Post by Jaz on Jan 28, 2016 21:30:13 GMT -5
DESCRIPTION:
At 3' 3" and not 40 pounds wet, he's a pint-size gnome. There's nothing puny about his nose though; it's a monumental piece of work, and his straw-like hair appears to have a mind of it's own, striking out in all directions, yet his mustache and small patch of chin hair are neatly trimmed . All this contrasts with his tanned skin, as do his aquamarine eyes that gleam brightly with excitement and mirth. He wears his leathers with a sense of style, and the intricately tooled designs bordering the seams evidence fine craftsmanship. Atop his armor he sports a fine surcoat of hunter green velvet with shiny brass buttons accented with embroidery the color of goldenrod; his loose fitting trousers are silk in the same hue as goldenrods with sky blue stripes and his soft leather boots lace up below the knee The hilt of a rapier rises above a shoulder, a six-string turtle lyra is tied to his backpack along with a hempen rope, and his shekere (a dried gourd with a net of shiny blue beads covering the bulbous end) is slung under one arm. The little fellow bows with flourish and says, "Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz at your service." Then taking note of your confusion, he adds, "But you can call me Jaz, just don't call me late for supper."
Forest Gnome Bard with Entertainment background
Personality Trait: I love a good insult, even one directed at me
Ideals: Honesty--art should reflect the soul, it should come from within and reveal who we really are.
Bonds: My "Turtle Lyra" is my most treasured possession, and it reminds me of someone I love and lost...my turtle dove.
Flaws: I have trouble keeping my feelings hidden, and my sharp tongue often lands me in trouble. It is a shame folks cannot always laugh at themselves, so limiting my humor to animals and monsters may prove safer, there is so much material to be had attacking different races. Take dwarves for instance, better yet, female dwarves. Know why dwarves die before their wives? Because they want to!
Memoir of Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz
Day 1
At 3' 3" and not 40 pounds wet, he's a pint-size gnome. There's nothing puny about his nose though; it's a monumental piece of work, and his straw-like hair appears to have a mind of it's own, striking out in all directions, yet his mustache and small patch of chin hair are neatly trimmed . All this contrasts with his tanned skin, as do his aquamarine eyes that gleam brightly with excitement and mirth. He wears his leathers with a sense of style, and the intricately tooled designs bordering the seams evidence fine craftsmanship. Atop his armor he sports a fine surcoat of hunter green velvet with shiny brass buttons accented with embroidery the color of goldenrod; his loose fitting trousers are silk in the same hue as goldenrods with sky blue stripes and his soft leather boots lace up below the knee The hilt of a rapier rises above a shoulder, a six-string turtle lyra is tied to his backpack along with a hempen rope, and his shekere (a dried gourd with a net of shiny blue beads covering the bulbous end) is slung under one arm. The little fellow bows with flourish and says, "Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz at your service." Then taking note of your confusion, he adds, "But you can call me Jaz, just don't call me late for supper."
Forest Gnome Bard with Entertainment background
Personality Trait: I love a good insult, even one directed at me
Ideals: Honesty--art should reflect the soul, it should come from within and reveal who we really are.
Bonds: My "Turtle Lyra" is my most treasured possession, and it reminds me of someone I love and lost...my turtle dove.
Flaws: I have trouble keeping my feelings hidden, and my sharp tongue often lands me in trouble. It is a shame folks cannot always laugh at themselves, so limiting my humor to animals and monsters may prove safer, there is so much material to be had attacking different races. Take dwarves for instance, better yet, female dwarves. Know why dwarves die before their wives? Because they want to!
Memoir of Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz
Day 1
Free at last! The gentle roll of the ship tells me we have hit open water, and I have officially begun my exodus to the east. There will not be much to see on this voyage, for I have secreted myself in a crate that has been stowed deep within the ship's hold. I have had a number of holes drilled in my comfy enclosure for air, and although I cannot stand up, it is plenty long enough for me to stretch out on my bedroll. The ship's quartermaster has been given salt beef and nuts with explicit instructions on the feeding and watering of the "LIVE ANIMALS" within, and he was paid handsomely. In fact, I have spent all I have on this endeavor, but for a few coins. The crate is labeled with its contents as aforesaid, along with instructions that it is to be delivered to Sir Olek of the Radiant in Mynos and "DO NOT OPEN IN THE OPEN". I have brought along extra rations and a wine skin just in case, but this voyage should only take less than a week, and I look forward to the time to work on the lyrics of my latest ballad. Prudence dictates that I not practice my lyra unfortunately. One thing that was unexpected and somewhat unsettling is that is completely dark in the ship's hold. Well, no matter, I can see well enough to jot down some lyrics.
