Some would say this changeling is half fool, half genius, with one foot in the grave. Ok, well, actually only one person would say that: Ixblud, the 15 foot tall, balor demon prince that Quibs happened upon in a demon cult’s basement.
If someone asked this skaldic bard how that happened, he would tell them it was a fantastically funny story. He would probably also insist on getting them drunk, and stealing their coin purse in their inhibited state just for asking.
However it is a rather funny story, one that he is rather embarrassed about. Quibs grew up one of the poorest lots. He was raised by an orphanage in the grand city of Bindor… Or Lindor… Or was it Rindor? Quibs is a changeling, and after many pints of ale he could tell you. But there they treated him badly because of his race. He wasn’t allowed any of the grand niceties they had in the city. And he swore one day he’d be the one to relieve all such people of their niceties if they behaved poorly. Evilly, snobbishly, or rudely also counted.
So Quibs found himself to be a treasure hunter. A thief mostly, but he could get to something big and precious if there was money in it. The last treasure dive was a whisper on the wind: a dagger whose tip could pick any lock, or pierce any armor. He was kind of hoping it did both and not just one or the other.
After years of impersonating eladrin officials, eladrin barmaids, and eladrin street vendors, he finally infiltrated the secret cult of Ixblud the Smashfacer, a working title that Quibs had given him.
This lowly treasure hunter had assumed the form of an Elvish-speaking tiefling after hearing from a source that the cult was looking for recruits that could speak primordial. After several small quests that mostly involved gathering food or sacrificial blood, he was allowed to move into the cult’s safehouse. It was only after about 3 days that Quibs used his partially drawn map to infiltrate every room of the safehouse, slitting every throat of every member of the organization. Once in the basement, he was able to walk right up to the arch lector of the cult and stab him in the back to make his way to the treasure room that he had been forbidden to enter. The dagger would finally be his.
But instead, as fate would play jokes, Ixblud himself was actually waiting for him, summoned by the gross death of his followers. Let it be known that in the presence of a 15 foot balor, Quibs did not soil himself. He did however stamp his feet and curse as a child throwing a tantrum not getting what he wanted.
Ixblud saw through Quibs’ tiefling form easily. It wasn’t really hard, he couldn’t even speak primordial. He had gotten by with “hi”, “yes”, and “All haul Ixblud!” which sounds remarkably similar to “All hail Ixblud!” in primordial.
For his cunning, guile, and sheer ruthlessness, Ixblud spared the changeling’s life….. To be his personal dretch herder. And after a few short weeks of hot and smelly work, Quibs lied, cheated, and stole to get his hands on a freighter full of dretches meant for Ixblud’s demonic horde. Some might call him a fool. Quibs was no pilot. Some might call him a genius. He was able to make his way through a planar portal in a storm and crash the ship without killing himself or his stolen demons. But whatever anybody says about Quibs will have to wait until after he survives this adventure. Incredible adventurers can’t die unknown, after all. And if Quibs has anything to say about it, he’ll be known for driving a legendary dagger through the heart of a demon prince.
