About Krokod Firetongue
Personality: Krokod may have the interest of the gods like any cleric would, but he certainly lacks the wisdom of a priest. That's not to say he's a fool, but there are gaps in his common sense and willpower that mean he's going to have a long hard haul to any form of enlightenment that sticks.
For one thing, he's far too susceptable to the fairer sex's charms, and prone to bad choices where they are concerned. He can be vain about his talent as a peformer and fearful in facing the more spiritual questions of his existence lest he find himself under some obligation which he'd only resent.
That said, he's still a good human being who genuinely enjoys sharing joy with others. He is often kind to those in need and generous with his coin. Krokod has been in enough trouble of his own that he's often driven by an urge to help others who are in over their heads.
"I'm Varisian, not Sczarni! My family are honest performers!" Krokod protested as his assailant balled up a fist.
"You're all the same," the little bigot sneered. Every city had its share of invader blooded bigots, but Korvoso was by all means the worst. It also paid well, but Krokod knew that if he lived through this, his father might still take the switch to him for his foolishness in wandering off alone.
At the last moment, Krokod weaved to the side causing his attacker's fist to slam into a very hard wall. Invaders of Cheliax blood had brought some misery to these lands, but credit where credit was do, they made solid buildings. Making a note to thank his mother for teaching him how to move quickly and gracefully, Krokod took the opening and ran.
They ran too, right after him, but as much as Krokod wanted to avoid a thrashing, if he had to have one, he'd rather have it stay in the family. The faces of the bullies paled when they turned yet another corner only to find Krokod behind a wall of a wall of his older brothers and cousins, all of which were now brandishing clubs or knives. The look on his tormenters' faces made the switching later so very worth it.
Not so far away, his grandmother was tending another dancer's strained leg while his mother and father had a discussion.
"You mark my words, a woman maybe the death of our boy one day!" She paced.
The father tried and failed to keep the pride out of his voice, "Bah. He's young. Let him sow his oats. A few burns may yet teach him about how to respect the flame, eh?"
It was an ironically prophetic choice of words.
The shimmering damsel on the bed with him was only slightly older than Krokod himself, and her beauty was quite intoxicating. He had never dallied on silk sheets before. Years had refined Krokod's performance in more than one area, and while Krokod was a charming flatterer and dotted on those involved in delightful mutual conquest, he wasn't ready to stop his oat sowing yet. If the gods didn't want him sleeping around, they really should stop making so many lovely creatures.
Krokod reached to stir her with a kiss, when a servant came in a rush.
"What's the meaning of this?" The maid's mistress demanded pulling the sheet over her in a modest gesture that was, at this stage, something of a waste.
"He's returned!" The maid blurted, "He's on his way upstairs."
"What?" Krokod's lover's eyes went wide, "He was supposed to be gone for another half a month yet!"
The maid shrugged helplessly. Anything she'd say at this point would be obvious. Well, obvious to anyone but Krokod who was confused.
"He's here? Who's here?" Krokod was baffled.
"You have a husband?" Krokod's eyes widened in surprise, "Why didn't you tell..."
"You never asked," She explained, "Now go, before he has his men tear you apart!"
"Gods!" The performer scrambled for his clothes and made it to the door only to have it broken open by two of the biggest men he'd ever seen. Behind them was a shorter wrinkled man in fine garb. His expression was furious.
"Oh, Chelchius! Thank the gods you're here, this masher almost took advantage of me!" His wife's eyes filled with instant tears.
Krokod suddenly realized he was the SECOND best performer in the room. And then the punches from the hired goons came. They beat him within an inch of his life and through the blackness and blood, Krokod heard the older man's voice say
"Burn the remains of this... trash!"
It looked like the last inch would be taken by fire. Obedient to their employer, the two fellows bound him up, built a bonfire on the estate grounds and then threw him onto it.
Krokod wasn't sure what happened after that. He wasn't sure if he was praying or screaming (or both) but it was in a language he'd never spoken before. His clothes caught fire about him, and so to did the ropes that held him. But Krokod himself was surprised to find that the flames were actually healing his wounds! Hidden by the smoke and flames, he stopped screaming in the odd tongue, and played dead.
Minutes later, the thugs had left, and while still dazed, confused, and very very nude, Krokod ran with a speed he's never achieved before any time of his life.
Age: 19 (A week ago)
His cousin, Meralda certainly had done well, and she'd insisted he come to Westcrown to join him. She'd heard of his new 'gifts', and while it made some kin nervous, it would make him all the more in demand in Cheliax.
And perhaps, he could learn more of his new nature in such a land. It would give him a new chance to hone his talent, and maybe, just maybe, he could placate the fires that still spoke to him in his dreams with sizzling whispers and bright secrets.
Just stay away from married women, Krokod He warned himself, The next fellow is likely to drown you, and I don't think we'll have the next element be nearly so merciful.
Reasons for Resentment:
"Mind your tone, foreigner," The guardman snapped, "It's not a priority. We have true Cheliaxians who need us. Famous as she was, your cousin isn't a priority."
"She was murdered, aren't you curious about that sort of thing?" Krokod had trouble not being sarcastic.
"Probably a burglary gone wrong," Another guard shrugged.
"None of her items were stolen." Krokod reminded. At least none that he knew of. What kind of burglar left that much gold around?
"Okay, VERY wrong then," The same guard shrugged, "What do you care? You're a richer man for her death."
"Yeah, in fact, if we keep pursuing this," the first guardsman grinned a bit, "YOU might be a suspect." His smile vanished, "I suggest you drop it."
Krokod's mouth tightened, and he realized he couldn't understand them anymore. He'd grown so angry the firetongue was upon him again. Instead, he held up his hands in an 'you win' sign, and walked away.
Damn Westcrown and the powers that move in it! He thought.