You are likely wondering about now whether or not this author is playing with a full deck. I assure you I am, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I will expound upon that tomorrow, for now I feel the gentle roll of the ship lulling me to sleep.
Day 2
Desperate Times indeed. Gnomes had it bad in Sarolyn, where my clan was from, and notice I use the past tense. Baldwic and Celtica are just as bad. Humans hunt gnomes for sport. I never understood how it could be sporting to run down women and children on horseback to put an arrow or spear in their back. We are very good about staying hidden in the forests, but one has to be careful, and the forests are getting smaller. The Elders said they used to be twice their size just 200 years ago. Human "civilization" (do not even get me started on what constitutes being civilized--gnome heads mounted above family fireplaces, stuffed gnome sword racks... but I digress) has an insatiable appetite for wood, and humans seem to breed very effectively, like rodents in heat. No offense intended to my animal friends. In fact there seems to be quite a few of them in the hold of this ship.
One particularly vicious "Huntsman" known as Barack had been preying upon our clan for many seasons. He had probably run out of mantle and wall space, for he merely kept noses wired into a necklace as trophies or tossed them to his henchmen. I know some of those noses. Barack led the raid that decimated my clan. The forest was full of men on horseback wielding steel. It was chaos, death and destruction. My turtle dove (speaking her name is too painful) was with child, I could hear her screams, and would have dashed to certain death had not Uncle Rolouf pulled me away and forced our escape. He took an arrow in the back for his efforts. We ran for the relative safety of the mountains, and if any other of our clan survived, we never knew.
The Quartermaster never made his feeding rounds today. That is the problem with paying in advance. Humans are only second only to dwarves when it comes to motivating with gold, but one has to watch they do not get motives of their own. Alas, I could not arrange payment at the end for I am smuggled goods. He was also instructed that the "Live animals" were trained to defecate in their empty food pan, and now to think he was supposed to wash it between feedings. Oh well, these are desperate times. I managed to work on my material today, composed a ballad I call "I Shall Be Free". Not bad if I do not say so myself. There is neither dusk nor dawn in this hold, but it feels like time to rest, so I will expound on the desperate measures necessary tomorrow.
Day 3
Still no sign of the quartermaster and personal hygiene reached a critical point this morning. While I've had no problem getting "Mr. Biggy" (I did not name him, the ladies did) through an air hole to have my water clear the crate, and my new rat friends willingly obliged me by carrying away my feces, rolling it into little balls to push out the air holes is without a doubt disgusting. Regardless, allow me to explain how I arrived at my current state of affairs.
Desperate Measures. People always say my colossal nose looks just like my father's. I would not know. His remains are likely displayed in some human household. Uncle Rolouf is the only father I remember; he was my mentor, my partner...my friend. He trained me in the arts--martial and magical, and we often performed together to the delight of many a gnome. One skit the crowds always loved was our tap-dancing goblin stand-up routine. Rolouf portrayed Lennock, a hobgoblin, dimwitted and subserviant, and I was Jorge, his bossy companion. I can still hear his voice, "Aw please Jorge, tell me about the rabbits Jorge." But I am getting off track...
Rolouf devised our plan to escape to the east. It is said that humans care for their gnomes in the east, in return for the valuable services they provide their human patrons. We found refuge with a clan of rock gnomes and sought out their soothsayer. Rolouf asked this seer to identify a human in the east, one that is responsible and provides for those in his charge, a man respected and admired by others, a potential patron to protect us in the east. The seer's globe glowed with swirling colors and he spoke, "I see a man in Mynos...an association in higher circles...and a name...Olek...there's also a radiance...no it's Radiant" and the globe turned dark.
We stayed with this rock gnome clan for a fortnight until the dwarven trader, Olaf, passed through in his wagon of trade goods. Olaf traded in Rine often, and he was sympathetic to the gnomes, so it did not take too much gold to persuade him to take us there. He received half payment up front, the remainder to be collected from the elder of the gnome clan after he assisted us in the rest of our plan. Rolouf's wound had become troublesome, even with the help of the clan's healers, and it pains me to go into detail, but he succumbed to those wounds en route to Rine. Olaf helped me bury Rolouf near a spreading oak; he has returned to the forest. With his final words, he made me promise to follow through with our plan on my own and gave me his rapier, Fang, which belonged to the grandfather I never knew (another human trophy) and his father before him. Olaf happily obliged with the remainder of our plan, for now he only had to book ship passage for one crate to Mynos.
