The Charitable Barbarian: a story of Vendragar

April 5, 2020

Vendragar the Bald in

“The Charitable Barbarian”

Vendragar takes a large swig of his ale, staring down at the villager sat opposite him as he wipes the froth from his mustache. The Tavern was unusually empty, but the few lucky patrons around couldn’t help but look over to Vendragar’s table, muttering to one another.

Vendragar was considerably larger in frame than the villager before him. Meaty pecs, slight muscle-belly, humongous thighs and plenty of arm muscle. Not to mention a beard and package that would make any wannabe warrior jealous. Vendragar knew he looked good, why cover up that perfectly hairy frame with some clothing or armour? After all, It was the way of the barbarian, and Vendragar swore by it.

“So. You are needing my assistance, no?”

Vendragar’s voice was a thick accented baritone, he rubs his beard as he awaits a response from the intimidated Villager.

“If you would be so kind. The Goblin Clans have been invading our village, stealing our crops and livestock We don’t have a lot of money, but we can try and reward you the best we can”

Vendragar laughs, a loud, hearty laugh, patting his belly as he does so, leaning back in his chair. The Villager looks disheartened, until Vendragar leans forwards again, a smile on his bearded face.

“No need for pay. Only payment needed is more ale and night with strongest village men. Vendragar promise Goblins will cause no more harm. Do we have agreement?”

Vendragar holds out a meaty, slightly dirty hand. It looked rough, clearly Vendragar had been doing this for years. The Villager is a bit thrown off by this agreement, but reaches out his hand regardless, shaking on it. His hand is miniscule compared to Vendragar’s thick digits.

“We do… Are you certain that is all you want?”

Vendragar brings a finger to the Villager’s lips. The Villager shivers slightly, a small blush emerging on their cheeks.

“Hush now. Vendragar take care of things.”

Vendragar and the Villager. — "Hush now. Vendragar take care of things."

Vendragar stands, finishing off his flagon of ale, belching loudly before slamming the flagon down on the table. He then adjusts his loincloth, itching his crotch as he does so, only adding to the villager’s flustered blushing. Finally, he grabs an axe from below the table, raising it to the ceiling as he addresses the room, his deep, growling voice grabbing everyone’s attention, flexing with his spare arm.

“Vendragar the Crusher shall strike fear into Goblin Clans! My axe will bring villagers peace! To battle is to live! HYRAAAAAH!”

Vendragar charges out of the tavern, gripping his axe firmly, a grin on his face. The Tavern patrons cheer for him, raising their flagons. His vibrant vitality was infectious, hard for it not to be, given just how ruggedly handsome he was.

Vendragar stops his charge once he is out the village. He grins, bald, shaven head glistening with his sweat as he looks to the horizon. He never admitted it, but the theatrics he put on for the villagers was his favourite part. He enjoyed the attention, and the guys that flocked to him for it. He was already aching to have his pecs rubbed. Vendragar sighs, shaking his head as he stopped his daydreaming. There were Goblins to deal with, after all.

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