Fabian Cocksmowth

"I'm a badass brother-fucker, motherfucker." - Fabian Cocksmowth

Description:

His rather extraordinary life began in rather ordinary circumstances. Xanadu’s father, Q’uent, was a soldier in the drowish cavalry. After a long and extremely bloody career, Q’uent fled the arid desert with his wife. They couldn’t stay amongst the nomadic dwarves for fear of being killed; they would not be accorded the opportunity Q’uent Xathura thought he deserved among the human kingdom of Mingog; they were the wrong type of elves to flee into the sylvan wilds where their fair-skinned kin resided. The only place, by default, that would have them was the forward thinking halfling nation. Having fled the blood and terror of the Underdark, the young couple did not have much to their name, save their wits. Q’uent capitalized on the Build-Your-Own-Fate attitude of the Halfling lands and quickly schemed himself a merchant cart. His draconian military mind adapted rather aptly to the swift world of mercantile.
“In business, you kill your opponents, right as rain; Only you do it with a dollar instead of a dagger,” he was fond of saying.
Obi’s parents built a humble life for themselves and decided to have the child they long denied themselves in the Underdark. Xanadu’s birth reflected his nature: easy-going and rather pleasing. Xanadu Xathura was a healthy baby boy. Xanadu’s father desired an heir to his middling mercantile throne, and decided to harden his progressively “effeminate” son by apprenticing him to a gunsmith. At the age of ten. When most children played with paper dolls and climbed trees, Xanadu fiddle-faddled with flintlocks and dabbled in explosive powders.
The gunsmith, Lewk Harrys, saw greatness in the dexterous fingers of this young drow. Xanadu’s fastidious nature, and calming sensibility seemed a natural fit for the gun-making process. Xanadu built his first pistol within two months of his apprenticeship. He was building muskets by the age of eleven.
Q’uent, however appeased by the sudden influx of wealth generated by his son, became deeply jealous. He pulled Xanadu out of the apprenticeship at the age of twelve. He forced Xanadu to learn his own trade: mercantile. Q’uent used all of Xanadu’s extra earnings to buy several more carts as well as some higher-grade gobblety-gook to sell.
It was about this time that Xanadu began to really, truly hate his father. But, instead of rebelling in the usual manner, Xanadu decided the best way to best his old man would be to master the business and out-perform his father. He began to do so, and quickly became an excellent salesman.
As a young man, Xanadu developed into a very flashy, flamboyant personality. His character quirks were forgiven by all except his father. Where the townsfolk loved to see Xanadu strolling by, his father scowled and lamented his “nancy son.” Xanadu began to become everything his father wasn’t. Where his father was cruel, Xanadu was kind; where his father raged, Xanadu expressed cool and calm; where his father was vengeful, Xanadu forgave. Xanadu longed to be a free spirit, unbound by the “rules” of what “boring people” called life. Xanadu lived to be happy, and to make others happy. He loved freely and always attempted diplomacy before violence. This attitude set him apart from most people his age. He became a personality that was larger than life, a force of nature. He was as willing to discuss athletics, and the markets, as he was to discourse on philosophy and art. Xanadu loved dance, and became one of the most sought after partners at balls and local boot-scoots alike. Tough men were said to weep at the beauty of Xanadu’s “physical story-telling,” and shrewish women’s cold nethers thawed with the rhythm of Xanadu’s hips.
At the age of 18 Xanadu met a beautiful young burlesque dancer. They became fast more-than-friends. Mariella was a beautiful human girl with long raven-black hair and eyes like pools of dew. Xanadu and Mary knew their affair could not last. They had an understanding: they were not meant to be, they were just two beautiful people easing each other’s hurt for a time. They stayed friends, long after the spark had gone out of their “agreement.” Xanadu had a few whirlwinds and crushes with both men and women over the next year or two. He found plenty of physical attraction, but could not, however he might try, find love.
Xanadu’s father, for as long as he could remember, had been afraid of death. Drow, like their elvish kin, live exceptionally long lives. The realities of constant war made a huge impact on him. He became obsessed with achieving immortality. He squirreled away money and tried every latest jar of snake-oil that came to town in hopes that one day he would find the one that gave him eternal life. His obsession with life, however, would ultimately lead to his death. No one is quite sure how or why, and no one really cared (Q’uent was not much loved in his later years, even by his wife), but one day Q’uent’s body was found in an alley, a few blocks away from his merchant cart. He clutched a small phial in his fingers, now hardened by rigor mortis. It seemed to have been a fast acting poison that systematically paralyzed all of the muscles in his body. His face was so twisted and gnarled by the immense pain he had suffered, that no one could initially identify the body. Xanadu had to be called in to positively ID the body of his father. Xanadu was 18 years old, and it was the happiest time in his life.
