The Inn of the Grumbling Giant - 18 Neth 4710

Oy, anuva poynt then?

Aye, we’re drinkin to da Jolly Trollkillahs tonoyt!

Whoinafuc izzat, bugger awl I ain’t ‘eard o dem!

Aint eard o’ dem? Das ya Baron, mate! ‘Im ‘n ‘is compn’y, ats veah nayme!

No i’taint, theah cawled The Ticklish Trollesses, zaswut I hoyd.

Ruh-bish, mate, awl ye must be ignor ants oh just plain def! They cawl vemselves da T.R.O.L.L.; dah “Triumphint Reach Of Legend’ry Lances.”

Ohh piss awf ya nutter!

It’s true!

Ain’t nonuvum use a lance, ya yoonitch!

Da Baron does!

Oy das just a big stick!

Whatchyaself mate, das treason!

Bugger treason belch issa truth.

- He’s ejected from the tavern -

And stay out ya mite-buggerin’ sod!

I hoyd dat da Baron ‘n compny ought be routin’ va trolls from undah their filthy troll rocks n sendin em to va great troll pit in da sky royt bout now. Dey been gawn fah days!

Aint a pit mate, issa ditch.

My mum told me it was more loyk a trough

Aye, pit, ditch, o’ trough, sall va same, there’s loyk ta be no more trolls muckin’ about in va farms no more.

Oy! Unless yer countin da milkmaids!

- They all laugh -

Wew, dey set awf whuh, seven days ago?

Seven’r eight.

Twas nine I reckon!

Nooyyynn ‘e says, whuh a loon!

- They laugh -

Ya can’t even count tah noyne, Thumb.

I ‘eard the treasrah can’t count ta noyne eiva though.

- He’s ejected from the tavern -

Royt! Nuffa that!

Oy, I pruhpose a toast

Aye, to va Baron Farland and da six Trollskateers!

- They all join in, talking over each other -

To da Mi’gh-y Trollfeets!

To Da Trollsome Triumphants!

To Baron Bootamos and the Smashing Trollfists!

To Trolls in general!

To Hoarsport!

To Miss Lala’s tihts, ey!? Ey!?

To da Most Hoy Pries’ inna land!

To Trollcrushuhs Incorptrollated!

- Sounds of alarm from outside the Inn -

Oy, whassat?

Prob’ly a foyt at va broffel.

- Heavy footfalls followed by shouts and the sound of splintering wood -

Day 179
A Plot Most Foul

I wish to write on a subject most troublesome in my mind. My baronly hand was forced last night by dire circumstances and I was made to parlay with a most unrighteous fellow. One who had called into question mine and my companions very honor itself! The decision weighs heavy on my brow in ways most unimaginable. Father never mentioned the trials of rule being quite like this. Let me weave the tale then, that all the future generations may know of the Springtime Plot against Hoarsport and the Barony of Praktenheim!

Having returned from Oleg’s and lands to the North, most recently the boggy hollow of our most squishy comrade, Slurpy-D, my brave companions and I entered Hoarsport to a great deal less fanfare than was to be expected. We had been gone but less than a month, it is true, but the smallfolk looked upon us with disdain, it seemed, and I knew something must be amiss. Our hearts no longer beat as one and it disturbed me so, for my love for the Horsportians knows no bounds. As we neared the town square, the most common grounds for assembly, near our dear Inn of the Grumbling Giant, We took notice of a gathering of peasants and workers, courtesans and maids. In the center of the throng stood a man unfamiliar to us all, a most slimey sort of eunuch. We watched as he spoke, with point’ed beard and fork’ed tongue, damning and belittling our righteous band, calling into question my very rule and my love for the people. Woe be unto his soul had not my trusted advisors and companions stayed my lance, claiming, and perhaps rightfully, that slaying the man as he spoke would only serve to bolster his most incorrect argument.

It would seem that sightings of Trolls in the frontiers, near Praktenheims most far-flung farmlands, had served to drive this man to action, claiming that the leaders of Hoarsport were most unconcerned with the safety of its citizenry, and were out seeking personal gain in the Stolen Lands. The smallfolk knew not that we had just obtained knowledge of the Troll stronghold from our amphibious ally to the North, but whenever I tried to explain such matters to concerned Hoarsportians, the words failed me and simply emerged as a feral growl, so full of rage was I at the poisoned words of this craven dissident.

