Subject: All: Trollwood tales - Glorgars "the guy" Grimmnor 212 views

[Shiv]

Deep in the trollwood:


"Well, thank you for asking. I'll gladly tell my tale. And I guess I should explain this, though be prepared, it's quite dreary", Glorgar responds one evening as the party makes camp. You are in the depths of the trollwood, and your breath is steaming in the cold winter air. The sun has gone down some time ago, but you've all pushed a bit to gain a little extra ground. For now you've made camp between the halves of a enormous boulder, split in twain by some unknown force. Beneath each of the halves is enough space to crawl into, and with a bedding of pines to isolate from the cold winter earth very little heat is lost to the surrounding air. A small fire has been started as well, it's warmth contained between the two stone surfaces, keeping the party warm.

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What Glorgar is referring to with "explain this" is his forehead, having been uncovered tonight for the first time since you met him. Across his skin a large deformation could be seen, an ugly half tattoo-half scar stretching above the dwarves eyebrows. Three letters spelling the word "Gay" in common. "I've had this for way longer than I'd like to remember", he intones, his normally mirthful voice subdued, almost somber. "Got it back when I was captured by some renegade humans you see. Didn't take very well to my choice in occupation, nor my style of clothing I guess. Some people are critics through and through." He sighs theatrically.

"Anyway, I'm pretty tall for a dwarf, and truth be told, I've inherited my height from my Sylvan side, my father to be exact. My mother was a dwarf and the...ehm... communion, between the two was not entirely consensual. From what I've heard my father was a raider from somewhere inside Kathil-binas, who took it upon himself to gather resources from the nearby dwarven villages in southern Skarvidda." Glorgars voice in laconic, detached, with only a hint of acid mixed in it. He shoots an apologetic look to Bael and Nu, who sit wrapped up nearby and watching the dwarf in shock. "Nothing personal of course. I've gotten over the actions of my unknown father since then and I hold no grudges", he explains to the pair. "Anyway, I was born and raised in a small village called Tangur. Just over a hundred dwarves and me. I got picked on a lot, mostly due to my height, but also for my fascination with barber-craft and tailoring. I wasn't seen as the most upstanding dwarven male of the village I guess...", he shrugs and, as Itrav beckons him, hands the dark elf another piece of wood which is added to the hungry flames.

"My mother, may her soul burn bright, endured both trying to school me into the more manly virtues and the scorn of the village. With hindsight I've always wondered if I couldn't have been a better son. But at the time I only saw her attempts to teach me as oppressive -You know how twenty year olds are-. So as soon as I was old enough to apprentice in barber-craft I left Tangur for Viddongur, becoming one of the youngest boys to take my golden scissors at age thirty one. Once I proved my worth I was sent to Ningjorns rest to learn even more from barber-master Zvordjien. It was on route there that I was captured by the aforementioned bandits. The ones who didn't take kindly to my appearance." Glorgar scowls, muttering something in dwarven that Bnor understands is a curse directed at "Nimth and her whore children", before his visage returns to normal.

"I was kept for three weeks, I think they meant to sell me to the Salmaradim, but I managed to convince them that I was an important enough dwarf that I'd be worth more to the barbers guilds in Skarvidda than to some dark elven slavers. Of course this was after the bandits had decided to brand my forehead for my hubris of wearing color coordinated clothes and not grey and brown leathers like all the other louts", his voice is neutral at the last words, his eyes clearly staying clear of everyone's traveling gear. "Thankfully I was right. Zvordjien paid handsomely for my release, a debt I paid off only recently, and the bandits got away. I've always wondered if I should hire someone to find them, but it's all in the past now. Those men have probably moved back to Valecia and lived a few good years on the money they robbed. In any case I got away with only a "small bruise" and I've been plying my trade in or around Ningjorns rest ever since. Those few times that I have to explain it, I try to claim that my forehead is a drunken tattoo meant to say "the guy", and so far it has worked pretty well. Most people seem to assume a dwarf will do anything while drunk, even scar his own pretty skin with a rusty serrated dagger."

Glorgar finishes his story with a small joyless chuckle. Casting a glance at the surrounding party members and making a face. "Sorry. Like I said, it's terribly dreary hearing my complain about a harsh early life. Don't worry though. Right now I'm camping out under the stars, surrounded by good companions and heading off to adventure. I'm quite happy as things stand. My first thirty-five years of life were harsh, but the last six have been more then good to me. So if anyone else has a bit of story to share you are more than welcome to", he finishes with a smile.