Whot of the noggin payin off, and the leg-pullin of a rack of koboldts and lots of loot, so much gold, aye
by Fletch
Now in the day, sommat my chets back in the old Home were givin grief at my studie of Old Forcuran. “What you to do with a frummy lang?” Theyed snide. “You are t’be an aventurer, oye?”
Tha maydens, I ‘formed them. Maydens want chums what got the noggin. And you throw a bit o’ dead words at em, they get a-tizzled. Haint no matter if you quote an ol’ trade ledger, whot mayden actually unnerstands the word, eh? They are all as, “You speak forien! What a quaint!” whilst their minds be twistin on how to nail your boots to the bedframe, if ya know whot I mean.
So’s I learnd it by gut, and lo! the maydens are as, “Whot you don’ speak common?” while a-figurin how to raise the price. Wenches.
Nowsabouts, I’m not keen on expanding my verbal a-cue-itty, but as a lark I used my one ogre word to pull a play on a half-ork man and his team of kobolts down in the claim. “Alice!” Whoo-dibley, that stopped the monsers quickly, and the half-ork man called for a duel with our best. Dingleberries.
Feckin’ Sondra steps up, a’course, and whilst we others are pointed to take over once she goes down, she surprised the britches from both crews by downing the half-ork man in three quick-blows. Then she runs down the slowest kobolt, and tries to gut ’em.
But more vital, them kobolds brung up a CHEST OF TREASURE. Benyar witness, it took three o’us to scoop it into our packs. And lo! A piece of scroll with Old Forcuran which I read afor King Dumbarton got to it. The gp was old, old.
And then we mine-crawled till I was kept near heaving. Saw a wiggly-sack whot with rope arms, one grabbed me and numb me through afor I got hackt loose.
I ended up using “Alice” again on the same kobolts whot were dragging the corps of the half-ork man, mayhap to ressurect him, and my carrys so great, they watered their linen. Or leathers. I was in a hard laugh as they run off, sos I didn’t see their kit.
