Gatsby Souvestre

> "Officer, it's like jazz. Pay attention to the crimes I'm *not* committing."
>
>

> - Gatsby Souvestre
>
>

### Background

Gatsby Souvestre is a tiefling author with a love of high-stakes adventure novels. Initially starting out writing short novellas is his local gazette, the fleeting fame the stories provided left him wanting more. After a wealthy uncle died under mysterious circumstances, Gatsby was able to afford to travel the country, looking for inspiration to write his first great novel. This brought him to Niqamui; accompanied by his faithful micro-pig Daisy he joined the Firebreathing Kittens Guild to search for true inspiration.

### Physical Description

Gatsby is a tiefling with pale maroon skin, mid-length ash-grey hair, purple eyes, and short, sleek horns. He tends to wear light, airy shirts and a smart, understated waistcoat. Daisy the micro-pig has a variety of different outfits depending on the weather, but is thoroughly adorable in each.

### Personality & Traits

Gatsby is inquisitive and witty, but quiet and reserved. He has a sharp tongue that often gets himself (or, more frequently, others) in trouble. He is ambitious and will happily manipulate people to make his life easier, but still wants people to be around him so they can see how charming and witty he is. Will frequently say things without thinking through the consequences.

### General Information

Birthplace: Lac du Saint Tsu, country of Albien.

Family: Francis (father), Aveline (mother), Sebastien (Brother), Nicholas (uncle, deceased).

Contacts in Niqamui:

* Archie Bolderstone, editor of the Niqamui Gazettte
* Hattie Ampersand, junior editor at Phalanx Publishing, Woolweaver Lane
* Bill "Bison" Carraway, investigative journalist and professional pain in the ass

Note: Daisy the Micro-pig acts as Gatsby's arcane focus, so all magic emanates directly from her.

### The Story Thus Far: Prologue

After leaving his hometown of Lac du Saint Tsu and years of travel, studying different cultures and customs, Gatsby realised that his writing was lacking something: heart. The adventures he wrote of, all those deadly encounters and wild characters, just didn't seem real. He resolved to find worthy adventurers to inspire his creative muscles; surely seeing others perform dangerous and deadly tasks would add that flair he was looking for?

The first town he visited, Mont du Borere, was home to the retired adventurer, Falstaff Ironbelly, famous for his defeat of the Trickster Vizzini by way of a drinking contest. After interviewing the veteran adventurer, Gatsby realised that he needed to see the old man in action... whether he was willing or not.

That night, Gatsby left bait in the woods, hoping to draw out a wolf or bear for the old-timer to fight. However, the bait attracted a giant, having come down from the mountains in search of food. After eating the bait, the giant picked up the scent of human, and wandered towards the town in search of something more sustainable to eat. Gatsby followed, curious.

As soon as the giant approached the town, the residents began screaming and barricading their doors. Only one person stood outside to defend the town: Falstaff Ironbelly, last of the *Adventurers Five*. Sword in hand and wearing nothing but his nightgown, Falstaff went toe-to-toe with the giant, swift and spry as anyone 50 years younger. Gatsby watched from a nearby rooftop, taking notes on the old man's form and attacks. *This will make a fine scene*, Gatsby thought, as Falstaff ducked under the giant's swinging arm and sliced it across the side. *I wish I could make this even more dramatic.*

Gatsby made his way to the edge of the roof, took a deep breath, and howled like a wolf. Startled, Falstaff turned, taking his eyes off the giant for a split second- enough for the giant's club to catch him round the head and send him sprawling, broken, into a nearby wall. The giant, still gravely injured, wandered back towards the mountains, while Gatsby rushed to the side of the bleeding, broken adventurer.

"What a way for an old man to go out," wheezed Falstaff, coughing up blood. "Bleeding out in my bleedin' nightgown."

"It's okay," comforted Gatsby. "I'll spread the word of your heroics. Everyone will know what you did here, and what it cost. They will remember you."

"Thank you, Gatsby. Thank you."

