Fragments of the Far Realm
Big Hammer, Spiked Gauntlets, Silver plated Orc skull in a red sash, magic pants dust.
To try explaining who Fizzleburp Ragebringer is with words is like trying to capture the flowing autumn leaves out of the very air with your hand. You may catch some but there will be whole forests of leaves that will evade you as it is so in understanding the nuances of this person. Alas, I will try for history’s sake. Fizzleburp is a force of nature, chaos incarnate…. but no, that does not fit either. Let me start at the beginning.
Fizzleburp Ragebringer did not start out as he is today. None of us end up how we began, but beginnings are important for they help mold and define the person you will be. For some it is a slow nurturing development, for others it is violent in its unexpectedness and ferocity, but for a select few it is fate’s fickle randomness that defines us for life.
Fizzleburp Ragebringer’s original name was Fizzle Turp. He was a small gnome lad. His friends made fun of him calling him Fizzle Burp ever since he learned a trick to burp on cue to the delight of his friends and the chagrin of his parents. He liked tinkering and building things, playing games in the fields of his family’s orchards with the other gnome children in the valley, and the comforts of a small home and a loving family. A typical child.
One day he was exploring an outskirt area of the gnome community’s lands when an unfortunate accident occurred. Fizzle uncovered a deep dried up old well hidden with grown over grass and vines. Unfortunately he found the opening by falling in it. A search party was sent out when he did not return home. It took two days before they found him. Healers and family alike tried everything to help but Fizzle would not wake up. For three months his mother and father cared for him hoping one day he would awake; and wake he did.
Now one expects changes to a person when they are hit on the head but the change that came over Fizzle were surreal. No longer was he the carefree gnome child Fizzle. Once his strength returned he constantly did exercises to build mass, speed, and power. When his friends tried to play with him his temper would flare and he would beat the other kids senseless. He started tattooing himself on his arms, chest, back, and even shaved his head so he could tattoo himself in what he called his magic blue ink. No one could tell it anything other than a blue berry dye and the tattoos themselves looked like what a three year old would draw with color sticks. A couple of the town dogs tried to bite him after he kicked them for not getting out of his way fast enough. He almost was killed then but nearby was a large hammer one of the locals used to drive in fence posts. It usually would take two gnomes to swing it correctly but Fizzle with rage in his heart and in a drooling screaming frenzy picked the hammer up and wielded it against the dogs like a scythe through wheat. He came home a bloody mess with the hammer in one hand.
His mother sobbed and ran into the kitchen. His dad looked Fizzle in the eye trying to calm him. He turned away not able to match stares with the fury he saw in his son’s eye. After that day the community came together and held a town meeting. They demanded Fizzle be cast out for the safety of all. Fizzle rose up and spoke. His voice was grating as if trying to fight back the rage building in him.
“None of you know nuthin. You all say I was hit in the head and crazy now. I will tell you what happened. I was sent to a harsh land called Rameshoon. A witch called me. She said I was to protect witches and the land. Tall folk then trained me real good at killing and being angry. They named me right. They named me Fizzleburp Ragebringer. I was sent back then to settle scores and show everyone not to mess with witches and land and most of all me. I’ve had enough of all of you. I’m leaving to see my Uncle before I kill you all for being weak as flowers.”With that Fizzleburp Ragebringer, self proclaimed gnome barbarian, hefted his hammer (a Maul in truth) onto his shoulder and stomped out never to return.
Now there is more to his tale that defines him today. His drive to find who killed his Uncle before he could have him killed (yes that is said correctly and is another story), his lost love and overwhelming desire to slaughter wolves, and recently a feeling of displacement and anxiety which he has never felt before accompanied by an almost fanatical desire to see a man named Darrell and his brother Darrell to rise to greatness. All those stories and more will be told with time. Until then the legend continues on…..