"Do you know? What the most humiliating profession is for a dwarven man? I was a jester-- a clown. No, not for a king. For a minor nobleman. Not even for a greater house.... My performances were always to be held in public, you see. And I was ordered to have my makeup tattooed onto my face, my beard permanently dyed with arcane oils.

I can't go anywhere without people laughing at me. My own wife. By the gods, my own wife. She couldn't take me seriously. Couldn't love me. She took my daughters and ran off with an elven man. AN ELVEN MAN!! I haven't seen them in thirty years... my own daughters. By the gods, you should have seen how they looked at me. One was embarrassed to be my child- told me right to my face 'I never want to be associated with out'. The other was afraid of me.

Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your own daughter cry in fear every time she saw you? I'm sure that's all she remembers of me, now. Fear.

They say he was killed in a highway robbery, that nobleman. The house threw me to the wayside as they tried to gather what fortunes they had left. Left me looking like this. Told me it wasn't their problem.

But I know how he truly died. Choked to death on his own blood, he did. But don't ask how I know...."

-Excerpt from an interview with Yaarl Henrickson (stage name: Bing Bong) by a travelling bard