The following day we set out to calm the people and address their troubles, and it was then that we learned how deep the taint of this liar, whose name we learned to be Grigori, had gone. The smallfolk could talk of little but trolls and treason, complaining of our perceived inaction. The deceiver need be stopped. And so it was that Larochka confronted him that evening in the Inn of the Grumbling Giant, and sought to use her courtly and perhaps uncourtly charms to sway him into ceasing his rousing of rabbles. His guile, however, proved to be of equal to her own, perhaps even greater, and the battle of wits was lost for fair Larochka, the nights favor won by Grigori the Schemer.

We retreated the Inn’s common room to our basement apartments, and there, while Bold Hoarsport slept, my most able and cunning councilors and I did devise a plan to learn of Grigoris no doubt seedy and impure past. He had only arrived recently, according to Counselor Kobold, but we suspected that information might be gained by investigating his room in the Inn, and perhaps spying on his messages, a process which in the future may be referred to as “raven-tapping.”

And so on the morning of the Twenty-Ninth day of Desnus, in the year 4710 Absalom’s Reckoning, as Sarenrae the Dawnflower’s rosy-fingers spread across Golarian, we hatched our counter-plot. Noble Leluc assumed the form of a bird by the divine grace of Gorum, and he did follow Grigori as he gathered milling commoners to proselytize, spreading many and more a wicked lie about our stoic band. All the while, Larochka, Bootamos and I waited outside the Inn, under the very window of the beguilers room. There it was that Larochka used some form of majiks upon my being, but I felt no fear as I began to vanish from sight. I have learned that it is often necessary to use powers normally considered cowardly in manners of statehood and ruling, a sad truth to be told. But climb I did, up the very walls of the Inn of the Grumbling Giant, and into Grigoris sniveling window did I leap, seeing his room and bed asunder with all manner of filth and buggery, his shallow bowl of watered down milk, his breakfast no doubt, which he must lap up as does a common house-troll, too weak is his eunuch stomach to digest a man’s breakfast, hearty with staunch beer and cheese, blackened bacon, eggs and blood pudding, gruel and heavy oats! Ha HA! I snatched from the table a curious envelope with a seal I am unfamiliar with, and hurried from the room in haste, fearing the taint of his cowardice might infect my gallant heart. The letter, we later found, was most incriminating and dire, for it outlined a plot against the very Barony of Praktenheim by a cowardly noble Lord Iroveti of Pitax!

With such evidence at hand we proceeded to arrest the deceiver upon his return to the Inn, and hold immediate trial, calling forth to all of Hoarsport to witness the shame of this master of lies. He once again tried to use his foul tricks to influence the common folk, this time by charming a young boy. So revealing of his devious lifestyle was this attempt, that the people were not fooled in the least, and, found guilty of subterfuge, Grigori was taken to the prison.

It was there however, that I was forced to do this most impure thing with which I began this journal entry. In our questioning towards the nature of the found letter, Grigori revealed much about himself beyond what we had already discovered. His love of money most paramount, and his lack of allegiance second. It came to pass that we decided better to spare his life perhaps, that we may gain further knowledge of the workings of this far more cowardly Lord of Pitax. In the dead of night we released the schemer in secret, granting him horse and saddle, and bidding him to return from whence he was hired, the distant Fort Drevlev to the East, to act as a double agent, an informant to Praktenheim. I looked not upon his silhouette fading into the horizon, for it was all I could do to maintain my honor.

shadow cast

upon the very heavens
where I first saw

specular shimmers, we;
the scales are tipped

- Hoather Farland,
30 Desnus 4710 AR

Fliers found littering the streets of Hoarsport









Miss Lala’s Song of Courage

Lala's Haiku Journal Scribblins

When I stayed with Oleg and his wife, Slutvana, she taught me how to write haiku. I think “haiku” is some sort of weird troll word? That’s what the town folk say at least. I use them to unwind though. It tough being me, you know?

The day I met her,
An ass that rivals mine own,
She is my main bitch.

Olegia, fair
We are one soul, split in two,
Two cheeks, one booty.

To the trading post,
A diplomatic couple,
They’re both lesbians?

Offer turned sour
Lesbians torn asunder
I guess it’s a win?

The words come to me,
We go speak to Slorp,
His name, Slurpy-D

S-D shares with me,
His thoughts on the unicorn,
Colorful, at best.

The Dead Unicorn,
Murdered, suicide, a witch?
Nothing is certain.

