Dormaruk Stonehoof

Your friendly neighborhood sailor Minotaur

Physical Description

General Physical Condition

Dormaruk is a large man. His height exceeds 8 feet and he has a powerful build, which hints at many years of life at sea.

Body Features

A tattoo on his underarm consisting of an unfinished totempole, with a obviously selfdrawn beartotem as the base-totem

Facial Features

Dormaruk's intense gaze is the only thing that can draw attention from the large horns attached to his forehead. When Dormaruk has looked you over enough to realize that you are focused on his horns, his visage is often quickly lightened up in a hearty bellowing laugh, showcasing a large golden tooth.

Identifying Characteristics

Large, lumbering cowman with horns. Not that hard.

Apparel & Accessories

Dormaruk usually only wears a pair of basic linen trousers. If the occasion REALLY calls for it, he might wear his finest shirt, which coincidentally also is his only shirt, and is way too small, seeing as he recieved it when he was still a teenager.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Dormaruk was born to a pair of seafaring minotaurs, for the time being anchored in the great city of Nova Aera. As soon as Dormaruk could walk, his parents saw it fitting that he learn to do it again - this time on a ship rocked by the waves. The little family took to the sea, and Dormaruk has spent his life as a part of a crew ever since. When he turned 15 he enrolled on a ship by his own for the first time, and a life of adventure free from the watching eye of his parents, had begun. Since then Dormaruk has visited just about every coastal city that has a hand in the seafaring business. He rose from a simple deckhand, to first mate. Along the way Dormaruk tried just about every occupation there is on a ship, except for anything that has to do with close handling of the sails, courtesy of his large and pointy horns that teared many a sails in his teenage years. Dormaruk brought with him from his parents strict but fair upbringing a strong moral compass and a sense of what is right and wrong in this world, and as such he was strongly opposed to the mutiny on The Pitched Wanker when the crew decided that they would rather pocket the precious wares in the cargo than deliver it to their client. Dormaruk were the highest ranking officer that took the captains party, and stood by his side as his former crewmates charged at the loyal men. After a bloody fight Dormaruk and his Captain was the only ones standing against the winning crewmates turned pirates, and laid down their weapons. The Captain was made to walk the plank and Dormaruk was marooned on a small island barely in sight of the coast of Fyre. Dormaruks first few days on the island was filled of panicked surviving, not just against the numeral venomous and/or carnivorous animals living there, but also the elements. With time Dormaruk conquered these trials, and his time on the island turned to one of reflection. It was at this island he found a form of kinship with the ferocity of the Bear, and with improvised tools he tattooed a beginning of a totem on his arm, with the Bear as a powerful base reminding him to take on his challenges with that same ferocity. He erected a small log cabin and, before signaling passing ships after a year on the island, made himself a promise to return here from time to time for recuperation after his adventures at sea, and so he has, several times. Recently he served as the first mate of the Malted Rum, a merchant ship manning the route between the Yelanid Alliance and Frankonia. While in port in Frankonia, he heard a very inebriated man in an inn loudly talking about a pirate ship mercilessly raiding a heavily armed merchant convoy off the coast of Aeryon. What caught his attention was the convoy's name, The horned merchants. That was his parents convoy. The man went on to loudly proclaim that there was not a trace of the merchantships left when their escorts turned around to engage the foe. Dormaruk was already on the way out of the inn to tell the captain that they needed to leave for Aeryon immediately, when the man excitedly added a final statement. Apperently the one thing sighted was a three-masted refurbished merchantship laded with cannons speeding away faster than thought possible. Dormaruk stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and sped towards the man. "That ship. Was there something off about the sails?" Dormaruk grunted. "Why yes, the mainsail was... kinda crooked? Almost pitched." the man answered somewhat confused. Dormaruk banged his hand in the table and stormed out, leaving a confused mass of people and a broken table. There was just one thing on his mind. The Pitched Wanker. He needed to get to Aeryon.

Education

The hard school of the sea

Employment

Dormaruk has served on the following ships: The Burning Sail The Black Wapapa The Pitched Wanker The Quirk Malted Rum

Personality Characteristics

Motivation

Dormaruk is driven by the wish to explore and see new places in the world. This led him to stay the lifecourse of his parents, the wild life of the sea. This motivation has lately been overshadowed by the motivation to find out what happened to The horned merchants, finding his parents and once again go toe-to-toe with his former crewmates of The Pitched Wanker.

Likes & Dislikes

Dormaruk likes:

Brawls
The sea
Boats
Big Boats
Beer

Dormaruk dislikes:

Land
Horses

Hygiene

Water does not clean if it's not salt water according to Dormaruk. Therefore does not even consider the hassle to wash up when inland.

Social

Family Ties

Parents - disappeared together with their convoy.

Religious Views

Dormaruk is a follower of the accidental god, Cayden Cailean

Speech

Warm and gruff

Stronk minotaru

View Character Profile

System
Dungeons & Dragons 5e
Class
Barbarian
Subclass
Path of the Totem Warrior

Alignment

Chaotic Good

Current Location

The Swift Mermaid

Species

Minotaur

Age

30 human years

Birthplace

Nova Aera

Parents

Gunvrak Stonehoof

Esteme Stonehoof

Children

Current Residence

Log cabin on an unnamed island off the coast of Fyre

Gender

Male

Eyes

Deep Blue

Hair

Reddish Brown mane

Height

8 ft 2 in

Ruled Locations

The Swift Mermaid

The Role of a Captain

Kazagal and his son left the Mermaid today. I can't even start to summarize what has happened since last i authored a journal, a wild goose chase to piece together contracts and constant bureaucratic nagging would be a fitting start. Timmy sold his soul, Kazagal sold his in return and we've been trying to fix the idiotic family since then, even though Timmy almost killed his own father, me, Jeanne and Nakor a couple of days ago. The ludicrousness of this starts to wear me down. All I wanted was to sail the ocean, earn good and honorable pay and drink in the harbors. Instead, I am now the captain of this vessel. Not a bad upgrade, but with an unexpected promotion still comes some responsibilities. I have realized that my duties now lie foremost to my crew. I rescued my parents. I helped Kazagal and his son to reunite and for none of them to be lost to hell for eternity. I've seen crewmembers die in ultimately futile undertakings. Much of this with origins in happenings occuring while I was inland. This can not be accepted of a Captain, as I would not accept it were I a sailor under one. Therefore, I believe that my days of adventuring on anything but this vessel has come to an end. I will continue to aid my friends - for that is what I've realized they've become, although their many flaws, but I will not be doing it inland. I will ferry them, protect them and most likely try to correct them, but that is limited to the ship and the vicinity. My crew needs guidance, and a present Captain on deck. This is what they will have. We are closing in on the Yelanids. An interesting area to say the least, and with the expected battle with pirates most likely a dangerous one. I will be ready - for my crew and my friends. Then, we leave for Jeannes secretive mission. One last time as a member of the Shore Party, Dormaruk

