“He stared into the unblinking pool of beer dregs, a circle of answerless liquid at the bottom of his towering glass. Why? He wondered, pressing a hand to his dueling scar. He let his mind drift back to that fateful day, when his father had denied him, Lord of Arcane Lightning, his dearest wish.
A single tear traveled down his cheek, mingling with his near-finished beverage. Yes, nearly finished, just as he was. For, Thogerothnar, King of the Underworld, in a delicious twist of irony, was dying. His days were numbered, as the genetic predisposition towards drinking snake venom took its toll.
A sob broke from him, as he considered the implications this would have upon his twenty year-old marriage, and his beloved son, Vernon.
Oh beloved child, Vernon! Named for himself, and his father, and his father’s father, stretching back for twenty-two and a half generations. For his father, as you could see from the cant of his head, the gentle lisp that cloaked his words in the velvet blanket of defect, his father had been inbred.
He took a sip of beer, letting the bitter brown slide, of its own accord, down his parched throat.
Yes, bitter ale. Just as bitterness consumed him. From the moment he had fled the training grounds of Tython, hand-in-hand with his bride-to-be, when he had cast off the Jedi’s cruel, unrelenting teachings — Thogerothnar, Lord of Lightning Moste Arcane, had been born.
And Lord Thogerothnar was not a pleasant man. Although sugar-water did, in fact, flow through his veins in lieu of blood, the result of a plasma transfer gone terribly wrong, seven years prior to this day.
This day! Ah, this accursed day. Thogerothnar, Lord of the Underworld, hurled his glass across the bar, where it shattered over the head of a sloppy-mannered green Twi’lek. The shards flew everywhere. A tiny sliver of glass spun through the air, directly for Thogerothnar’s shining (half-purple, half-aqua) eye. He turned to stare at the audacious speck, head-on (for Thogerothnar was no man to turn from a challenge) and used his time-stoppage to freeze the glass shard’s passage. It hovered, mid-air.
He was reminded of his mother.”