Lala, Slurpy – D
Put a ft. in between ’em
Platinum scrolls, yo.

Hoarsport has a cult,
Scorned, bitter-ass bitches,
Lala finds suspects.

Suspects are jailed,
Hoather’s infinite wisdom,
Lala fixes it.

I have to take great care here
Hoather, not allowed.

Cultists in a barn,
“I have a man here to kill”
It’s believable.

Gerona you bitch,
You got some weak ass cultists.
Fuck ’yo barn. Fuck it.

Haikus help me relax. Now that I’m done with them, lemme just say…. if I ever meet that Irovetti motherfucker… I will sing and dance with the fury of a million bitches in heat. I will destroy everything he ever loved. I will stomp on his dick with my boots. Nobody threatens MY house. I thought Hoather’s ignorance was the greatest threat to this city, but clearly there is something far worse. And to be honest I would be… very confused and upset if anything happened to Baron Farland. I mean, that ignant motherfucker, Hoather.

A Reading from the First Letter of Leluc to Glove Tomley

Orator: “May Gorum believe you!”
All: “We are lowly and beneath you!”
Orator: A Reading from the First Letter of Leluc to Glove Tomley
All: Glory to you Gorum ::sign of the Hammer::
Dear Glove,
You left the torch lit again. We have to keep it dark down there otherwise we’ll have people thinking they can go down and they’ll think the Poor Box is for them. Also, we should buy a lock. I prefer one like from the gnomes we were going to take their cart from so we could have had a really nice lock for the church gold. We will not forget that terrible loss, but to be fair the water did look very hungry that day.
Anyways, let me continue that story I was telling you when we were drinking under the inn’s new decorative shell: this old druid was taken for his public trial because he stabbed Baron Hoather. His Puma was smart enough, but further talking to it, he just tolerated his companionship above all else…nothing druid about the old kook. No wonder he did not respond at all to the druid sign of fellowship: You open your hand and swing your palm facing them to the left and right while keeping your elbow in the same spot. As of late, other druids have been neglecting to keep their elbow in place and proceed to move their entire arm, my how fast things move now a days!
Because of that attack on Hoather, which he declared an attempted assassination, I now call to the people to know that stabbing is officially an act that will be shamed and frowned upon.
Again I thank our deacon stone for performing its clergical duties in a timely and humane fashion done for the benefit for our people, including Old Man which I have kept several important jars for him when he awakens.
Dealing with past assassinations took quite a lot more effort before this new mandate I have just passed, like for that werewolf, Kundel; he should be thankful that we give him everything. We went as far as travelling with him to find a bog witch who had needed spores for her everyday lifestyle. We offered to make her part of Hoarsport but she found other people to be strange; I used to think the same way about village dwellers too but the carbun—Galud told me it is okay to trust everyone.
Another thwarted threat came from this clever tongued gentleman Grigori. He seemed to have been part of this vendetta to talk about foreign invaders, overlooking the authority here in Hoarsport. So we spied on him and found out he was working with Northerners. Shame, I frown upon it! But again, we spared another life in exchange for him to spy his Northern ally. It was really expensive to pay him off with the town money, so that is why we need to do a 2 gold minimum when we do the 4th collection plate.
Lastly, if anybody is interested, let the people know that the deacon stone will be offering scarecrow defense lessons. Hands on training for the beginning brawler to the expert executioner; children and elderly pay a 3 gold convenience fee for the likely event they slow down the lesson. Then say, hurry now before we are at full capacity at the open monument area, these 7 minutes might just save your life. Bring their own scarecrow; that doesn’t mean trolls.
Orator: “This is the word of the Lord”
All: “May we have freedom to do what Gorum pleases”

Miss Lala & The Lizard Men
Lala's musical account of the battle in lizard-man keep

We saved a kid once just for shits and gigs, and a few of almost died in the process. It was cray. So I wrote a song commemorating the event. Let it be know that during this battle I was dancing non stop. That’s a full two minutes of ceaseless booty clapping. I am extremely talented.

We saved Tig, that emo little shit that day and we saw our first ghost. None of us knew how to fight it so we got the hell out of there. Ghosts are fucking scary as shit.

I have used my knowledge of Arcana to scare with you an otherworldy performance of mine. I’m going to start selling these things.

Lala & The Lizard Men

To All My Fans



A Transcription of the first monthly "Bad Bitch Wealday"
Transcribed by Kobold Lady-servant, Lalina

in unison

Bitch, we need to make sure we do this at least once a month.
No shoes, no bras, no Hoathers!