Look at me, I'M THE FUCKING CAPTAIN

Eventful few days these. Barely made it out from Ponvarus before Nakor and Kazagal started with their usual shit. The Prince seems to show what could most accurately be described as the behaviour shown by a mother clinging by her only child when he wants to test his sealegs - jealousy, and over-protectiveness. The Prince needs to understand that if we are going to let the inventor anywhere near anything as dangerous as the devil again without having him wear a diaper, he needs to train and not be subject to the Prince's whims. Kazagal elected to stay up and not sleep, and when Thornleaf initiated training, to which Kazagal had submitted to and requested, Nakor instead tricked the gnome and did Kazagals chores for him. Talking about overbearing knowledge without any basis, the bureaucrat elected to share her thoughts about creating battleplans and formations for my crewmates in the possibilities for a battle. When will Frankonian servicemen stop boarding my ship and treat my men as an army? The crew serves the ship as crewmen first and foremost, and the eventuality of battle comes with the task. That is something that is clear for every single one in the crew. There might be merit to honing some individual combating skills, but to think that the battle between two crews will be anything more than a sophisticated carnage where the strongest claims the victory is naïve. I am not surprised that the idea came from the least experienced on board. Jeanne might speak many tongues but naval combat is one she does not master. This circus of bigbrained opinions and mast-climbing farces came to a close when Me'iq sighted a ship that soon raised the black flag. Pirates! I of course elected to offer ample possibilities for the barnaclebrains to change course, but no such thing happened and soon we found ourselves embroiled in battle with a ship that had the bad manners to submerge before I had the time to order Rik-Rik to bombard them more than once. They idiotically resurfaced and engaged us up close, and we gave them a thrashing, as to show Jeanne her faults. Merturrok took a beating but the old dog can take it. The captain of the sorry vessel was something that I could not place. Tentacles hanging from his head, four fingers on each hand and a penchant for angry blasts with his mind. His mind was about to be silenced, but he instead elected to jump the ship and flee. Coward. Left on deck after two remarkably odd enemy crewmates were two small worms that I vaguely recall being illithid larvae. They met their end at the end of my axe. Two down, a shit-ton to go? We took the pirate-ships sails. With the permission of the Mermaid, we set about adapting them to the ship and now we can sail underwater. This is cursed and I am unsure whether I like it or not, but I must confess that this ability might come in handy. Next stop - flying. Need to talk to that dragon about that. Nakor and his newfound mothers instinct once again set out to make Kazagal sleep, instead of letting Kazagal try and fail and maybe learn something. The Prince, in order to do this, sneaked into the cache of the Drug of Drugs, in order to make Kazagal drugged out of his mind and maybe catching some sleep. I don't know why I agreed, but I figure Kazagal needs to sleep at least some time, which he went to do. However, Thornleaf wanted to start the training at that moment, which also was understandable. Nakor not only denied his request, but also somehow encouraged the Gnome to do something on deck, which looked suspiciously like him undressing. Not one keen for a naked Gnome on deck, I snapped Thornleaf out of it and he stormed back down to face Nakor, where he was met with more insults from what I gather, and once again the Gnome surfaced, now intent on leaving the ship. Now, my job as captain involves 1. Sailing 2. Leading 3. Making sure Pirates fuck off 4. Making sure nothing hampers the three first things. Nakor is an everlasting impediment on almost everything except number three. He is however part of the crew, but so is Kazagal and he needs his training. Therefore, I talked to Thornleaf and apoligized for Nakor and his behaviour, and pleaded to let Kazagal continue to be guided by Thornleaf and not be harmed by anothers behaviour. My diplomacy was successful, Thornleaf is still here, Kazagal is still his trainee and Nakor is sidelined in their relationship, I hope. He was surely beaten into shape in his foolish dual duel with Kazagal against the Gnome at least. The storm can be seen on the horizon and my vision draws near. I am glad that the crew has tasted combat at least once before this, I am afraid that there might be plenty of blood spilled, but I will do my damnedest that it is not ours.

Out, out, out

Some time has passed since i last wrote a journal, I broke the quill cursing that fucking devil so I had to go rummage around after a new one. Fucking hell. I'm glad to be out of Ponvarus, a bit too much happened and it involved too much devilry. We did however manage to recruit two more crewmembers. I'm glad to once again sail with Artaash, and Jeanne brought aboard another person employed by some form of martial system. At least she's not as bureaucratic, although that is a low bar. I also acquired some much needed emergency potions. They taste like shit but you never know when it might be handy to breathe underwater. The potionseller was highly peculiar and needed to research whether I was "strong enough" for his potions. Crazy to think I wouldn't be, although Nakor was of course rejected. One more unclear blessing was that of the guest Thornleaf. The headsmasher apparently took our old mercenaries tip to heart and signed up with the hellknights. Hard to see he would ever fit in but if one is to force him into shape Thornleaf does undoubtedly seem the one to do it. Leaving Ponvarus I thought I'd be free of unrestful sleep and tossing and turning, but alas, the first night on the waves I was cursed with some sort of vision. The dragon we encountered seemed to be dragged down into the deep by some chump on the Pitched Wanker, in the midst of a storm. Not one to doubt omens I of course ran out on deck, but the water was calm and no storm was in sight. I've no clue what that buggering omen was, but I will keep my eyes peeled.

Catharsis

How the actual everliving barnaclepissing fuck. Fucking devil shit, fancy-clothes pansy piece of absolute crap, excremented from the depths of bureaucracy, I curse the day that whatever sulfurpit spat something as crooked and malevolant as you out. You are as far from being more worth than a rotten clam is to anyone but Frankonian nobility as Nakor is from being the epitome of stability and diplomacy, Kazagal is from being steeped in charisma and knowledge and Frances is from being a person with any other personality than "Zimean Mercenary". I curse you, your spawn, your mother, whatever she cuckolded your "father" with, that fucking monkey, that blasting tavern, the latrine shitremnants stupid enough to sign a deal with you, your absolute shit-sense for any justice and righteousness and especially your mr fancypants clothes. If i had three wishes, I would use them to kill you, slowly, resurrecting you as painful as possible only to slowly kill you again. At least Thorpe is human. Him I can carve in half. Apperently you will just reappear if I do that to you. Might be worth it. I've got two targets now. 1. Any and all that has served as pirates on The Pitched Wanker 2. The excrement formely known as Gorick.

