Raeshard, Marco's gy-eil-rams*, poked fun at Marco saying, "Look at the lagaer**. He thinks he is Cochiso!"
Marco's Muraduera***, they decided only a couple of mugs of figora^ bradies ago, burst into laughter.
"Haw-ha, if Cochiso was better at butchering he would not have been skewered by ." Marco finishes his boast and continue with a toast, "To Cochiso, a better cook would not have turned himself into a fillet! Cochiso, wish you were here to cook this filthy thing!"
"Cochiso!"
The cheer died down for a bit as Marco continue to cook the fatty juicy thing. Around the mouth, the tentacles were starting to crisp and beak was showing some char. The fat sizzled with salt and other seasonings Marco or his group found. Marco could not bring to mind the specific name of the beast they are cooking. He knew by the grain and color of the meat, the amount of fat between muscle and skin, and the smell after butching how and what to use to bring the best flavors forward and send other unsavory flavors to the back.
If the world was kinder to his kin and kind, Marco would work in a kitchen. His dream was not far from most boltain^^ wanting no more than to enjoy life with drink, food and friends. Though he would make a great lagaer in the greatest kitchen, Marco's greatest gift is to stay present with the task at hand. If his blade requires him to make death or food. If his hand requires him to steal or welcome. If his mind requires him to be serious or jovial.
Marco was ever present to the way his people were treated. Their lives were nothing north of the Blood Straight. The Cross Kingdom and others with power look at them as labour, murders and criminals. Boltian are expendable and replaceable. Things to be put to death.
On the Green Isle, he could not say things were perfect yet a gybolt like himself could a happy and content life. From the king to the common, each understood their roll and the fluidity that life is and holds us too. Each city-state supporting themselves and the prosperity of the continent. The Litany of Monwelt Hasaw**** comes to mind.
Marco remembers how his family was proud to send him off when he was young to defend the Blood Coast Settlements, northwest of Green Isle across the Blood Straight. He needed to live 2 years then entry into the legear apprenticeship was guaranteed. An easy tour for most in the last forty years. Of course he would be there to when the Cross Kingdom broke the peace, trying to rekindled the Long War.
"Jolae! Wake up figora, you are not dead! You live and we gybolts save you!" Raeshard says jocularly, "Strange as that maybe for you! It strange for me too! Ha ha!"
Marco looks up as the dwarf with broken jaw tries to say to the gybolt, "It is strange for me to feel so much pain that I cannot smash your pointy nose into your own butthole!"
"Jolae! I love this figora! So much passion for violence! Hard to understand, yet I understand he likes butthole!"
The group laughs, yelling, "Butthole!"
Marco chuckles to himself as he starts up batter for the cornmeal pancakes. While cracking eggs and measuring dry ingredients. He watches a gybolt wraps his long fingers roughly around the dwarf's head then kisses the brow of the dwarf and let's go wildly let's go. Marco sees the sharp pain that causes the dwarf. Marco focus on the meal and knows the figora is tough and a gybolt's kiss is nothing to what broke then dwarfs jaw.
Again, the group laughs. The dwarf tied to chair winces as he straightens himself. The dwarf knows it's more to keep him upright to drink and eat with them then to keep him as a captive. They keep forcing more drink in his cup and in his mouth since he was found in the same room as the thing they are cooking. He admits to himself that the suprise hospitality of these gybolts is much better then what was intended for him this evening.
Gundren, from far from the others hears a gybolt say, "Look a figora, ah...dwarf. You dwarfs all no each other, no?"
The dwarf then hears the sound of nails clapping against stone coming toward him. Quickly surprised by the feeling and sound wet licks directly in his ear. After thinking he was about to experience the pleasure of being eaten alive again tonight, all he heards is stead panting.
"Gundren?" A voice said over the gybolts celebrating. It was deep as a stone well. In Gundren's mind, he figured he was projecting the voice to sooth himself.
"It's Gundren!?" Another voice said sounding of a sunlit forest breeze.
Gundren slowly turnes his head sideways managing to see only light and dark blurs, finally making out four different height figures near him. He could not recognize the new voices at first. His vision was blurry before drinking and his people's brandy was making it far worse. Yet the dulling of his senses was well worth the dulling pain from the beatings, torture and gybolt cheers.