The light went out of the old adventurer's eyes, and he lay still.

The next day, the news spread of Falstaff's death, and, being the only one to witness and document it, Gatsby's account was the talk of the town. Suddenly everyone knew his name, were giving him presents, and showering him with praise for his writing. Naturally, he avoided mentioning in his account that he was the one who distracted Falstaff, giving the giant the opportunity to land the killing blow. That didn't matter, really. Before, Falstaff was an old, retired man. Now, he was a hero again, the saviour of Mont du Borere and slayer of the great mountain giant. And he, Gatsby, was famous. Perhaps there was a way to re-invigorate his writing career, after all.

After spending a few weeks in the town, Gatsby became bored regaling the story over and over again, and soon set out to find his next inspiration. That night, camped in the woods on the other side of town, a green light appeared in his dreams, a distant light in a sea of swirling darkness. Gatsby tried to move towards it, but the light stayed just out of reach, menacingly, as if judging him.

"Gatsby..." a voice called. The light disappeared.

"Who's there?" Gatsby murmured, still asleep.

"My name does not matter, young one," said the voice. "Only know that I'm impressed. That upstart Falstaff was far too big for his breeches, it's about time someone took him down a peg."

"But... I didn't kill him," protested Gatsby. The dream started to swirl, somehow becoming more real, more tangible.

"Oh, but you did. Don't take this the wrong way, I like your style. Get the old heroes to off themselves and then go around telling everyone about how courageous they were. It's a phenomenal trick, and I'd like to come along and help you out a bit. For a while, at least."

"How? And why?"

"Phenomenal cosmic power, my friend. Not all at first, you understand. You have to prove you deserve it. But I don't see you having a problem with that; just keep doing what you're doing and you'll do splendidly. As to the why of it all... Think of me as a lover of great literature, and I think you could be quite the talent, given the right circumstances. So, what do you say? Fame and fortune for you, some exciting reading material for me. Do we have a deal?"

Gatsby rolled in his sleep.

"Fame and fortune, I think I like the sound of that. We have a deal."

"Excellent, little one. I will see you soon, in the body I have possessed. Sleep well, for tomorrow your life changes."

The swirling void calmed, and the single green light reappeared, glowing once again in the distant vestiges of his dreamscape. *We know*, it seemed to say, before winking out of existence too.

The morning light brought Gatsby to the waking world, and with it, a strange snuffling sound. Investigating the sound, Gatsby saw, looking up at him from a tree stump, an inexplicably small pig. The pig stared at him with large golden eyes, and Gatsby felt a vast consciousness enter his own.

*Greetings, mortal,* a familiar voice said in his mind.

"It's you?" asked Gatsby incredulously. "That was real? It wasn't a dream?"

*Of course it was a dream, but why does that mean that it wasn't real too?*

"Wonderfully cryptic. While we're here, do you mind my asking why..."

*Why I'm in the body of a small pig?*

"Yes."

*It serves a number of purposes. It will allow me to stay in your company without attracting undue attention, for a start; we will be able to communicate within our minds so the façade should stand. Secondly, my previous form was frankly ridiculous. Ever since I returned to this plane, my mortal form was laughed at constantly. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be menacing when the peasants don't take you seriously?*

Gatsby looked at the micro-pig and raised an eyebrow.

*This form conveys a tactical advantage. I'm far too adorable to be suspicious.*

"Evidently so. What should I call you?"

*You may refer to me as Daisy in public. My true name is lost to the mists of time, but these past centuries I have been known as Quadracun. I'm looking to leave that name behind, so Daisy will do fine.*

"All right then, Daisy. Where should we go first?"

*Niqamui, in Drawes. I have to go pay my respects to a dear departed friend. And, should time allow, do something unspeakable on his grave. Shall we begin?*

## Adventures:

* Dudu The Pudu At The Zoo Zoo
* Pop Fiction
* Sacré Bleu, Merder Bots!
* Children of the Camp
* Sword And Granny
* The Great Bakery Fakery
* What Happens in the Forest
* What Do You Want