The Apple is still on the Tree

Arriving at Ponvarus, we were met with quite the party. Several guards waited for our arrival, or more precisely the arrival of the queen and nakor. A lot of bowing and kow-powing later, Nakor talked himself out of prison and we were escorted to some bureucrat that asked us about the happenings in Aeryon. Several hours of boring talkings later, we found ourselves with a new companion. A young, somewhat sketchy frankonian bureucrat, who seems to be a master in asking questions. After making amends with the barkeep, we found out that the elusive Timmy had decided to fight a hydra with his friends. This of course sent Kazagal of the shelf and we found ourselves marching to kill a hydra. For fucks sake. We found it, of course, and the kids. I relieved the snake of two of his heads, and it soon fell to us. The kids were all alright, although calling them kids seems a bit overzealous. Timmy is almost as old as me, and is still at college. Fucking halfwit. Made sure to tell him that as well. The win soon soured, when we saw that fucking devil from Nova Aera stand above the mouth of the cave. Nakor, once again in his overzealous form that burned the king, made an effort to fly towards him but soon fell over on the ground. We nevertheless made our way out of the cave, and onto our boat. The belt that was dropped by the Hydra got my attention for the night, and I am now wielding a dwarven belt that allows me to talk dwarvish. Great banter will be had with Joric. Tomorrow we aim to do some errands. After an afternoon and evening of hydraslaying, I'll say that Jeanne has suprised me in a good way this far. A day of dealings will be had tomorrow, so the examination of Jeanne continues. I do hope that we won't need to have another Nova Aera-moment.

A Bronze Mirage

This morning when we set sail, the Mercenary came to speak with me. The various events of the Mad Prince has gotten to her and she feels the need to protect her company, and she aims to leave the crew when we arrive in Franconia. I can't say I blame her. The prince has attracted much trouble, and I can see that she puts her company first, but it is still saddening. She has, in contrast to Kazagal and Nakor, some kind of common sense, which has been direly needed. With the Mercenary preparing to leave, she has started to entertain the idea of trying to help us get a contigent of hell-knights on the ship to replace her white sentinels. I must say I've become quite fond of the sentinels, they are decent sailors and good people. And to be frank, the hellknights failed to impress me and i am not so sure they will hold up in an eventual fight. The Mercenary also took it upon herself to spar with the Inventor. The Inventor was swiftly knocked out, to no-ones surprise. The morning after, the Mad Prince watched the sunrise while I handled the rudder, when the little man suddenly cried out about something in the water. Fully expecting to see some of his "tricks", I was instead met with something massive and bronze. Having the kraken fresh in mind I immediately called for Jokh. The Tortle arrived on deck, shortly announced it to be a dragon without being terribly bothered by it. The gigantic bronze beast lifted out of the water and landed on deck, although a bit smaller. The now Dwarf-man had struck up a conversation with Nakor. The dragon seemed friendly, and the party had some cordial conversation. He wished to speak with the captain, and so he was invited to my cabin. Cayden Cailean be good, he was out to hunt pirates as well. I quickly grew to like this dragon. Not enough with him being a literal dragon hunting pirates, this dragon was hunting The Pitched Wanker. After promising him to co-operate on the mission for The Pitched Wanker, the dragon challenged the Inventor in a single duel, knocking him out without a problem and then blowing him off the ship. After picking the beaten Goliath up from the water, the dragon bid us farewell and set out on his search for the ship. Wonderful. We have a dragon on our side, this might actually make up the detriment of having the Prince of madness and chaos onboard and the Mercenary leaving with her troops. In the waning hours of the day, Me'iq spied land. We are soon arriving in the northern part of the trade district, I'm planning for us to immediately organize the transfer of the queen into safe hands and then relinquishing the cargo we've been transporting. Time to dig up some leads in this city, it does seem that my fate is still entwined with that of the Pitched Wanker.

The Troubles of One Man Alone

Kraken. A bloody kraken. I did not believe it when i saw it on the horizon. The several tales I've heard over the years combined into one giant raising of every hair on my body. There was however sailors perishing, and honor demands we help them. We waited for the kraken to disappear beneath the ocean and then set full sail towards the shipwrecked. Several sailors sadly got snapped in the sharkinfested waters, but we managed to save 8 of them. Arriving in Nova Aera, we immediately found ourself in the Salty Bucket, the best place for a sailor staying a night in Nova Aera. What I imagined would be a fun night with some new contacts and some dear reunions soon spiraled out of control. While we spoke shortly with an oddly dressed man in the bar, soon dodging out for believing that he was too dodgy, Nakor in particular seemed to grow an interest in this mans crooked behaviour and decided to eavesdrop on him, while invisible. The man not only noticed him, but angrily noticed him. This all led to Nakor being threatened to get his soul stolen. I really don't get how one tiny man can get himself in this much trouble. We are now not wanted only by Aeryon, but also by a literal devil, it seems like. I really should stop being surprised, everything can happen with this absolute bloody kraken-shit of a chaosmonger onboard. Me and the Mercenary was adamantly clear with the trickster that this is a mess he must clean up himself, before us going to Franconia. I believed that he got the message, but as soon as he returned after setting out to fix the situation, a monkey was incinerated in a large ball of fire and several people died in the explosion. The trickster of course stood in the middle, smiling. The fuckhead is unkillable, but at least he's on our side. It's just a problem that it no longer is clear whether that is a boon or a literal curse. After dealing with the local demon-hunters, we set sail in the morning. I dearly hope that we've left the devil-dealing business behind us now, I intend to not let it bother me anymore. I am already way off course of finding out the truth of the Horned Merchants. We sail for Ponvarus. I intend to arrive in Ponvarus on time and without the ship blowing up, and if that craves me throwing Nakor overboard or placing him in chains by the ballast, then that is what I'll do.