There are some who whispered that Xanadu’s hatred of his father, and his own alchemical know-how made a perfect motive for murder. These people are usually hushed by Xanadu’s admirers. Of course, no one really liked Q’uent, and no one was really sad to see him go.
It did not take long for Xanadu to act. He liquidated all of his father’s assets, bought out Lewk Harrys’ gun-smithy, and began his own gun-smithing business. He rechristened Harrys’ smithy, “The Boom-Boom Parlour.” He recruited smiths, a few enchanters, and even Harrys himself to begin a fledgling smithy that quickly blossomed into one of the most successful arms manufacturers in the country.
On the day after his father died, Xanadu went home and began to get rid of all of his father’s possessions. He had a team of movers take out his father’s chest of drawers, the gilt mirror on the wall, the accumulated books his father never read, and all of his father’s clothes. Whatever he couldn’t sell, he burned. He only kept one of his father’s possessions: a small book, about a hand-span long, and half as wide. It was about three fingers thick, with a heavy flap binding it shut. The flap clicked into a small lock set into the cover. There was a keyhole, but Xanadu could never find the key. The book appeared to be bound in black leather, with no designs or indications of its contents. As far as he knew, Xanadu’s father never figured out what the book was either. Xanadu kept the tome as a symbol of himself: a thing his father “owned” but never even began to understand.
People always remarked at Xanadu’s ability to quickly master just about anything he set his mind to. Xanadu, for his part, explained this (often while drunk) as the result of a brief meeting with a faerie in the woods. Apparently the faerie heard Xanadu reading aloud from a book of poetry, and was drawn to him. Xanadu swept the faerie off her feet and danced with her. They danced for hours, and, when they finished, the faerie blessed Xanadu with her fae dust. The story has grown larger and larger with each telling, and, even though most people believe it to be bullshit, everyone enjoys hearing it, as it has become one of Xanadu’s greatest (and most embellished) stories. He once told a version that spanned nearly three hours. In this version the faerie was androgynous, and the two engaged in every kind love that two humanoids can for what Xanadu could have sworn was years. Xanadu bragged that he composed the greatest piece of poetry ever heard, but promptly forgot it, due to the poem’s raw power. The faerie, however, did not forget. As Xanadu tells it, “all of its orifices wept at the power of my words, and the sadness at them being forgot.”
Meanwhile, as Xanadu’s social star began to rise, so, too, did his gun smithing business. The Boom-Boom Parlour was one of the most popular places to buy artisan fire-arms. Xanadu began nabbing contracts in Mingog, and quite a few under-the-table deals with some pirate town-ships. He left the business in the capable hands of Lewk Harrys, and set about traveling the world, selling his wares. It was not long before Xanadu was one of the most recognizable faces in the halfling nation. His self-made societal status was the subject of many tavern-talks.
When he was twenty-three, and away on business in Mingog, Xanadu had an affair with a human his own age named Hatherford. Xanadu and Hatherford got on like fire and kindling. Hatherford understood Xanadu’s free nature and loved him for it anyway. Hatherford is quiet, where Corky is boisterous. The two complement each other quite well. Xanadu has often said that Hatherford is the “ying” to his “wang.” Hatherford understands that Xanadu has a voracious physical appetite, but fully believes him when he says that, “my heart will stay with you!”
The distance has made their relationship hard, but, since Xanadu does great business with Mingogian munitions dealers, they are able to see each other regularly. Xanadu keeps Hatherford’s rather exquisitely worded letters with him at all times. Xanadu, ever too busy to read much, and having never been formally educated, deeply admires and respects Hatherford’s intellect and penchant for words.
One day, Hatherford’s family discovered the affair, and sought to immediately put an end to it. Xanadu has two strikes against him: he is male, and he is drow. Xanadu, however, is hopeful that he can win over Hatherford’s family. He has decided that the gun-empire can run itself for a time. Xanadu has decided to go out into the world and live a life of adventure, in hopes that his inevitable stardom will break down the barriers with Hatherford’s parents.
One evening, while on business in Mingog, Xanadu ran into a dwarven mad-man at a bar. The dwarf was handing out revolutionary fliers: Free the gnomes! And other such nonsense. The two quickly struck up a conversation. As they talked, Xanadu quickly became enamored of the plight of the workingman. As the hours passed, Xanadu saw himself becoming involved in this dwarf’s struggle. He made an offer: he would personally construct a shipment of rifles for the resistance. Xanadu had always wanted to belong to a cause, and to be a champion. He finally had his chance. And he was certain that his dead father would be turning over in his grave at the thought: Xanadu Xathura, Avatar of Equality!

