Arthur Blendlock

fighter, lover of men, has a sweet 'stache




The Blendlocks are an old family sent from Vastlund two centuries ago to aid in subjugating the people and land of Maroester. Their colors are blue and green and the coat of arms is a blue hawk in flight clutching fistfuls of arrows on a green field. At the time the Maroester posting was seen as a disgrace — the Blendlocks had openly questioned one of the Emperor’s decisions and in punishment, the Emperor took their land in Vaslund and bequeathed them land in Maroester, land they had to go pacify themselves — but over time, new generations of Blendlocks came to love Maroester and their life there. Now Lord Herbert Blendlock has allied himself with our patron Dupree in trying to repair the damage to Maroester caused by the dragon that killed the old regent.
Arthur Blendlock is the eldest male child (he has an older sister named Petunia) and as such is the primary heir to the Blendlock title. However, Arthur isn’t much interested in land or responsibility; he’s way more into boys. From the stable hands with sweat glistening on their bulging muscles as they fork hay to the shy young men in the chapel choir with their ethereal voices, Arthur loves them all. And he isn’t quiet in letting people know how much he loves them. Strangely, this has not endeared him to his family. While Arthur has only slept with a couple handfuls of men, he has very vocally ogled many hundreds more, embarrassing his parents to no end who would much prefer him to behave with some modicum of decorum and to court women. His brash approach to homosexuality and his cocksure (pun!) attitude has won him few friends in Maroester’s aristocratic society. Things finally came to a head recently when, upon meeting the 18 year-old son of another noble at a ball, Arthur loudly proclaimed, “damn, you have a supple ass! I want to fill it with my man-cream.”
A short time later Arthur found himself commissioned out in one of Dupree’s new teams of explorers/problem solvers. Herbert hopes to Deim that the posting will a) knock some kind of civility into Arthur, b) get Arthur out of the family’s collective hair for a while, and c) if all else fails, get him killed so that Arthur’s younger and more respectable brother William becomes the heir. None of the Blendlocks actively hate Arthur, but none of them enjoy his irresponsibility either. A small tiny part of each of their hearts would likely break if he were to die on assignment, but being enlisted into Dupree’s peacekeeping squads is seen as the best hope of redeeming someone who may be irredeemable.
Not that any of them reasonably expect Arthur to get killed: he’s a strapping young buck who has always been better with a sword than with a book. He grew up wrestling the stable boys (heyoo!) and swinging around a glaive (he’s fond of many sorts of polearms). Arthur has no problem breaking bones in some people and giving the bone to others. He’s not interested in picking fights — he thinks of himself as a lover rather than a fighter — but he has no problem finishing them. No, Arthur’s almost a pacifist, a love-and-let-love kinda guy who loves telling people how much he wants to jerk off that journeyman blacksmith in the bathhouse. But if there’s no love around, Arthur’s prepared to knock some heads.
One last thing: perhaps Arthur’s biggest pride and joy is his luxurious, bushy mustache. It’s full and bristly and has made many a young man swoon. It’s good for stroking when being thoughtful, like when he’s considering whether or not to hit on that deputy or his partner or both of them at the same time. It’s also good for, er… other things this narrator is too delicate to describe. Sexy things. Suffice it to say, it brings the gents to the yard. Arthur has left behind many partners in his wake who still pine for his sweet, sweet ’stache.

Arthur Blendlock

Molten Throne kamquatkruiser