A Really Disrespectful Brawl

Flynn took his sweet time gathering his senses enough to recognize my mug. Thankfuylly he sobered up proper quick, it wouldn't have been a good fight otherwise. He had appearently made some friends with the orcs at the table, of which I recognized none. It was just like old times. I faced Flynn and two of his henchmen, while Chadwick faced one of his own and Jörthur blocked the door. The rest of the crew watched and helped where they could, but what impressed me the most was the mercenary and the crazed inventor. Out of nowhere a giant metal construct came flying and cut down two orcs, the giant close behind stupidly smiling, keeping up his act. On the other side, another metal construct, that of the heavily armoured mercenary, heartily cracked an orc leg - that in itself a feat - and beat down another. His orc companions on the ground, there was only Flynn left standing, but when push came to shove, Flynn showed just why he can never be trusted. That shitfilled barnacle first sneakily stabbed me in a fist fight, with some weird magic, and when he realized he was fucked beyond belief, he chugged a potion and turned invisible. The inbred fucking orc fled the fight. I should not be surprised, he was always a craven, but to turn invisible and run is a new low. Jörthur, bless his heart, thought I'd won and congratulated me, leaving the door left open. I chose to do some enchanced interrogation. The orc whose leg was broken was found, and with some applied force and some translating, I found out that the orcs was no more than an admirer of boastful stories. Seeing them proven false led them to hate Flynn just about as much as me, and that I was happy with. I grabbed Flynns dear boarding axe, seeing as he left it being busy fleeing. A weapon this fine needs a worthy owner, and Flynn is not the one. I am. Me and Brad immediately after set out on the docks to search the area after what I was pretty sure would be positioned in the docks, and I was proven correct. Far down the southern docks laid the Pitched Wanker, currently being loaded with cargo. Seeing as we left the rest of the crew in the tavern, we decided to lay low and return. Pryter has obviously set out to equip himself with some aces up his sleeve, and I don't intend to die quite yet. We need more men, soldiers and a ship. The morning after brought with it, to no surprise, a disappeared Pitched Wanker. I scouted the area where I and Brad had seen the ship the last night, and spoke with a local harbor crook. The shit was an expensive one, but he had good information. Now I know the warehouse the Pitched Wanker use to store supplies. It will need to be properly investigated later on. Anytime now, the guards of this city will come and bring us to the king. I do hope he'll pay us for the drake, and perhaps give us some insight into what is going down at the docks. It is direly needed, this city is just tying itself into knots in front of me.

Dormaruks Acquaintances

Ivar and Igor Yy, Twin Loxodons. Traders that trade in exotic goods, often found either in Nova Aera or in Zarastil. Met them whilst working on The Black, has many contacts in the Yelanid Alliance. Has been known to brawl from time to time. Hephaeston, Centaur. Is a long-time sea-dreamer, but due to his stature he does not really fit easily on a ship for the day-to-day duties. Makes joyrides between Zarastil and Nova Aera for dreaming, but can't actually help out. Often used to hitch a ride on the Burning Sail. Jokh, Tortle. The wise man of Zarastil, according to the seamen. Often visited for wisdoms after a couple of beers. Has lived a long life, both on the sea and on land, where he has visited most of the nations, and seen a foreign shore full of ruins. Me-iq, Tabaxi. Tried to rob Dormaruk in a bar once. Got beaten. Since then, Me-iq is a good drinking buddy and often has tales to tell about which people has been seen in port and what they carried on them. Blologh, Triton. A native of Zarastil, Blologh got a girl accidentally pregnant and was forced to stay ashore. Has made a life trading with the seamen, often trading wares for stories of the world. Dormaruk was a favorite storyteller of his. Bugh and Zugh. Two orcs that are entirely unrelated but got in a fight the first time they met each other due to their names being similar. The crew from Wapapa was in port and managed to entangle themselves in the brawl and seperate the two raging orcs. Since then, the orcs have been inseperable and makes a living as mercenaries or sailors-for-hire out of Zarastil. Yuk-tuk, Kenku. Kenkuan rogue that has served as the outlook in the crows nest of The Pitched Wanker. Left the ship a couple of months before it mutinied. Beladen with money from a number of adventures, he lives a comfortable life in Zarastil with his knives hung up over the fireplace Artaash, Aasimar. A native of Kang, Artaash left the empire on a boat and has been on the sea ever since. Known for her strict moral sense, she oftenmost isn't the most liked at the tavern, and often sails employed as a peacekeeper of sorts. Dormaruk sailed with her a number of times between different ships. Mortogh, Genasi. A fire-blooded Genasi, prone to outbursts and mad ideas. Ex-gunner of the Quirk before the accident. The Quirk spent a month in port for repairs and Mortogh was paid off to stay off the ship in the future. Mortogh happily agreed and listen on another ship the day after. 65 days accident-free! Garthur, Leonin adventurer. A warrior through and through, Garthur has accompanied Dormaruk and his crew on several trips that included cargo deemed high-risk, such as expensive drugs. When not on duty, he can be found in Zarastil, caring for his cub and his wife. Jack, Tiefling. The extraordinarily human name belongs to someone not even a bit human. Jack is as tiefling as one gets, smelling of sulfur with large horns and hooves for feet, with a red skin. Jack has served as a sailor with Dormaruk on the Wapapa, and has a penchant for magics. Rik-Rik Goltok, Gnome. Gunner by trade, she has served with Dormaruk on the Malted Rum. A master of mechanics and explosives, no-one can make a cannon shoot as far or a bomb blow as heavy as Rik-Rik can. Blowing things up is Rik-Riks calling and no-one bests her. Joric, Dwarf. An exiled dwarven prince, Joric is at current mostly concerned with drinking and brawling. He has challenged Dormaruk many times, and bested him only once. A steadfast drinking buddy and a true grudgeholder, Joric is oftenmost found in the Sour Barracuda when the owner lets him enter. Aerya, Elf. A wealthy trader with her base in Zarastil, Aerya has grown rich from keeping close ties to the ships that has shown themselves to be lucrative. The horned merchants was financed by her. She herself holds no interest in fighting hand-to-hand, but is more than willing to fight by spending her purse on people that do. Ary, Half-elf. Aeryas son. Family friend of Dormaruk, sometimes sails on his mothers investments to see to it that her mothers trust is not misplaced. An adept spellcaster. Frolbo, Halfling. A halfling that resides in Zarastil, in the trading profession. Was once sold a ring by Dormaruk that he had found in a riverbed, and now doesn't seem to want to part with it. He is however eternally grateful for the gift. Is adept with a shortsword, used many times in self-defense against people that might want to steal his precious ring. Misto and Juskt, Dragonborn. Sailors that might be out of a job at the moment, or just spending their spoils on beer and women. Strong warriors and hardy sailors, they have made a name of themselves as a strong recruitment,. and are often sought after for perilous journeys. Anto, Jut and Dorn, Human sailors. Brothers that went out on the sea at the same time as Dormaruk, but never serving on the same ship as Dormaruk. They however often coincidentally found themselves in the same taverns, forming a bond through brawls and shared stories Merturrok, Minotaur. Distant cousin of Dormaruk. Has had a life both on the sea and on the land. Has many years of mercenary work in the bag, not all very legit, and with some dubious contractors. Has done his fair share of sailing with various dubious merchants, and visited the more feral minotaur tribes a couple of years ago. Jokk, aarakocra. Used to be the lookout of the Quirk for a couple of journeys. Takes a hefty fee for his sailing work, due to him being able to both watch for things on the horizon and quickly being down on deck to help with the heaving, whilst only eating one ration. Is because of the high cost often in shore, partaking in social events at the tavern. Jokkthor, Goliath. Local tough guy, and for the untrained eye a sailor. Jokkthor is undoubtely tough, but has a crippling fear of the sea, which put an end to his sailing career after a round trip to Nova Aera. Bides his time cooking up bullshit stories at the tavern for the young sailors-to-be, and helping to load and unload ships that enters the harbor. Legio, Warforged. A warrior by nature, he has served on ships as long as he can remember. He believes to have been created for the protection of a ship, and can when in shore be seen in the taverns asking patrons if "this unit has a soul" Quarion, Gnome. An eccentric gnome that has hired Dormaruk and the Malted Rum to transport various metals to him, for his creation of various robotic constructs. He allegedly wants t0 create several robotic servants that can do menial tasks for him. He calls his servants "Guth" and has a strange aversion to Legio. Diony, Satyr. Dormaruk once bought him a beer and Diony swore him eternal fealty. Not a fighter, however his tongue is sharp and his reflexes quick. Rokk, Smokk and Bokk, Goblin brethren. Angry, small, sailors. Three words that completely encompass all that these three are. Sailed with Dormaruk on the Pitched Wanker in the beginning. Stepped offshore for a long break of beer and chaos, but the Pitched Wanker never came back.

