Human Sorcerer w/Draconic Bloodline, Cousin to Ares & Daeth, Vergoldet's Grandson
In his hunt for vengeance against those who were responsible for his grandfather Vergoldet’s death, he heard of news that there was a possibility of one of the people on his list of being in Frühling Feld. This person was one of the knights who had been in the throne room and put his sword into his grandfather’s corpse. Upon reaching Frühling Feld, he realized that he was pretty much broke and would need some gold in order to further fund his endevors. The talk around town was that Wolfhard Katzmann was the person to see.
Targaryen Doombringer’s personal past isn’t that of great struggle or serious torment. Unlike his ancestors, Targaryen, or Targs as his close friends call him, had a fairly normal childhood. Well, as normal as a child who learns he is able to cast magic with dragon blood coursing through his veins.
Targ’s family didn’t always live in the quaint little village, at least not on his mother’s side. His father however grew up in the outskirts of the village. Coming from a long line of farmers and agriculturalists, Targ’s father was the youngest of 8. Knowing that he didn’t want to take orders from his older brothers on the fam for his entire life, he broke out on his own and left the family farm to go and work for a local bookstore in town. He had always loved books and reading. History was his favorite. It was his passion, one that both he and his wife shared. He ended up apprenticing for the bookstore owner, learning to mend and repair books in order to increase the value. While working there, he got to know the store owners daughter quite well. After 4 years of working at the store and spending endless nights discussing books and literature over candlelight, Targs parents were finally married. And a few years later, Targaryen Schwarz was born. You didn’t honestly think Doombringer was Targ’s actual last name did you? More on that later.
Targs grew up crawling and walking through the stores bookshelves. His parents and grandparents shared a small apartment that was built above the family’s bookstore called Black Books. He loved the bookstore. Helping his parents and grandparents do all sorts of things in the store. One of his favorite things to do, when his elders let him, was to sit and listen quietly and intently to the Sorcerers and Wizards that would come into the store to read, study, and discuss the many aspects of the arcane. Hundreds of fascinating stories and tales of adventures that these magic users have been on. Encounters of traveling with brave companies rescuing cities in distress, historic tales of battles both won and lost. Tales of extraordinary magic and sorcery. He loved these stories, and often sought out books in the store for these types of tales and any bit of arcane knowledge he could get his hands on. To this day, he still searches for ways of learning as much as he can. But he also loved hearing stories from his parents and grandparents.
His mother and father would often recite stories from memory to young Targs. They knew most of them by heart. His parents would often get into a fight about who would start telling the story. Usually his mother would win and the arguments were probably just as entertaining to Targs as the stories were. Even though he loved these bedtime stories, nothing compared to listening to a story from his Grandfather Gorbash. He had a way of telling a story as if he was actually there and made you feel like you were viewing the events with him as they were happening right in front of him. His favorite story to tell him was a story about a princess and a dragon, even if it didn’t have the happiest of endings. The story goes something like this:
Targs always felt so sad for Vergoldet, and hated the Queen, Verraten, and his people for turning on him just because he was a dragon. He felt that even though he was shapeshifted, that the good that he did for the people outweighed any bad that being a dragon could bring, and that lying to the people was acceptable. This story left a permanent imprint on Targs growing up. He felt that lying was a necessary evil, that sometimes to tell a lie to save someone from pain was ok to do. That the ends always justified the means. He always wished he could have stopped the people, talked to them. Make them see that Vergoldet was good.
One afternoon Targs was sitting on a footstool by the fireplace next to a couple of armchairs occupied by a some old men. One of the men he knew from the town and frequented the bookstore often. But he didn’t recognize the other and this excited him. He was always eager to hear new stories or new versions of a story he already knew. This new person really intrigued Targs. His face wasn’t kind and gentle like his Grandfathers. It was very coarse and rough like the side of his Uncles farm house. But he was also different in another way. He looked human, but not quite human, and he sort of looked like some of the pictures of Orcs from his books. And it wasn’t just his looks, but he sounded like a toad when he talked. Targs didn’t chime in at first, he waited to hear what the two men wanted to discuss before he began his questions, and of course he saved his favorite for last.
“So what do you know about Nebligen Bergen and King Vergoldet!” Targs asked, barely able to contain his excitement, “I love that story.”
“Ah so do I my lad, so do I.” the frog throat man said. “See I’m actually from Steinhaufen, the capital of Nebligen Bergen! I know all about the traitorous beast Vergoldet and how the great King Verraten and Queen Luder managed to kill the vile creature. In fact, I bet I know more about it than anyone you have heard the tale from.”
Targs was taken aback. He had never heard of anyone speak about Vergoldet this way. He managed to get out a “Sure” loud enough for the frog throat man to hear.
“Well, for starters I have some first hand knowledge of what happened the day they brought down Vergoldet.” the frog voiced man said. “My father was a member of the royal guard and in the throne room. He was one of the men that surrounded the creature and helped bring him down, thrusting his sword deep into one of the dragon king’s legs. He told me it was a true crippling blow, which allowed the now King Verraten to strike the killing blow through its eye. Our great queen tho, a true beauty and brave as any knight there has ever been, was the one to strike first, my father was amazed at how she struck so viciously. I can not blame her tho, being tricked by a bloody dragon and forced to bear that creatures children.”