Kamithri Ladykiller was damned tall for a kender, but nobody really minded; instead, they heaped their insults and abuse on his older, and equally tall, brother, Ophandir the
Impertinent. Both brothers were the result of their mother's indiscretions with men of taller races. Kamithri was well blessed with his mother's charms, if not her
diminutive stature, and made use of those charms as often as possible. Ophandir hated to be touched. He wasn't
misogynistic, or even particularly
misanthropic, to be honest; it was simply that he'd spent too much time around the folk in the shire not to know their intentions toward him. And the travellers he encountered at the pub were even more frightening in their intent, which usually was to put him in a dress and
rape him. It was nearly enough to make a man quit drinking. 'Nearly' being the operative word; it was very unlikely that Ophandir would be separated from his
whiskey against his will, and the more he thought about the unwashed
ruffians who regularly accosted him, the more he wanted a drink. Kamithri was never disgraced in this fashion, but as Ophandir thought more of it, Kamithri also had rippling muscles and masculine pride. Ophandir, on the other hand, was posessed of neither of these traits, thin and wan as he was; often times, folk he had not known growing up took him for a woman, as he slouched in the corner of the pub with his
psaltery, red hair spilt about his shoulders like a mess of bloody blades.
Ophandir was quite the accomplished bard, often tending toward political themes, and perhaps his talent was due to his early exposure to the scalding taunts of other folk in the shire. Either way, his wit was almost mystically caustic. Those who found themselves on the wrong side of his artistry were often examined for burns and missing pieces at the end of the performance. There was no subject too risque, no cow too sacred to escape the attention of Ophandir and the searing critique inherent in his speech. As oft despised as he was, by even his own peers, Ophandir had a grudging retinue from among the malcontent youth of the shire. He thought it sad that they hadn't the wit to be angered when he derided them. He suspected they thought he was talking about someone else. Ophandir twitted them once more from his post at the end of the bar, before he returned to his writing with a heavy heart. The adolescents of the shire were disappointing, so dull of wit and temperament that their antics did not gall the bard, or even draw his attention, more often being simplistic dramatic travesties, far beneath his notice. It made him sad. Even those halfling youths who did not want a simple life of farming and harvesting and keeping tradition lacked the perspicacity to do anything else.
It was after much consideration of his duties to family and shire, of which he at last decided he had none, that Ophandir came to the conclusion that he would be better off away from the shire, and the shire would be better away from him. Finally, much to the relief of the long term residents of the shire, Ophandir packed up his lute and a few apples and set out to offend the rest of the world.