The ride has become a bit rougher today, and the waves crashing against the ship's hull are somewhat concerning. Also, my stomach's become a bit queasy, so rations are not appealing, and all the writing I have done today, lyrics and canned humor, seems to have given me a headache, so I think I will try to sleep.
Day 6? Possibly 7 or 8?
(This script is noticeably scrawled and the page has some yellowish stains) Take me now Wollom! No days, no nights, I have lost complete track of time. I just want to die! I have hurt myself with the drink before, but this is far worse--tenfold, and I have not had a drop of the spirits. The ship continues to lurch and bounce through the waves, but at least it is not so violent as to toss me about my crate as it has for days on end now. I cannot keep any food down, not even a bit of hardtack, and although I have tried to utilize the air holes, my crate now reeks of vomit. I fear I have made a grave error in judgement. Sleep has eluded me for days, but it hurts my head to sit upright, so I am forced to cut this entry short.
Day 1 A.D.
I did not die, but before this endeavor is over, I may wish I had. Despite all efforts, this crate is disgusting. I wonder if this Qlek...gosh, what do I call him? Lord Olek? Oh Illustrious One? Anyway, I wonder if he has one of those big bath houses. A steaming hot bath would feel wonderful... I wonder how many other servants he has; it would be nice if had other gnomes. I have had an epiphany; I am an orphan. I must make myself irreplaceable with this Olek the Radiant. That is it! Olek the Radiant One! I wonder what kind of music he prefers. If all else fails, laughter is the best medicine, and since I do not know his leanings towards dwarvish humor, I have been working with some animal stuff just to stay on the safe side. How about this: A pony walks into a tavern and whispers "I'll have an ale please." The barkeep asks, "Why are you whispering?" To which the pony replies, "I'm a little hoarse."
Or...A horse walks into a bar, and the barkeep asks, "Why the long face?" Or, or, here is one about a bear:
A bear walks into a tavern and orders an ale. The barkeep says, "We don't serve bears in here." Bear says, "You had better serve me an ale, or I will eat that drow at the end of the bar." There's this female drow sitting down there, blonde, attractive, a hard look about her. Barkeep says, "I told you. No beer for no bear." So, the bear goes down to the end of the bar and eats her. He places his bloody paws on the bar and asks, "Now do I get that bloody ale?" Barkeep says, "I don't serve drug addicts in here," and the bear yells, "I'm not a drug addict!" To which the barkeep replies, "I saw that barbiturate."
Day 2 A.D.
I am such a dunderhead! There has been no reason for me to live in filth. But with the excitement of heading out to see, and nearly perishing in that storm... Anyway, I completely forgot about those parlor tricks Rolouf had taught me. There is this one, "Wipe on--Wipe off", real handy...anyway, I had my fine clothes looking like new and my humble abode spic and span in two shakes of a shekere. I should practice those things, lest I forget them
DAY 3 A.D.
If I can get my foot in the door so to speak, making myself irreplaceable by keeping this Olek entertained will not be a problem. I am good at what I do, what can I say? People love me. However, ensuring my acceptance into his fine household...I wonder how big it is, could be a castle, perhaps a villa. I need to make him an offer he cannot refuse, and I will need a letter of introduction, but what is his title? It is a shame I cannot merely address such a thing to just Olek. Wait, I have got it!
Dear Olek,
If you are reading this, I have gone to that final battlefield in the heavens. You are my only living relative and heir. It is unlikely you have heard of me, for I am a distant great uncle, thrice removed, on your father's side. I headed west in my youth looking for adventure. I found that and more, but as I enter the twilight of my years, I must get my affairs in order. I hereby bequeath to you my most valuable possession, Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz, but he will respond to "Jaz."
He is a good gnome, housebroken, comes when you call, and has served me faithfully for years. He pretty much can take care of himself, just try to keep anyone from killing him. He can entertain you for years to come, along with your children, your children's children, and more. He has saved my life on more than one occasion, by watching my back so to speak. I must admit, I have become rather fond of him over the years, and I do worry for his welfare, if left to fend for himself here in the west. Please accept this gnome as my heartfelt bequest.
With fond Regard,
Rolouf, the Western Wanderer
PS He can also heel should Mynos have a leash law.
Then he retrieves a candle from his pack, snaps his fingers as he says "Flame on," and the candle ignites. He rools up the letter, drips some wax to the edge, and seals it with one his coat's brass buttons. Jaz admires his work, "Not bad if I say so myself."