A Great Reunion

Barely awake, I was today greeted by the giant inventor abandoning his charade and entrusting me with his motives. Appearently Nakor is not a commoner adept at tricks and with a penchant for oranges. Nakor, according to the inventor, is one of Kang's many heirs. I've heard of the bloody fights that often follow the ascension of a new leader of the nation, and it appears that Nakor was one of the many potential candidates that was rejected and cast out as he did not wish to be a general. The inventor seems adamant that Nakor smuggled with him a large amount of gold when the succession crisis did not go his way and escaped. The inventor has made it his mission to take a portion of this hoard, which Nakor seemed to have dismissed as a joke and laughed away. In a particulary weak moment, the inventor flipped and hit Nakor over the head and broke his memory. This explains a lot and makes me a bit wary of the inventor, he has resources that far exceeds what I would have expected. I need to keep an eye on him. After dining a hearty breakfast at the tavern, we set out towards the capital. The warnings of the merchant in Amarley that there was a beast on the road was far from my thoughts, as the sea showed itself everytime we crested a hill. This was until we crossed yet a crest and we spotted a trashed cart with a merchant trapped underneath. The assailant was a lizard, a drake according to the mercenary, which was currently feasting on one of the merchants horses. As the merchant was calling for help, we wasted no time and went to the merchants aid. A bloody fight later, which ended with me piercing the lizard on my horns, we started to research the contents of the dead lizard. It was quickly revealed that the lizard had killed and devoured five of the mercenarys gang. I must say, the combat prowess of these five does not impress me. Our rag-tag gang of persons succeded in defeating the drake, but not these 5 highly trained mecenaries. Our mercenary seems to be a particulary skilled one, which is to our advantage of course. I of course relieved the lizard of its head. We then proceeded to help the mercenary push his cart into town, and just like that we were in a town actually worth its name. Well inside, i filled my lungs with that sweet harbourtown air, which had quite a strong tang of excrement to it, seeing as we passed a slum, but still - it was the air of the coast. On our way to the captain of the guard, we passed through a shop keeped by an eccentric elf. He did however keep some interesting items. A belt made the little trickster almost best me in arm-wrestling. Almost. We met up with the captain of the guard and saw to it that our felling of the beast was acknowleged. Appearently the mercenarys company was assigned to the kings closest guard. The captain seemed not particulary pleased about this fact. The fact that the mercenaries had perished in combat though, pleased him quite a bit. Seeing as the king seemed to have put his pet mercenaries to the test, he did not put out a bounty. We have a meeting with him tomorrow making sure that he knows just how poorly this was handled and how grateful he should be for our help. On our way to the scribe that we were told could translate our sign and note, the mercenary went through great difficulty to explain the concept of haggling to the large inventor, who once again had donned his aloof and confused personality. This was a sight of great comedy, unlike anything I've ever seen. They could make a good entertainment troupe. The scribe translated the symbols of the note and signs for us. The sign is as the mayor of Amarley told us - some kind of mark of ownership for an entire forest. Even I know you can't claim a forest. The note though, was worrying. It did not have a legible sentence, just a mass of all equally worrying words, "Pain don't keep trust enslaved king/captain/leader/commander". What the fuck did Thorpe do. Why the fuck did he choose to be this fucking dipped in shit with fucking illithids? Bloody things are supposed to be fairytales for drunkards and now the fucking pirate goes and seemingly tries to copy them. Thorpe is rapidly losing the right to his head. The day carried with it happiness as well. In the harbour I found The Burning Sail, and up in the sail I found the jokester Brad. Fucking Brad! What a sight for fucking landlocked eyes. After agreeing to meet up with the old crew in The Sour Barracuda this evening, I could not resist the call for a bit of honest work on this beautiful ship. I must have lifted by far the most of all the workers, and made quite the impression on the new weaklings they've must have picked up in Nova Aera. The captain, Pryter, was just as pleased as I was, as I just doubled his packing speed. The first mate, which seems to be a poor recruitment, was not as pleased that I knew better techniques than him. Bloody earthworm, I know my way around this ship with my eyes closed, a fact I made very sure to show him during one of my rounds. Pryter, very happily, paid me a hefty sum of 5 silver for my work. The weaklings got not nearily half the sum. I was going to do this for free but I'm not one to argue with an extra payment. Meeting at The Sour Barracuda, we all reconvened. The whole gang was there - Brad, Chadwick, Pryter, Clink, Blink and Jorthrön. A merry time was had, for a while. For soon, I heard a disgusting gruff voice on the other side of the tavern. Turning around, I saw Flynn standing there, just as ugly as I remembered. Quickly deciding that there needed to be an enhanced interrogation, I pointed him out to the gang and they were quick to follow. Jorthrön at the door, Argor paid to look the other way, the rest of us gathering to have a "discussion" with Flynn. The fuck was drunk out of his mind. The stool hitting his face woke him up. The little shit thought I was dead. I'm about to show him otherwise.

