected-lookin’ double-dragon slouched in one corner of the cage. “Nessie!”
“Shhh!” said Mouse.
I ignored her and ran across to the cage. “Can Rex burn this lock?”
Mouse looked at it. “Magical. Spelled against monster fire.”
I rattled the cage door. “We gotta do something!”
Mouse shrugged and performed some sorta charades to her pet. The firefox tilted his head to one side, then hacked a couple of times and spat a fireball square into the keyhole. The fireball sizzled and sputtered, droolin’ out through gaps in the lock casing, and finally went out without harmin’ the lock.
Just then lights went on in the jail. “Nessie! Burn your way out!” I cried. He reared back and snorted a good blast. Mouse and I hadda step back from the heat, but the cage withstood the fire. The front door of the jail burst open and men spilled out. I threw myself under their feet while Mouse and Rex scampered unseen into the shadows, carryin’ the money with them. Somethin’ heavy whacked me on the noggin. In a blaze of stars, everything went hazy.
###
“It is the decision of this court that you shall be immediately taken from this place and hung by the neck until dead, and that once resurrected you shall be incarcerated in the Tradeburg Penitentiary for the remainder of your unnatural life, so help me gods.”
The judge had thrown the book! He was the brother of the head of the Drayers Guild, which may explain much, but it didn’t look good for our hero.
I was hauled out of the court and into the town square. Nessie’s cage still stood by the jailhouse, but now it was overshadowed by a massive wooden platform sporting a gallows tree. Rude seating had been erected nearby for the comfort of the audience. Every seat was filled, except for a few chairs out front which was reserved for the town notables. A row of wagons filled one side of the square, suggestin’ that every drayer for miles around was here to enjoy the spectacle.
I was hustled up the steps and positioned squarely on the trapdoor, and the hangman settled the noose around my neck. He tied a heavy sandbag to my ankles. “Now relax, son, see, this’ll make it quick – when you drop your neck will break and next thing you know, you’ll be wakin’ up in the temple just like always.”
The judge and his brother came out, laughin’ and slappin’ each other on the back, and took the last seats. “Proceed!”
The hangman threw the lever and the trapdoor fell away beneath me. I braced myself for the jerk – but instead my feet slammed into a wooden tray. A fireball flew past my ear and burned through the rope, and then horses neighed and with a clatter one wall of the platform fell out. As I toppled into the back of the wagon, Rex flamed up and the horses bolted through the gap, haulin’ the wagon with them.
As we banged away down the street, I peeked over the rear gate of the wagon. The crowd, to a man, had risen to its feet – and every man in the benches had his pants in a heap around his feet. Someone had cut their belts!
Cursing, they pulled their trousers up and ran for their wagons. First one, then another pulled out after me – then stopped dead in the street. Their horses ran on and dragged the drivers over the fallen tongues of the wagons. Someone had chewed through the straps, leaving just a thin scrap of leather that snapped as soon as pressure came on it.
Just then there was a mighty roar and I heard cries of “The dragon! The dragon is loose!” I saw flames gouting in all directions in the chaos, but we turned onto The Strip and I lost sight of what was happenin’.
The horse ran themselves to lather and stopped, a couple of milestones out of town. Rex dropped a leather sack at my feet. It held a knife, which I used to cut my bonds. Just as I was rubbin’ my wrists and ponderin’ my next move, there was a rustle in the bushes beside the road and Nessie stepped out, with Mouse astride him.
“Well met, Thulkred!”
“Mouse! Nessie! How did you –”
Mouse held out a paw, with a massive key dangling from it. “When I was cutting all those belts, I picked the pocket of the monster-catcher. In the confusion, I was able to get to the cage and release your dragon.”
A coupla horses ambled up. I grabbed their traces. Not having pulled a wagon all this way, they were still quite fresh. I turned out the blown pair from my wagon, and replaced them with the new nags.
“We better get a move on, li’l buddy. There’s some drinks in Los Adminos with our names on them.”
—“∩”—
Para Bolus and Thulkred on the GodWiki
Special Credits —
Sourcerunner, for “The Strip” (Missing Vignette #35)
Capricciosa, for diabolic/parabolic and behind-the-scenes encouragement
SBFH, for posting his diary entries in his Chronicles (specifically all the inspirational bought-a-new-coin-purse ones), to whom I sincerely apologise for Thulkred’s apalling youthful attitude towards his hero.