Vandal stirs from slumber in the corner. His canine giggle dog gaze darted from well-armed adventurer to well-armed adventurer. He wandered over and lazily inspected the remaining weapons for a moment. Eventually he caught sight of what called to him most of all.

"Hehe!"

The erratic giggling dog wasted no time making his way to the bar, completely ignoring the coming brawl. A cloth wrapped, clawed fist came down upon the counter with enough force to probably get someone's attention, if they were nearby.


"MILK!!!!!"

Vandal continued to put back a flagon of milk per hour, sadly slumped at the bar. His giggles had all but become stifled nasal exhalations as his pack still slept.

"Where is my dapper singing frog?"

Without their theme song being plucked and hummed amphibiously, Vandal was lost. The fighter further reeled at the thought of a bar brawl with no battle music.

Vandal observed his high-class frog friend choose the noble barstool for what was to come. Great for a stage, sure, but also not a bad thing to hide behind when shit goes sideways. Vandal was waiting for Hustus to arrive and pick a weapon before choosing whatever was left. But after likewise taking stock of the remaining armory, he couldn't help but think...

"Froggy, as much as you know that I hate to agree with it... diplomacy might be our best bet. Use that golden voice and do the talking? Do you think they would think the bone is cool? I could pass it around."

Vandal asked with complete sincerity, referring to the latest femur he... borrowed from someone. It was one of his favorite things at the moment, and it's good to share. To even pretend to entertain a non-violent approach revealed just how drunk on milk the giggle dog must be tonight.

Vandal's giggles were back in full force today at the turn of events and at the sight of Hustus and his struggle with the long bow. So much for diplomacy.

"Hehehe, we're going to be so popular. 'Here's three arrows, now be our fucking friends.'"

The giggle dog rolled his neck with a pop and pounded a closed fist into an open palm. The weapons were gone, they were all that remained.

##Choose Fists

Dagger - Canassa
Long sword - Ahron
Short sword - Rok
Longbow - Hustus
Crossbow- Faerora
Mace - Greaseface
Glave - Calius
Falchion - Murder Bunny
Scimitar - Randall
Rapier - Lavina
Sickle - Tuuluuwaq
Shuriken - Priggat
War hammer - Khanarak
Shield - Boobarella
Quarterstaff - Malus
Spear - Ordella
Whip - Rara
Sling - Cyrillus
Wooden stool - Marnu
Fists - Vandal
None (hide) - Pastor Sandro

(Oh my god I love Marnu's supportive parents so much.)

"Marnu... and Hustus. We need a name. You two have any bright ideas?"

The fighter clapped each of them on the shoulder, nearly causing the goat to accidentally loose his arrow. His party members were much better at words. He was better at other things, like coordinating the colors white and red and casual homicide. It was imperative they made this decision, lest the troupe face this adventure known as Marnu and the Boys.

##Main Quest #2: C

"If we're not protecting the desert too I'm out."

##Sidequest #1: Keepers of the Woods

##Sidequest #2:

Vandal slept. And as he slept, he dreamed. Dreamed of his origin, conveniently enough. Loading tragedy.txt.

Ever since he was but a giggle pup, Vandal loved dearly three things - his parents, tales of adventure and milk. So it was rather fortuitous for him that his parents were world famous adventurers. They never stayed in one place for long, as adventure rarely comes to find you. After a handful of years of this arrangement, Vandal grew restless. It wasn't enough to hear tales of adventure secondhand from his parents when they would return. Not nearly enough anymore. The excitable young giggler was ready to get out there and seize the day himself.

Vandal next dreamed about the day his adventure actually began. It was early evening in some miserably arid hellscape. A sandstorm was kicking up and a frustrated giggle dog was standing outside, staring out into it as it danced through the dunes. His parents had of course forbade him from following them, as adventure was far too dangerous for him at his age. They'd promised him that he could join when he was older, but he was done waiting. Vandal wrapped a scarf around his face and full of piss and vinegar he headed out into the desert after his parents.

Vandal whimpered as his dream switched scene. A young pup wandering the sands, not entirely sure at this point if he was even walking in the right direction anymore. He just assumed that he would crest the first hill and find his parents engaged in battle with a diabolical sandworm or desert dragon. And naturally he would arrive just in time to swoop in and save the day. The beast would fall, his parents would be proud, and hopefully there would be a cool reward. He clung tight as he could to this idea as he continued through the shifting dunes.

It was quite late when he finally found them. A distressed, warbling voice drew him to the scene. The first thing he noticed was the large overturned carriage. There was a whole mess of stuff strewn about the sand. Exotic silks and other materials near literally carpeting the immediate area. Vandal couldn't even begin to imagine their worth, but he knew they were really nice. He retrieved a still burning torch from the overturned carraige and knelt down to dig through some of the fabrics. With the introduction of the torchlight, he could more clearly see the silks. And the blood on the sand, and more importantly, the wealthy, probably important body that the blood had spilled from.

The pup's confidence all but faded upon seeing the carnage, and he was suddenly very aware of the voice that called for help in the first place. Vandal slowly made his way to the front of the overturned transport. There were dead beasts laying there on their side, still harnessed to the carriage. He walked by more merchants and then the bottom fell out of his stomach. His mother was laying sprawled on the sand unmoving. He had a second to mourn before the voice addressed him directly. "YOU! Get this piece of shit off of me, help!" Vandal's eyes were drawn to a severely wounded man struggling to wiggle out from underneath another dead giggle dog.

When Vandal recognized his father, he ripped the scarf from his face to dab at his stinging eyes. Upon seeing his face, the wounded man began to laugh in disbelief. You've gotta be fucking kidding me! Another one? I took care of this trash, I'll take care of you too pipsqueak!" The man began to wildly scramble now, using his last reserves of energy. He was worming towards a rather fancy blade in the sand. Vandal found it first and saw red. "That's not true. They were heroes." And then the pup used everything he had to swing the sword one time and finish what his father had started. The origin dream ended with the man's scream.

The giggle pup emerged a giggle dog that night. He laid his parents to rest as best he could given the circumstance and then draped in reds and whites, and whatever else he wanted to take from the carriage, Vandal exited the dunes. He had found his call to adventure and was ready to face it with the ridiculous sultan scimitar he was dragging in the sand behind him. He was determined. But he had never quite realized or accepted the truth about his parents and their adventuring.

Vandal, raised by bandits. Hunter of bandits. Borrower of stolen goods.

End tragedy.txt	+
I tried to make a kid version of Vandal. I wish there was a way to change the size of the gear and helmets so he looked more "dwarfed" by the stuff. The rubber ducky is there to prove it's young Vandal.