The Journey towards the Sea

In the morning we rose early on account of the mercenary. After eating breakfast, I set out to talk to the elf once more about the ship. When I arrived, both the herbalist and the elf was awake to my gentle surprise. Better to have them awake than to rouse them and render the elf more confused than she already was. Unfortunately, the elf couldn't share any more information. She does not remember anything about a ship, neither does she remember any more than she already has told us. What worries me, is the fact that I noticed a couple of clear signs that she was under the same influence as the magic bugbear, and according to the testimony of the elf, also that of Thorpe. This worries me greatly, and I informed the herbalist of this fact, and asked him to keep a close watch over the elf. He agreed and would do so - I just hope he's able to keep that promise. We left the village late in the dawn, and set out towards the sea. Both me and the mercenary came this way just a few days ago so the travel was swift. The one hiccup was a cloaked old man appearing from between the trees, giving me a note, seemingly in deep speech, and then dissappearing into thin air, leaving only the cloak and the orange that Nakor gave him. This is all very strange. Deep speech is the speech of seacreatures, and its use is not for this far inland. It's one thing if we were dealing with a triton conspiracy, but not one of our encounters has involved one of their kin. Very well, I'll have to find them in the capital's deep market and question them. The gill-men will know at least something about this whole situation. We finally reached the tavern that lies just about mid-way between Amarley and the capital. It is a good place, and the company this evening was good as well. I met some fellow sailors again, which lightened my land-burdened heart, and we shared some stories. Allegedly one of the sailors had their tongue cut out by Flynn. Fucking Flynn, temper as bad as fresh meat having lied in the sun for a month at sea. Might be why he elected to turn on Captain Perval in Thorpe's betrayal, Perval might have said something a couple months back. Damned orc and his long memory. I almost let my tongue slip and reveal my suspicions about the Illitihids to the sailor, but I managed to keep it in check. The sailor had not heard anything of the sort and seemed to think that it was gossip. The man was an old pirate, however he himself called it "creative sailing". A term that is just blatantly wrong, pirating is mindless and without finesse. The polar opposite of real sailing, battling against the wind and escaping ill-minded "creative sailors". Had half a mind to punch him out on the floor right there and then. The night has hitherto been uneventful. The mercenary seems intent to keep watch, even in a tavern. I do not know why she's this paranoid, but I guess I'll have to oblige. Gives me time to write these journals and maybe catch some more shuteye. She's asleep now anyways.

Barrels upon Barrels

Waking up after a pretty uneventful night - except for the passing of the bugbears - the party set out for the edge of the forest. Finally. The elf was still not in a good way, so we made haste towards the village. Upon exiting we noticed that the sign i tossed on the little man was re-erected. Peculiar. In spite I pulled this one off the ground as well and brought it with me to the town. Upon arriving we found ourselves ushered into the mayor's office. The elf was rushed to the herbalist and tended to there. We were given plenty of praise and recieved our payment. Every ounce of gold brings me closer to the sea, and so every ounce is precious. We were also, upon us showing the sign with the peculiar symbol, told what it was written upon it. The sign was marked with the symbols of deep speech. It spoke of ownership, of the forest. Appearently the gang of bugbears and ogres wanted to make it very clear to the world that this gathering of woods was the property of the group of "Aldoillithid". The first part - "Aldo" - tells me nothing. The latter part though, sent a shiver down my spine. The tall tales of old sailors in a dark old bar, fueled by beer and dementia, often told of an old race, that hated everyone to the point of them wanting to dominate them all through the mind. This was of course disregarded as hogwash by everyone over the age of 10, but the mere thought of there being even an ounce of truth to that rumor was bad enough. It would make sense, seeing as the magic-wielding bugbear obviously was influenced by something or someone. After being tasked by the mayor to go to the capital, to my great surprise and relief, we headed out to Marion's bar. Out of mere happiness and thankfulness from coming back alive, I decided to treat the townsfolk. I went outside to the town square and bellowed out my promise - the first round on me. Seeing as the village barely had woken up, my mighty bellow brought in all of about 7 customers. The little man had more luck though - and all in all we managed to bring in 19 townspeople that noon. They all drank and enjoyed, and the mercenary even taught Marion how to brew true Zimian ale. Now the old bugger might finally get some good beer. He's a good lad but the beer he served was not a brew that would ever see a cargo hold. The Zimian beer though, there is a reason that we have carried it all across the known world. It's a marvel. Light enough to drink a barrel of, while tasty enough to keep you coming back for another barrel. Needless to say, good journal, I came back for many barrels. The large inventor made his move on the Blacksmith. Never thought I'd see the day. They actually kissed, I think the whole bar fell silent right about then and just watched in awe of this absolute maddened lad. Soon after, the bar mellowed down and the Captain of the Guard made his prescence known - and that the Elf had awokened. We all hurried over to the herbalist and met a weakened woman. She did not remember much, but when I spoke to her in the tongue of her ancestors she let me know that it was indeed Thorpe that had visited her a few weeks before. She had sown him a robe stitched with a detail of a kraken, and after her giving this over to him he had overstayed his welcome and chatted on with the elf. Me and the mercenary quickly realized that that could be Thorpe's stalling maneuver to mark her house for "later gathering". We found the door - or rather what was left of it - and searched through the rubble. What I first thought was a telltale sign of Thorpe turned out to just be the doorsign, but the mercenary found the mark in question. It was now without a doubt that Thorpe had a hand in her abduction. One more crime for him to answer for. We let the elf rest, and set back to the bar. I now realize that I forgot to ask her about her ramblings in the night about a ship. I need to check in on her before we leave tomorrow. Very important Dormaruk. Do not let the ale make you forget. The calm in the bar was not to last. As soon as the sun set, the townsfolk started to make their return. The little man successfully unmasked a cheater, the large inventor forged on in his romantic quest and the mercenary was settling in her temporary role of brewmaster/barmaid. I did what I do best, I drank barrels of the Zimian ale and watched. Another joined me in this feat, a fellow sailor, a Tiefling. He had served on the Wapapa, which I served on just before I enrolled on The Pitched Wanker. We shared stories of the few crewmates still sailing her, and toasted to her butchered fox figurehead. He brought news from the capital - appearently The Pitched Wanker was seen moored there during the night for a week prior to the Tieflings departure, which was just a couple days ago. They had seemed to dissappear in the morning, just to come back full with loot in the cover of night. I clench my fist at writing this, Thorpe has led the good men of the ship straight into piracy without even lending a thought to the suffering of their victims. Scum of the sea is what he is. I will get to the bottom of this mess when I get to the capital. Thorpe has the answer to what happened to The Horned Merchants, and he will tell me one way or another. I might just have to tie him to a rope and use him to wash the hull of a ship if he is not willing to part with the information. Might have to do it anyway. I'll have to tell the others that it is a common thing, but to be fair, Thorpe has earned this.

