On page forty of every Dungeoneer Magazine and bunched up at the bottom of every yummy box of Crag ‘r Slag, is another episode of the never-ending cartoon strip saga Slag: The Little Orphan Boggart. Yes indeed, in a world of dungeons and cold steel, many a rapscallion finds the time to light his or her day with the rambunctious hijinks of Little Slag.
The basic premise follows a wiry Boggart broodling orphaned at a young age by a firebreathing dragon, accidentally awakened by the Fangburg Charity Honk-Whistle Ensemble at the Annual Feed the Elderly Parade. The town was vaporized in minutes, leaving only a few, scattered survivors (mostly children that were little enough to squeeze into soggy worm-logs). However, despite his loss, Slag dusted off his parents’ ashes, popped his gisbry cap, and embarked on a heart warming, if not shamelessly episodic, adventure through a fictionalized version of the Greater Mucklands. Over the decades, Slag has plucked at many heart strings and stirred many hornet’s nests with its sometimes controversial plotlines. Some of which include: Slag Meets a Gnome and Does Not Try to Drown It, and Slag and the Bard Write Love Songs to Fish, and of course, Slag puts a Slarmeel into Mr. Grooper’s Trousers.
Using his own life as source material, Shep Glitterbolg created the character when he was just an orphan teen, during the Great Famine of Fangburg. The strip rose to fame as it played largely on the fragilities of Boggart culture at the time. Once the famine swept the Mucklands, wiping out millions, the Boggart family structure was forever shattered. Orphans banded together into gangs, building makeshift waddlle-and-daub structures, which dotted the swamps as far as the eye could see. It was in one of these down-trodden abodes that Shep drew his first Slag cartoon in the mud with his finger. When all the other gang members burst out laughing, he knew he’d struck a chord.
These days, Slag: The Little Orphan Boggart is written and drawn by Furp Glitterbolg, Shep’s son, who has carried on the legacy of his father. When asked to comment on what this passing of the mantle has meant to him, Furp said: “Huh? Are you kidding? I don’t write that crap. I hired some worthless Boggle to ghostwrite and draw the thing, and now I’m reaping all the profits from the merchandising rights. My dad was an idiot. The real money is in the ragdolls, and the munch pails, and the limited edition commemorative spoons.”