Bio:

His rather extraordinary life began in rather ordinary circumstances. Xanadu’s father, Q’uent, was a soldier in the drowish cavalry. After a long and extremely bloody career, Q’uent fled the arid desert with his wife. They couldn’t stay amongst the nomadic dwarves for fear of being killed; they would not be accorded the opportunity Q’uent Xathura thought he deserved among the human kingdom of Mingog; they were the wrong type of elves to flee into the sylvan wilds where their fair-skinned kin resided. The only place, by default, that would have them was the forward thinking halfling nation. Having fled the blood and terror of the Underdark, the young couple did not have much to their name, save their wits. Q’uent capitalized on the Build-Your-Own-Fate attitude of the Halfling lands and quickly schemed himself a merchant cart. His draconian military mind adapted rather aptly to the swift world of mercantile.
“In business, you kill your opponents, right as rain; Only you do it with a dollar instead of a dagger,” he was fond of saying.
Obi’s parents built a humble life for themselves and decided to have the child they long denied themselves in the Underdark. Xanadu’s birth reflected his nature: easy-going and rather pleasing. Xanadu Xathura was a healthy baby boy. Xanadu’s father desired an heir to his middling mercantile throne, and decided to harden his progressively “effeminate” son by apprenticing him to a gunsmith. At the age of ten. When most children played with paper dolls and climbed trees, Xanadu fiddle-faddled with flintlocks and dabbled in explosive powders.
The gunsmith, Lewk Harrys, saw greatness in the dexterous fingers of this young drow. Xanadu’s fastidious nature, and calming sensibility seemed a natural fit for the gun-making process. Xanadu built his first pistol within two months of his apprenticeship. He was building muskets by the age of eleven.
Q’uent, however appeased by the sudden influx of wealth generated by his son, became deeply jealous. He pulled Xanadu out of the apprenticeship at the age of twelve. He forced Xanadu to learn his own trade: mercantile. Q’uent used all of Xanadu’s extra earnings to buy several more carts as well as some higher-grade gobblety-gook to sell.
It was about this time that Xanadu began to really, truly hate his father. But, instead of rebelling in the usual manner, Xanadu decided the best way to best his old man would be to master the business and out-perform his father. He began to do so, and quickly became an excellent salesman.
As a young man, Xanadu developed into a very flashy, flamboyant personality. His character quirks were forgiven by all except his father. Where the townsfolk loved to see Xanadu strolling by, his father scowled and lamented his “nancy son.” Xanadu began to become everything his father wasn’t. Where his father was cruel, Xanadu was kind; where his father raged, Xanadu expressed cool and calm; where his father was vengeful, Xanadu forgave. Xanadu longed to be a free spirit, unbound by the “rules” of what “boring people” called life. Xanadu lived to be happy, and to make others happy. He loved freely and always attempted diplomacy before violence. This attitude set him apart from most people his age. He became a personality that was larger than life, a force of nature. He was as willing to discuss athletics, and the markets, as he was to discourse on philosophy and art. Xanadu loved dance, and became one of the most sought after partners at balls and local boot-scoots alike. Tough men were said to weep at the beauty of Xanadu’s “physical story-telling,” and shrewish women’s cold nethers thawed with the rhythm of Xanadu’s hips.
At the age of 18 Xanadu met a beautiful young burlesque dancer. They became fast more-than-friends. Mariella was a beautiful human girl with long raven-black hair and eyes like pools of dew. Xanadu and Mary knew their affair could not last. They had an understanding: they were not meant to be, they were just two beautiful people easing each other’s hurt for a time. They stayed friends, long after the spark had gone out of their “agreement.” Xanadu had a few whirlwinds and crushes with both men and women over the next year or two. He found plenty of physical attraction, but could not, however he might try, find love.
Xanadu’s father, for as long as he could remember, had been afraid of death. Drow, like their elvish kin, live exceptionally long lives. The realities of constant war made a huge impact on him. He became obsessed with achieving immortality. He squirreled away money and tried every latest jar of snake-oil that came to town in hopes that one day he would find the one that gave him eternal life. His obsession with life, however, would ultimately lead to his death. No one is quite sure how or why, and no one really cared (Q’uent was not much loved in his later years, even by his wife), but one day Q’uent’s body was found in an alley, a few blocks away from his merchant cart. He clutched a small phial in his fingers, now hardened by rigor mortis. It seemed to have been a fast acting poison that systematically paralyzed all of the muscles in his body. His face was so twisted and gnarled by the immense pain he had suffered, that no one could initially identify the body. Xanadu had to be called in to positively ID the body of his father. Xanadu was 18 years old, and it was the happiest time in his life.