The Showdown in the Forest

The new day dawned, and a battle was on the horizon. The plans were drawn, and the mercenary was ready to bring the civilized fight to these beasts. I was mostly just tired and bitter from still being in the forest. It does not seem to agree with me, at all. I long for the sea, open landscapes formed by crests and valleys of water and wind. But that was not to be seen today. The initial positions were taken. All of us, including the large inventor's son and other metallic beasts, were gathered around the small path that led us to the cave. Well, all except the little man. He was positioned on the other side of the open area, right inside the treeline, no doubt to have full view of the field to let play "his tricks". The plan was to draw the enemies out into the open field, where we would use proper tactics to take them down. The ogre was lured to our position by the inventors minions, and the remaining goblin was left alone to guard the entrance. Felling and killing the ogre was short work for the three of us, but when we turned our head towards the goblin he was gathering friends. An idea struck me, and I started to carve off the head of the ogre with my scimitar. Grabbing this head, i suddenly saw myself making eyecontact with the goblin left standing after a great battle over a female goblin that suddenly appeared outside the cave. This female turned out to be an apparition conjured by some strange force. Probably another of the little man's tricks. It however led to the winning goblin first tumbling head first through the apperition, barely catching his fall and then seeing my gaze and that of his dead friend from the edge of the forest. The little creature scattered faster than a pirate sloop flees at the sight of a mighty warship. The retreat of the small goblin did however bring the attention of the cavedwellers to us and soon a large force had amassed outside the cave, complete with several more ogres, some bugbears and loads of goblins. The table was set for a challenging fight, especially since the magic bugbear made an apperance as well. The mercenary eventually decided the wisest way to get a favorable ending to the situation was to challenge the woman in one-on-one combat. The bugbear elected to name a troll her champion. The troll itself was not an ordinary troll. It seemed, if possible, even duller than an usual troll, and from the sidelines it undoubtely seemed to just be a hard shell of skin stretched over a liquidized inside. Not a normal troll by any means. The mercenary won the combat, and I was less surprised than I thought I would be. She does know how to wield that halberd incredibly well. She would make a good boarder. Her prowess won us the day and the elf was released into our hands. She was weak, like a freshwater sailor just beginning to see the real power of the sea lumped over the railing, except the elf was similarily lumped over the inventors shoulder. Angrily shouting, the bugbear woman in a sudden shift of attitude seemed to be forced by some nature to command her minions to follow us, so a chase begun through the forest. Dodging and wawing we ran to the troll's bridge where it seems the little man once again employed his tricks to fool the troll into fighting the ogres. Not one to argue with a good distraction, i quickly cut the bridge and we headed hastily toward our hidden camp. After tending to the elf and starting to recuperate, mine and the mercenarys work hiding the camp was rewarded during the night. During my watch the band of ogres and bugbears passed by the camp on the road, seemingly very distressed and angry. The elf muttered something about a ship. Most worrying. She does not seem to answer to my attempts to talk to her, not even in her mother tongue, so it seems we will have to wait until I can get some answers. I still feel an immense frustration from being in this forest so far from the sea. It is not natural. This forest is not natural. There is a connection here, a connection to something that should not be in any way coupled with a forest. Something is wrong and we'll have to be careful. Just need the elf to wake up so I can get to the bottom of the question of Thorpe and his plannings. Curse his name.

A Battle of the Mind

We set off in the morning after quite the night, and headed further into the dark reaches of the forest. Cursed land. The one thing that comforted me was the reassurance of knowing that there were no more owlbears to be fought 0n the way. Two of them was quite enough for one forestdive. A bit further along the path forged by the ogre we suddenly heard the porling of water. Great news! The party stopped to investigate an old corpse by the path, trying to figure out a piece of paper. I gave no regards to their investigation and promptly headed towards the blessed water. Arriving by a small, but deep and swift river, I at once set towards the banks to investigate the water. I never reached the porling stream, because I was interrupted by a large and foulsmelling troll climbing up the river bank. This troll challenged us to a game of riddles to get the so called right to cross his bridge. The bridge, i noticed, was naught more than a shoddy-looking contraption of rope and plank. The game of riddles went on far into the evening. The troll repeatedly talked about a so-called mistress who had appearently given him the quite unthankful job of guarding the river. The troll must have thought us unable to answer riddles, because when we all partook in this battle of minds and won, the troll simply cut down the rope holding the bridge upright. Of course, the troll could not have imagined a seasoned sailor coming to his river. With a stone fastened to my rope, i skillfully caught and hoisted the bridge back up to the bank, allowing us to cross. Of course, as is tradition, i sacrificed one rope to the river. Charging ahead, we soon happened upon what could only be the lair of the goblins. Intent to end this as quickly as possible, I presented the idea to charge immediately. I do respect the battle prowess of the mercenary, but these are goblins and when threatened they do what goblins do best - they scatter. They will not in any way shape or form appear tactically on the field, which also makes it impossible to counter-plan. However, she was set in her meaning that the threat was to be drawn out and defeated in the forest. A deft plan, but unneccesary. I chose not to argue though, and left it to her to figure the plan out and point me in the direction that I should charge. I instead chose to gather strength for the battles to come. Tomorrow we fight.