You are likely wondering about now whether or not this author is playing with a full deck. I assure you I am, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I will expound upon that tomorrow, for now I feel the gentle roll of the ship lulling me to sleep.
Day 2
Desperate Times indeed. Gnomes had it bad in Sarolyn, where my clan was from, and notice I use the past tense. Baldwic and Celtica are just as bad. Humans hunt gnomes for sport. I never understood how it could be sporting to run down women and children on horseback to put an arrow or spear in their back. We are very good about staying hidden in the forests, but one has to be careful, and the forests are getting smaller. The Elders said they used to be twice their size just 200 years ago. Human "civilization" (do not even get me started on what constitutes being civilized--gnome heads mounted above family fireplaces, stuffed gnome sword racks... but I digress) has an insatiable appetite for wood, and humans seem to breed very effectively, like rodents in heat. No offense intended to my animal friends. In fact there seems to be quite a few of them in the hold of this ship.
One particularly vicious "Huntsman" known as Barack had been preying upon our clan for many seasons. He had probably run out of mantle and wall space, for he merely kept noses wired into a necklace as trophies or tossed them to his henchmen. I know some of those noses. Barack led the raid that decimated my clan. The forest was full of men on horseback wielding steel. It was chaos, death and destruction. My turtle dove (speaking her name is too painful) was with child, I could hear her screams, and would have dashed to certain death had not Uncle Rolouf pulled me away and forced our escape. He took an arrow in the back for his efforts. We ran for the relative safety of the mountains, and if any other of our clan survived, we never knew.
The Quartermaster never made his feeding rounds today. That is the problem with paying in advance. Humans are only second only to dwarves when it comes to motivating with gold, but one has to watch they do not get motives of their own. Alas, I could not arrange payment at the end for I am smuggled goods. He was also instructed that the "Live animals" were trained to defecate in their empty food pan, and now to think he was supposed to wash it between feedings. Oh well, these are desperate times. I managed to work on my material today, composed a ballad I call "I Shall Be Free". Not bad if I do not say so myself. There is neither dusk nor dawn in this hold, but it feels like time to rest, so I will expound on the desperate measures necessary tomorrow.
Day 3
Still no sign of the quartermaster and personal hygiene reached a critical point this morning. While I've had no problem getting "Mr. Biggy" (I did not name him, the ladies did) through an air hole to have my water clear the crate, and my new rat friends willingly obliged me by carrying away my feces, rolling it into little balls to push out the air holes is without a doubt disgusting. Regardless, allow me to explain how I arrived at my current state of affairs.
Desperate Measures. People always say my colossal nose looks just like my father's. I would not know. His remains are likely displayed in some human household. Uncle Rolouf is the only father I remember; he was my mentor, my partner...my friend. He trained me in the arts--martial and magical, and we often performed together to the delight of many a gnome. One skit the crowds always loved was our tap-dancing goblin stand-up routine. Rolouf portrayed Lennock, a hobgoblin, dimwitted and subserviant, and I was Jorge, his bossy companion. I can still hear his voice, "Aw please Jorge, tell me about the rabbits Jorge." But I am getting off track...
Rolouf devised our plan to escape to the east. It is said that humans care for their gnomes in the east, in return for the valuable services they provide their human patrons. We found refuge with a clan of rock gnomes and sought out their soothsayer. Rolouf asked this seer to identify a human in the east, one that is responsible and provides for those in his charge, a man respected and admired by others, a potential patron to protect us in the east. The seer's globe glowed with swirling colors and he spoke, "I see a man in Mynos...an association in higher circles...and a name...Olek...there's also a radiance...no it's Radiant" and the globe turned dark.
We stayed with this rock gnome clan for a fortnight until the dwarven trader, Olaf, passed through in his wagon of trade goods. Olaf traded in Rine often, and he was sympathetic to the gnomes, so it did not take too much gold to persuade him to take us there. He received half payment up front, the remainder to be collected from the elder of the gnome clan after he assisted us in the rest of our plan. Rolouf's wound had become troublesome, even with the help of the clan's healers, and it pains me to go into detail, but he succumbed to those wounds en route to Rine. Olaf helped me bury Rolouf near a spreading oak; he has returned to the forest. With his final words, he made me promise to follow through with our plan on my own and gave me his rapier, Fang, which belonged to the grandfather I never knew (another human trophy) and his father before him. Olaf happily obliged with the remainder of our plan, for now he only had to book ship passage for one crate to Mynos.
