- Forged by Sizzlewhisk, Archfey of Cooking, Fun, and Folly, in the kitchens of the Bloom Court.
- Crafted from dream-milk, firespirit embers, and sentient shadowflour.
- Meant to be a thinking kitchen vessel—an artifact of culinary brilliance.
- Stolen by a green hag, who used it to brew curses and poison entire villages.
- Liberated by Gweebin, who bonded with it through courage (and culinary compatibility).
- “Little Rat-Bone”
- “Chef-Slave”
- “Ladlehands”
- Sticky sabotage
- Food that gives indigestion
- Broth that whispers “shame” in the night
- Some say Grumblepot contains a fragment of Sizzlewhisk’s soul, which bubbles up whenever a truly perfect dish is prepared.
- Others claim Grumblepot is slowly absorbing Gweebin’s essence, preparing him to ascend as a new Archfey of Cuisine.
- At least one Bloom Court duke claims the pot owes him forty barrels of jam and a lost spoon of destiny.
Wondrous Item (Sentient Artifact, Unique)
Requires Attunement by Gweebin
Sentience: Yes — Intelligence 14, Wisdom 12, Charisma 16
Communication: Understands all languages, communicates telepathically with Gweebin
Personality: Proud, petty, sarcastic, flamboyantly gourmet. Despises "common stew" and bland food.
Appearance
A squat, blackened iron cauldron covered in curling Feywild runes, scorched from centuries of cooking. Its dented lid bears a carved goblin face with an ever-changing frown. Steam often escapes in the shape of crude insults or dramatic gestures.
Origin
Relationship with Gweebin
Only Gweebin can attune to Grumblepot. The cauldron addresses him with loving insult-nicknames:
Attempts to use Grumblepot without permission result in:
Rumors & Lore
Appearance
Mentality
Personality
Quotes & Catchphrases
"You want my story? Hmph. Sit down, shut your gob, and stop stirring like you’ve got two left ladles." I weren’t always stuck with mortals who think seasoning starts and ends with 'salt.' No, no. I was forged in the Cracked Copper Kitchens of Sizzlewhisk, the Archfey of Flavor and Folly. Finest kitchens this side of the Mirrorweb, where sauces shimmer like moonlight and soups sing lullabies when stirred widdershins. See, Sizzlewhisk, that tricksy old goat, needed a cauldron that wouldn’t just cook—but complain. So he poured a bit o’ dreammilk from the Gloamlake, stirred in a pinch of sentient shadowflour, and bound me to a fire spirit who loved soufflés. I’ve simmered for lords and lunatics, princes of petals and queens of caterwauling. I once fed the Moon goddess Court a bouillabaisse that made a dryad weep rainwater for a week! But then the kitchens went quiet... and I rolled into the world of mortals, where folks think 'flavor' means 'slightly burnt.' Now I wait. Simmer. Bubble. Complain. And maybe... just maybe... teach someone how to really taste the magic again."
— Grumblepot
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