Biography: Glabberclap T. Hardbucket (Patreon)

Descended from a long line of famous arsonist pyromaniacs, Glabberclap T. Hardbucket had a lot to live up to. Practically from the moment that he developed the fine motor skills needed to light a match, Glabberclap’s parents, Snodgrass and Ezekelberg Hardbucket, trained him in the ways of, you know, blowing stuff up. There was one problem: Glabberclap didn’t really have the talent for arson.

He put in the effort, spending hours and hours at work in his parents’ alchemist’s lab, but he just didn’t have the fierce intelligence needed to master the alchemical techniques required to fashion seriously explosive bombs. To make matters worse, Glabberclap just couldn’t seem to summon the pure glee that flashed across his parents’ eyes when they torched the house of a particularly oppressive noble; couldn’t match the trancelike fascination required to stare at a hungry, flickering flame for hours on end; couldn’t locate the frenzied focus that always seemed to heighten his parents’ aim when they let loose their bombs, each topspin lob rotating towards its target with a perfect precision and menace. Glabberclap just didn’t have the heart of a true pyromaniac.

But one thing did bring him joy: whittling. From early on, Glabberclap delighted in carving small gamepieces, dollhouse furniture and little wooden trinkets. He wasn’t particularly skilled at this, either, but absent parental expectations, he produced lopsided miniature armoires and asymmetrical chess pieces as often as he could, which, given the paucity of un-scorched wood available in a house full of pyromaniacs, wasn’t that often. His parents discouraged these small acts of creativity, urging Glabberclap towards the true artistic pursuit: mayhem.

In an attempt to win his parents’ favor and give himself a leg up on their skill, he found an old technique in one of their books, an instruction guide with which to grow a vestigial third arm. Glabberclap threw himself at the endeavor, and emerged from his room days later with a third arm growing from the side of his test. His parents, deeply unnerved but appreciative of the dedication, were delighted. And Glabberclap’s skills did improve, at least for a little while. But then Glabberclap began to suspect that this third arm, which seemed to operate independently of his thoughts and had on more than one occasion tried to strangle Glabberclap while he slept, was possessed. And Glabberclap soon became very afraid of what the arm would do, and he began shirking his arsonist chores.

And so it went that even the idealistic Hardbuckets had to face reality, and shifted the focus of their training to Glabberclap’s younger brother and sister, Alphonse and Chicohilda, both beneficiaries of the Hardbucket genes and budding engines of destruction themselves. Glabberclap secretly rejoiced at being passed over, and struck out into the world to make his name as a true craftsman.

But Glabberclap’s apprenticeships didn’t seem to improve his whittling skills, and his third arm had a habit of sabotaging the pieces that didn’t meet its exacting standards. Finding whittling work became all but impossible, and Glabberclap ultimately concluded that, to eat, he would have to ply the trade that he had been trained in since toddler-hood: arson. He presented himself and his explosive devices to the local chapter of the Pathfinder Society, and began his new life as a mercenary for hire, in hopes that he might discover a truer, more peaceful calling somewhere along the way.