The ride has become a bit rougher today, and the waves crashing against the ship's hull are somewhat concerning. Also, my stomach's become a bit queasy, so rations are not appealing, and all the writing I have done today, lyrics and canned humor, seems to have given me a headache, so I think I will try to sleep.
Day 6? Possibly 7 or 8?
(This script is noticeably scrawled and the page has some yellowish stains) Take me now Wollom! No days, no nights, I have lost complete track of time. I just want to die! I have hurt myself with the drink before, but this is far worse--tenfold, and I have not had a drop of the spirits. The ship continues to lurch and bounce through the waves, but at least it is not so violent as to toss me about my crate as it has for days on end now. I cannot keep any food down, not even a bit of hardtack, and although I have tried to utilize the air holes, my crate now reeks of vomit. I fear I have made a grave error in judgement. Sleep has eluded me for days, but it hurts my head to sit upright, so I am forced to cut this entry short.
Day 1 A.D.
I did not die, but before this endeavor is over, I may wish I had. Despite all efforts, this crate is disgusting. I wonder if this Qlek...gosh, what do I call him? Lord Olek? Oh Illustrious One? Anyway, I wonder if he has one of those big bath houses. A steaming hot bath would feel wonderful... I wonder how many other servants he has; it would be nice if had other gnomes. I have had an epiphany; I am an orphan. I must make myself irreplaceable with this Olek the Radiant. That is it! Olek the Radiant One! I wonder what kind of music he prefers. If all else fails, laughter is the best medicine, and since I do not know his leanings towards dwarvish humor, I have been working with some animal stuff just to stay on the safe side. How about this: A pony walks into a tavern and whispers "I'll have an ale please." The barkeep asks, "Why are you whispering?" To which the pony replies, "I'm a little hoarse."
Or...A horse walks into a bar, and the barkeep asks, "Why the long face?" Or, or, here is one about a bear:
A bear walks into a tavern and orders an ale. The barkeep says, "We don't serve bears in here." Bear says, "You had better serve me an ale, or I will eat that drow at the end of the bar." There's this female drow sitting down there, blonde, attractive, a hard look about her. Barkeep says, "I told you. No beer for no bear." So, the bear goes down to the end of the bar and eats her. He places his bloody paws on the bar and asks, "Now do I get that bloody ale?" Barkeep says, "I don't serve drug addicts in here," and the bear yells, "I'm not a drug addict!" To which the barkeep replies, "I saw that barbiturate."
Day 2 A.D.
I am such a dunderhead! There has been no reason for me to live in filth. But with the excitement of heading out to see, and nearly perishing in that storm... Anyway, I completely forgot about those parlor tricks Rolouf had taught me. There is this one, "Wipe on--Wipe off", real handy...anyway, I had my fine clothes looking like new and my humble abode spic and span in two shakes of a shekere. I should practice those things, lest I forget them
DAY 3 A.D.
If I can get my foot in the door so to speak, making myself irreplaceable by keeping this Olek entertained will not be a problem. I am good at what I do, what can I say? People love me. However, ensuring my acceptance into his fine household...I wonder how big it is, could be a castle, perhaps a villa. I need to make him an offer he cannot refuse, and I will need a letter of introduction, but what is his title? It is a shame I cannot merely address such a thing to just Olek. Wait, I have got it!
Dear Olek,
If you are reading this, I have gone to that final battlefield in the heavens. You are my only living relative and heir. It is unlikely you have heard of me, for I am a distant great uncle, thrice removed, on your father's side. I headed west in my youth looking for adventure. I found that and more, but as I enter the twilight of my years, I must get my affairs in order. I hereby bequeath to you my most valuable possession, Phliperrino Jazzowillowitz, but he will respond to "Jaz."
He is a good gnome, housebroken, comes when you call, and has served me faithfully for years. He pretty much can take care of himself, just try to keep anyone from killing him. He can entertain you for years to come, along with your children, your children's children, and more. He has saved my life on more than one occasion, by watching my back so to speak. I must admit, I have become rather fond of him over the years, and I do worry for his welfare, if left to fend for himself here in the west. Please accept this gnome as my heartfelt bequest.
With fond Regard,
Rolouf, the Western Wanderer
PS He can also heel should Mynos have a leash law.
Then he retrieves a candle from his pack, snaps his fingers as he says "Flame on," and the candle ignites. He rools up the letter, drips some wax to the edge, and seals it with one his coat's brass buttons. Jaz admires his work, "Not bad if I say so myself."