There are some who whispered that Xanadu’s hatred of his father, and his own alchemical know-how made a perfect motive for murder. These people are usually hushed by Xanadu’s admirers. Of course, no one really liked Q’uent, and no one was really sad to see him go.
It did not take long for Xanadu to act. He liquidated all of his father’s assets, bought out Lewk Harrys’ gun-smithy, and began his own gun-smithing business. He rechristened Harrys’ smithy, “The Boom-Boom Parlour.” He recruited smiths, a few enchanters, and even Harrys himself to begin a fledgling smithy that quickly blossomed into one of the most successful arms manufacturers in the country.
On the day after his father died, Xanadu went home and began to get rid of all of his father’s possessions. He had a team of movers take out his father’s chest of drawers, the gilt mirror on the wall, the accumulated books his father never read, and all of his father’s clothes. Whatever he couldn’t sell, he burned. He only kept one of his father’s possessions: a small book, about a hand-span long, and half as wide. It was about three fingers thick, with a heavy flap binding it shut. The flap clicked into a small lock set into the cover. There was a keyhole, but Xanadu could never find the key. The book appeared to be bound in black leather, with no designs or indications of its contents. As far as he knew, Xanadu’s father never figured out what the book was either. Xanadu kept the tome as a symbol of himself: a thing his father “owned” but never even began to understand.
People always remarked at Xanadu’s ability to quickly master just about anything he set his mind to. Xanadu, for his part, explained this (often while drunk) as the result of a brief meeting with a faerie in the woods. Apparently the faerie heard Xanadu reading aloud from a book of poetry, and was drawn to him. Xanadu swept the faerie off her feet and danced with her. They danced for hours, and, when they finished, the faerie blessed Xanadu with her fae dust. The story has grown larger and larger with each telling, and, even though most people believe it to be bullshit, everyone enjoys hearing it, as it has become one of Xanadu’s greatest (and most embellished) stories. He once told a version that spanned nearly three hours. In this version the faerie was androgynous, and the two engaged in every kind love that two humanoids can for what Xanadu could have sworn was years. Xanadu bragged that he composed the greatest piece of poetry ever heard, but promptly forgot it, due to the poem’s raw power. The faerie, however, did not forget. As Xanadu tells it, “all of its orifices wept at the power of my words, and the sadness at them being forgot.”
Meanwhile, as Xanadu’s social star began to rise, so, too, did his gun smithing business. The Boom-Boom Parlour was one of the most popular places to buy artisan fire-arms. Xanadu began nabbing contracts in Mingog, and quite a few under-the-table deals with some pirate town-ships. He left the business in the capable hands of Lewk Harrys, and set about traveling the world, selling his wares. It was not long before Xanadu was one of the most recognizable faces in the halfling nation. His self-made societal status was the subject of many tavern-talks.
When he was twenty-three, and away on business in Mingog, Xanadu had an affair with a human his own age named Hatherford. Xanadu and Hatherford got on like fire and kindling. Hatherford understood Xanadu’s free nature and loved him for it anyway. Hatherford is quiet, where Corky is boisterous. The two complement each other quite well. Xanadu has often said that Hatherford is the “ying” to his “wang.” Hatherford understands that Xanadu has a voracious physical appetite, but fully believes him when he says that, “my heart will stay with you!”
The distance has made their relationship hard, but, since Xanadu does great business with Mingogian munitions dealers, they are able to see each other regularly. Xanadu keeps Hatherford’s rather exquisitely worded letters with him at all times. Xanadu, ever too busy to read much, and having never been formally educated, deeply admires and respects Hatherford’s intellect and penchant for words.
One day, Hatherford’s family discovered the affair, and sought to immediately put an end to it. Xanadu has two strikes against him: he is male, and he is drow. Xanadu, however, is hopeful that he can win over Hatherford’s family. He has decided that the gun-empire can run itself for a time. Xanadu has decided to go out into the world and live a life of adventure, in hopes that his inevitable stardom will break down the barriers with Hatherford’s parents.
One evening, while on business in Mingog, Xanadu ran into a dwarven mad-man at a bar. The dwarf was handing out revolutionary fliers: Free the gnomes! And other such nonsense. The two quickly struck up a conversation. As they talked, Xanadu quickly became enamored of the plight of the workingman. As the hours passed, Xanadu saw himself becoming involved in this dwarf’s struggle. He made an offer: he would personally construct a shipment of rifles for the resistance. Xanadu had always wanted to belong to a cause, and to be a champion. He finally had his chance. And he was certain that his dead father would be turning over in his grave at the thought: Xanadu Xathura, Avatar of Equality!

Fabian Cocksmowth

Ianterea (Old Ones) jordanroberts87