A Foolish Fools errand

It's settled. Mainland forests are a nuisance and filled with dangerous beings. Me being one of them, now. Soon after our arrival at the edge of the forest, we found a sign written in an ancient language. My companions decided to play me a prank and told me that the writing was just a fancy form of common, warning of "Owlbears". I of course knew of the great and fierce bear, it is one of my totems after all, but an Owlbear sounded like a wives tale. The little man, Nakor, was especially comitted to the prank, so I decided to add to his supposed head injury and tossed the sign on him for him to read. It hit square in the head, just as I knew it would. I am a great thrower of all things wood, it is known. I just wish i had thrown the sign at the thief before he made off with gold from each of us. After heading into the forest and following the tracks a short while, the mercenary proposed that we create a base camp. The mercenary has a way of making everything sound tactically sound and important. I suppose that she calls eating a "tactical producing of essential framework for combat and/or existance" or something equally complicated, but I am not one to argue with constructing a structurally sound camp. So that we did. It was deemed neccessary for scouts to track the goblins to their lair while two others stayed behind and got some rest. Nakor and the big inventor fell asleep just as soon as the idea was brought up, which did not matter much as the task was best placed in mine and the mercenarys hands anyway. We scouted ahead, foolishly believing that the dark would not pose a problem. On the ocean it is not a problem to light a lantern to find your way around the ship the first days, but in the forest it was adamant that we be silent and stealthy as to not rouse suspicion from the goblins we were tracking. This led to us eventually being surrounded by darkness, barely able to see our hands before us. Around this time there started to come suspicious sounds from within the forest. Heavy steps, not unlike the bears i met on my island. The mercenary explained the concept of the Owlbear to me, which appearantly was not a prank. While I practiced total stillness and extreme tree-likeness, the mercenary tossed a stone out in the woods which drew the Owlbears attention. The Owlbear was within small distance from us, and i could feel the battle-rage bubbling. The thoughts of battling this immense foul beast was almost intoxicating, a thought which I would come to regret later. With the Owlbear distracted, we made our retreat. Our companions was still asleep, and the mercenary took the first watch, keeping a keen eye on the forest. I dreamt fierce dreams of fighting what I imagined a Owlbear to be - a bear with the head of an owl. Hardly a tougher fight than a Bear, but there is still some honor in besting a new beast. The dream was wrong. Awaking a number of hours later by the little man shaking me to conciousness, I was still in the waning feelings of battle-rage against this mystical monster from my dreams. When I could make sense of the little man it was obvious that my dreams had invited themselves into reality as well, as the Owlbear had been sighted. A plan was quickly constructed by Nakor who had heard the mercenary suggesting another rockthrow, and made a stone light up, casting an aura of light on the camp. I quickly grabbed the little stone and tossed it far into the forest. The noise of the Owlbear moved toward the new lightsource, treading into the light, examining the stone and thereafter looking up and staring right at us. The beast was nothing like my dreams. A menacing stare, large razorsharp beak and claws longer than any I've ever seen. It charged at us. Seeing as I am the largest member of our haphazard party, I in a split-second realized that it was my job to make sure the Owlbear did not just simply run over our entire party and completely slaughtering the little man by way of trampling. I therefore charged the charging Owlbear, keeping him at a distance from the rest of the party, so they could help out from a distance while me and the mercenary kept the beast at bay. These hopes were soon quashed when we all heard from the distance another Owlbear approaching. The mercenary quickly tackled this one and was joined by the little man and the large inventor, leaving me all alone against the first Owlbear. Trading blows, i was gravely wounded and thrown to the ground. The spirit of the pure bear kept the fire in me going, and with what I thought would be my last roar I stood up and made a reckless attack against the beast, hoping to hold it for a little while longer so the party could finish their foe first, and not be faced with two angry beasts at once. Soon after my wrathful attack, while grasping my torn stomach, i suddenly saw a bright light and the Owlbear before me fell dead without a head. The originator of this feat was none other than the tiny man, crazily giggling. Around this time, the party succeeded to fell the other Owlbear, and the forest turned quiet. After a joint effort by the little man and the mercenary my stomach was more or less stitched up. Before falling into sleep, I sourced the bloodiest and longest claw of the beast that i had felled with Nakor, intending to wear it as a constant reminder of how I almost went under, and how I survived. Also to remind me why it's a bad fucking idea to go ashore.

A Fool's Errand

So here I am, hoof on ground from which the sea can not be seen. I have not stepped this far away from the big blue since i was a calf. It feels wrong, to say the least. A mercenary has followed me from the shores of Frankonia. She is not entirely unwanted, as from what I have seen she is quite the fierce fighter, the prowess of which will direly be needed if we are to spend any prolonged time in shore. The mix of Frankonian and Zimian accent is actually quite unique, when it is not nagging about my "lack of armor". The quest for The Horned Merchants and the importance of The Pitched Wanker to their disappearance has brought me to a small inland town in Aeryon. The town, Amarley, would hardly be of any notice to any self-respecting ship if it was located by the shore, but it is quaint enough I suppose. The reason for finding myself in this backwater is of course information, information that my relative Marion was said to hold. While Marion was a sight for sore eyes, his information was no more worth than a simple "check with this person", "this person" being the Elven town tailor. The tavern was lacking. It is painfully obvious that the lack of a proper sea trade route is directly correlated with stale beer and counterfeit beverages, much to the mercenarys frustration. The sudden outbreak of a commotion outside brought the attention of all the patrons, and barging out the door we soon found ourselves embroiled in a fight. The local thief showed remarkable ability and the mercenary displayed excellent battle prowess, while the local little man managed to make himself littler and the crazy inventor sicced his son-robot on the enemy goblins. I myself did my ancestors proud with a charge into the fray, as one should. After the dust had settled it was obvious that the goblin armada had carried away with the elven tailor, who apperantly had sowed some type of clothing for my old friend, now captain of The Pitched Wanker. The dissappearence of the elf was frustrating, but just as I was preparing to rouse my newmade friends in blood to continue the hunt, a captain of the guard appeared and offered us a reward for bringing the tailor back. This aligned perfectly with my goal, and allowed us to quickly get on the way and track the goblins. I do not know what this adventure will hold, or what enemies we will face in my quest to properly question the so-called "captain" of The Pitched Wanker, but my goal remains steady. Bring these brigands to justice, free my parents and amass enough gold to buy a ship so I never have to step hoof further in than a stone's throw from the ocean, for this forest bodes ill.

Dormaruk Stonehoof