"The Pig's Paunch, yes, what a place indeed! A boar of a time, what with all the fine lasses... I may even say I had never sausage beautiful ladies in all my days, at that Pig's Paunch!" The tavern erupted in laughter, ale spilling from nearly every wooden table that lined the walls of the bar. Those that weren't laughing simply responded with a head shake, but most were too drunk to do so.
"Vengrim the Witty, at your service!" He bows to the applause of the audience, a smug grin plastered across his face.
--
The details of Vengrim's birth are shrouded in mystery. All that is known is that it involved an unfortunate accident between nobility and a common strumpet, and that he was born somewhere outside Ustalav.
Vengrim spent most of his adolescence growing up on the streets, quickly learning the necessities of thievery. He was so skilled at quick-handedness that the women he fancied would shake his hand and quickly have the top two buttons of their blouses undone.
He took to a life of comedy; not knowing where he belonged or where he came from meant he spent much of his youth traveling from city to city, delivering joke after joke, and later washing away his emptiness with ale and spirits. Vengrim covered his anguish with humor and alcohol, his two most favorite things next to the women he would so adamantly pursue.
