Horg Strumphenleit......................................Understood to be of Germanic descent and leading exponent of the 'Sinister winds of Soth' and general good sport in the wider noble circles. Owner and proprietor of his late fathers Estate. Also holds the world record for 'the emptying of trouser parts award' (11.8 secs:) Burton upon Trent - 1877. (said to have been detected by Human ear in the neighbouring borough of Uttoxeter) Favourite to regain his crown at next summers star-studded gala.
Victor Guffelle..........................................Public Orator and private Loose Tea trader to the rich and famous. And not a man to be fed on green vegetation! Outstanding in the 'Art of the horn of doom' expo of 1882 in Derby. Though not without tendency to 'overdo' it at times..as a result, the rectally unretentive soul has endeavored to soil many a garment on his way to the successful realisation of his bizarre pastime.
Emilia Marskiddottir.......................................Icelandic beauty of Raven-haired appearance, known to frequent the Alehouses and Public Markets of middle England in search of the 'Ultimate cure for Flatulence' - not a big fan of Strumphenleits art. Indeed she is known to carry about her person a "great and all-muffling cork" with which one day is hoped will plug the infamous Horg Strumphenleits 'Ominous Organ of Odoriferousness' - once and for all!
Rand Hosenblap........................................former technical advisor to the 'Legions et Derriere cest sonorifique' and all round guttersnipe, it has to be said. But nonetheless is reputed to be a splendid 'Alto-tenor' down below where the sun doesn't shine...Conspiracies abound that Hosenblap smells blood and would stop at nothing in usurping our Hero given the opportunity.
Clara Ump...........................................Common Housemaid to the estate of Strumphenleit. And close witness to some of the most terrifying, intoxicating and truly ear-splitting 'Farting tournaments' organised at the behest of her maverick employer over the years.....Held usually at the end of each calendar month. Certainly a lady with an axe to grind, as the poor devil has endured night-terrors on a regular basis since the events of those tempestuous meetings and is presently ensconced in a religious sanatorium outside Stockport awaiting an ear/nose transplant.
Ernest Quill...........................................Local vagabond of foul repute, said to stalk the public highways and byways in the vain hope of finding a fair maiden with which to practice his first love..."Name that sphincter". A sad man really, as he was usually regarded amongst the elite when it came to roasting rectums and all things 'Borborygmic' in general, way back in the 1860's. Though now despondent and destitute, he has been spotted on occasion leafing through an old and withered copy of A.R Seymour's "Wild winds of Wotan" and would no doubt benefit from a good wash.
Cuthbert 'Thundertrumpet' Harriday.................Arch rival to our 'Hero'. Though said to share a great respect toward Herr Strumphenleit. the competitive streak of this superlative 'Speaker of all things ill' alas, provides little chance of any peace nor fresh air for the rest of us mere mortals im afraid. As the very same is planning on paying a visit this coming week to the Estate of the above - for a confrontation of such magnitude - the very garments they stand in must surely be forged of stern stuff indeed....lets see how that gripping encounter unfolds. For now though....
Prologue:
Its 1887.....Somewhere within the grounds of the magnificent Strumphenleit Estate near Chesterfield. We can hear a muffled rustling coming from outside the nearby doorway of an old and dilapidated shed next to a disused cottage, the shelter of one Ernest Quill, who has been sleeping rough there during a particularly dank and gloomy October...Quill is about to be rumbled by none other, but the proprietor of the estate and the quite anally talented Herr Horg Strumphenleit IV....
"Who goes there" exclaimed an anxious, yet booming voice...."What is the meaning of this intrusion!" an exasperated Strumphenleit cried out...
"Tis I your grace...I only seek the warmth and shelter of this humble rampart - no harm will i cause" replied the reedy, condescending tones of one Ernest Anglethorpe Quill..."I beg of you sire, to allow my weary bones the rest and sustenance they require".....
"Not a bit of it!" " I bid you farewell, my man..you will take leave of my property this instance!" demanded the Lord of the manor..."Now be off with you, before i set the dogs to your stinking hide!" Suddenly there was an almighty cataclysmic noise....a quake of such voluptitude it near shook the foundations of this old ramshackle miners cottage. After the disturbance had settled and the coast was clear....in strode triumphantly, its owner Horg Strumphenleit who trumpeted his arrival in customary fashion upon discovering the cowering tramp...."oh tis thou, toothless wonder...how your voice has changed yet your breath remains the foulest of nasal challenges" He sniped at the sight infront of his eyes...that of the backside of Quill, who had happened upon a stout table with which underneath to find cover through the duration of his terrible and highly inappropriate underpant tremor!
half expecting to see little sign left of the miserly occupant who had irked his gander. Strumphenleit crowed...."You sir! you are no more a gentleman than a common hagwit. thy infestitudal underleg parts are hereby to be referred to colloquially as the dourest 'nerillous bathchaps': and id wager that "one shudderous outbursting of such resonance from thine vessels of intestinal discharge -could evacuate even the most temperant of bellys with the ungodliest of force! You are neither pleasant to the eye nor easy on the stomach! Quite obviously you are repugnant beyond measure.....now be off with you! before i teach thee a lesson you will never forget"
solemnly the creaking rot infested door of the old shed opened and out into the dew laden woods stepped Quill, his hair and general bodily appearance far from tended...a shrill expulsion of air emanated from his tattered pantaloons...aftershocks no doubt.. "Your lordship...iam but a meagre peasant who wishes to offer my apologies and condolences for my inconvenience to your constitution!...."
"Silence!!" snapped the agitated Strumphenleit......tentatively removing the handkerchief from about his face...."run along and never return to my sight" he barked..
as off into the murky depths of the woods, Quill made good his escape...the lord and master closed the door behind him and made his way back to the comfort of the main Drawing room of the splendid Georgian manor left to him by the late and tunefully adept, Strumphenleit senior....
feel free to carry on the story
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Terrible breed for lacking the nerve to lurk up on some unsuspecting poor soul and announcing themselves with Gusto it needs to be said Baz. Quite unsuitable for this documentary...I need REAL industrial strength blurters! not 'phhhhhhhhhhhhhh-ing farters' who only stink the place out.