Isumbras Dogberry

Bard, lover of the drink, entitled, but likable

Description:
Bio:
Rob a wealthy nobleman they said. They’ll never notice an ancient magic tome missing they said. Why did I listen to those dolts? My cousins, Fortinbras and Goodfellow, those mangy dimwitted slugs; led me to my current predicament. My family, for some time, has been attempting to purchase the freedom of our relatives from various human noble houses within the city. For the most part, we rely on the wealth of my former great-grandfather, Wilberforce, to accomplish our aims. But being the entitled drinkers that we are… we kind of spent most of it at the taverns and on trinkets (also my dog, Ambrosius.)

Naturally fearing the worst for our family as well as our pride, my cousins and I started searching for a quick way get our fortune back. While performing my famous tale of Sir Dydimus and the Bog of Eternal Stench on busy street corner (making a fair sum for my potent skills) my loutish cousins interrupted and told me of how we were to make our fortune. “My brilliant and talented cousin Isumbras”, Fortinbras shouted (brilliance added for truth mind you.) “We have found the means for recouping our losses; the cause of which were completely that of my and Goodfellow’s fault.” At this point I excused myself from the enamored audience so we could speak privately in the alleyway. “We have been asked to perform for a wealthy nobleman this evening.”

“Wonderful, who contacted you and what are we to perform?”

“Some scary-looking gentleman in a black cloak and covered face asked us to entertain his lord with our juggling and dirt-eating,” Goodfellow mumbled (He doesn’t actually eat dirt during our performances, that comes after the celebratory drinks). “Oh, also, we’re to steal some ancient tome worth uncountable fortunes and give it to him tomorrow.”

“I see, and how are we to trust this scary gentleman? What’s in the tome? How is our safety to be guaranteed? Why are you two so willingly walking into a trap? When was the last time someone told you your brains functioned no better than a squash?” They shrugged their shoulders.

“Just now,” said Fortinbras.

Seeing as how we had few options, I went along with this idiotic plan. I started the show with my famous performance of The 10th Doctor and his Majestic Hair. It went swimmingly. The nobleman and his guests were awestruck at my cadence, the diction, the proper pronunciations of foreign words such as Dalek and Cyberman. When it ended, tears stood ready to break into streams that would drown a decent-sized rat. After receiving my deserved praise, I introduced my two cousins and their more jovial acts that would keep the guests entertained while they fed. I made my way through the halls as my cousins had been informed; slinking behind curtains and dodging the staff who would certainly question why I was not back in the dining hall.

When I came to the basement room, the door had been left unlocked (presumably by our benefactor). The tome seemed normal. Leather binding, gilded edges, weird signs and faces on the front. Oh there was also some unnatural wailing followed by whispers in an ancient dead language. Having told the book to keep it down, I wrapped it in a bag and placed in in the rubbish bins.

Having collected the tome on our way from the house, (Goodfellow drew the short straw for rubbish rummaging), we examined it more closely until it began to wail again; Fortinbras screamed like a girl and we ran back to the inn.

The next evening, we met the scary-man but this time he didn’t wear a mask and he wasn’t that scary. It turns out that the nobleman had us steal his own tome so he could use it as an excuse to raid his enemy’s house or something; I wasn’t really listening. The man had no sense of timing and his emotions seemed force. When he was done droning on, two men appeared beside him and they came at us with clubs and knives. Well they weren’t too careful considering I was holding an ancient tome and the moron put a knife right into the binding. At least if it was a normal tome it would have gone through, but this tome shrieked and incinerated the man on the spot. The fighting stopped, the nobleman wet himself, I wet myself, we all wet ourselves. I tried to throw the tome but the stupid thing clung to my hand as we all ran from the ash pile.

So that’s where we are now. My cousins packed up the wagon and headed back to our small village; heaven knows I can’t take it back home and endanger my family. I’m asking you to help me figure out why I can’t get rid of this tome.

Isumbras Dogberry

Council of Thieves Grahamunculus