The familiarity layed in the tip of his tongue. He sees a lantern swing in his face then the light steadies as it is set on the table. Blinded, he feels fingers on his face as he is hugged around his head and held against a chest dressed in well-made fabric. The hug feels of home and family, the fingers on his face brought him to is youth. Specialty of a cousin that found it hilarious to wake his family's guest with prolonged finger pokes to the cheek then running slowly away once the guest was roused awake.
"Gundren, it's Austri. Austri Frosti, your cousin."
Gundren then feels a flash of happiness, embarrassmemt and acute consciousness. He wipes the dry blood and wet drool from is lips. His best attempt of being presentable and regaining a feeling of status above his cousin as the smart leader and business magnate of their family's company.
Gundren breathing in deep, pushing Austri away and holding up his fist at right angle to his shoulder in Hillrocker salute says, "As expenditionary leader of the Hillrocker Family Combine, get me to Echo Wave Cave!"
Gundren then sees black. Austri and Loxly see their friend and employer in need of proper rest and healing. Prince Lecham and gybolts see the hilarity of the figora's head suddenly hitting the aged hardwood table with a echoing crack. Gundren'n head spilling drink, now pouring on to the stone below, and sending fritters to the floor. Wolfenstein uninterested before, sees a meal within her reach. The wolf gobbles and laps up the mess before any other creature can enjoy it.
Marco baring witness, enjoys the antics of his friends and allies. Finished with the meal and preparing wooden plates he asks, "Aw haw-haw! Now that our entertainment is complete. Grab a plate and food to eat! After discussion about our joint future, yah?"
The last part directed at Loxly, Austri, and Lecham. Austri replies, "Oh dear, this Glick looks delectable, well seared and medium rare! A real treat. Our conversation may favor you Marco if can get the piece that contains the beak and tentacles."
Marco, finally recalls the name of the beast, "Aw haw-haw, I knew it, glick! Staple or delicacy for your people?"
Face down on the table, Gundren yells, "Stop talking about the glick that way. It was going to eat me!"
--------- Results ----------
Gundren Rockseeker
- Knows the way to Echo Wave Cave.
- Tells you Worra helped kept him alive, King Saroeun wants to kill him almost immediately.
- The owlbear broke his jaw while nearly choking the beast to death with his chains. He was found underneath the unconscious owlbear. In anger, King Saroeun had him feed to the glick four days ago against Worra wishes.
- Does not know where his map is. Suggests Worra or King Saroeun has it.
Gundren Rockseeker
Race: Hill Dwarf
Gender: Male
Height: 4ft 7′
Age: 113
Class: Bard (Guild Merchant)
STAT BLOCK
AC 11, Hp 32, Proficiency +2, Speed 25ft
Alignment: Neutral
Languages: Common, Dwarven, Gnomish,
Ability Scores:
Str 16 (+3) Dex 10 (+0) Con 15 (+2)
Int 12 (+1) Wis 8 (-1) Cha 15 (+2)
Multiple Attacks: Handaxe (+5 to hit, 1d6+3 slashing damage)
Spellcasting: 1st level Bard, spellcasting ability is Charisma (spell save DC 12, to hit with spell attacks +4)
Spells:
Cantrips (at will): Mending, Prestidigitation,
1st level (2 slots): Comprehend Languages, Cure Wounds, Detect Magic, Sleep
Skills: Athletics, Deception, History, Insight, Persuasion,
Equipment: Handaxe, A diplomats pack, Jeweler's Loupe, Leather armour under baggy clothes, Letter of introduction from his guild, 12gp, 20sp, 9cp,
Racial Traits: Darkvision (60ft / 18m / 12sqr), Dwarven Resilience, Dwarven Resilience, Stonecunning
Class Features: Spellcasting, Bardic inspiration (d6)
^figora, boltian for dwarf, an insult and commonly used throughout boltian societies.
^^Boltian, combined name of all gybolts, dibolts, and orbolts.
*Gy-eil-rams, man at arms,
**Lagaer, chief, outdated term for king or ruler. Used in boltian kitchen as lead cook.
***Muroduera, Marauder, small bands of 15 to 25 boltian that pillage and plunder for the good of their city-state and nobles. Specialty when the group is focused against interest, treasure or goods of higora (humans), figora (dwarves), and sigora (elves).
****Litany of Monwelt Hasaw, "Life is not fair, life owes you nothing, life can be taken away. You can still be kind, you can still help others, you can still help yourself."
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