O: Oooooh girl, you bad you bad. Wait, who is this?

ML: Oh! This is my new Lay-Day Kobold Maid. She ain’t had a name, so I named her. Call her Lalina. She’s coo.

O: Why she writing? How she writing?

ML: Girl, I picked the smartest one. And I have her transcribing this night in case we forget it, because girl, we gettin’ our drank on.


ML: I know, bitch, I know.

O: So tells me some stories girl. OOH WAIT I GOTS ONE FIRST. I walked into the tavern the other night and there was a guy’s name-day party going on…

The story Olegia told was so graphic, I was rendered temporarily immobile, out of fear and disgust

O: …And that is why half the town is afraid of wicker baskets. Now what were you saying girl?

ML: So you know that dude, Kundel?

O: Yeah I know him, I hit that. OOOOOH

ML: OOOO- wait really? Girl, you can do better than that.

O: In Hoarsport?

ML: Hmm… you right. Anyway, so did you know that when we met Kundel, he was a dang werewolf?

O: That explains a lot.

ML: Doggie Style?

O: Has a tail.

Miss Lala stares off into space. You can tell part of her has died. She continues her story.

ML: So when he first showed up in town there were a few murders, the usual. But then we find out, hey, it’s probably a werewolf, which we obviously can’t have. So we do some sleuthing, we ask the whores, and learn there is a weird dude around. Next obvious step is sneak into his room at the inn and snoop around.

At this point, a bird flies in through the window. It appears to be a well timed joke from Oleg, Olegia’s father and famous entertainer.

ML: It reads “That’s how I got my last wife.” Your dads is HILAHRious girl.

O: Girl where do you think I get it from?

ML: So anyway, we find a ear. Earring and all. Tweren’t worth nothin, but it was suspicious as FUCK. That night, we hang around the inn, do a few patrols, and we see the mo’fukkin werewolf sneaking up on a kid. Old Man blasts the dude without question because that just what he do, that how he is. There is a quick scuffle, I throw a net on the dude and we wait til he turn back. Sho’ Nuff, it’s the mysterious Kundel. We feelin’ good, we feelin’ downright generous that day, so we tell him we gonna help him cure his curse. So we get to traveling and we talk to Teressia.

O: Who dat, did I replace that bitch as your BFF?

ML: Nah girl, she ain’t like us. She is proper as hell. Thinks her shit don’t stink. I mean, it don’t I seen it, it just turns into flowers and vines, but you know what I mean. Anyway, she tells us where to find a bog witch that could lift the curse. Meanwhile we got Kundel all tied up, day and night. We get to know him. Hoather pretends like they’re friends but you could tell he strugglin every time he tries to remember his damn name. Anyway, we find this swamp hag, and she got a crazy sentry guarding the place. I sneak on past the thing and start having a chat with old biiiiiiitch. Later, Hoather tries to talk to her with his “thou arts” and “Fair Lady”s but she want not having it. Another sad attempt at diplomacy from THE GREAT BARON HOATHER FARLAND… Meanwhile, I’m missing an AMAZING boxing match between the scarecrow sentry and the inimitable EARTH ELEMENTAL.

O: What that word you use?

ML: Don’t be ignant. Anyway, she wants us to gather some spores for her… great, fantastic. We only have to go into the smelliest place ever to get them.

O: A peasant taint?

ML: BLUGH, PLEASE GIRL. Lala, don’t wanna know about that shit. Anyhow, we have to fight some kinda crazy plant to get those spores. Which, of course we do. We bring ‘em back, Kundel is cured. We make him treasurer, before you of course. Tell him to work on his damn numbers. He can only count to six. Girl, don’t look at me like that, we were desperate. Anyway, we offer the bog bitch a place in our town, but she makes it mad clear that she eats chillin’. So we bid her TA TA.

Another bird from Oleg “I bid on my wife’s tatas”. The two laugh for twenty whole minutes

ML: (wiping tears from her eyes) Ooh… oooh girl.

O: (fanning herself) That’s my pop.

They hoot and holler and invite me to drink with them

*Amendment to record, continued next morning. I am incredibly hung over. I vaguely remember booty claps loud as thunder, and Miss Lala, deeply intoxicated, speaking of the things she would do to Baron Hoather if she were alone with him. They were not unpleasant but would most assuredly confuse and scare the Baron. I need to ice my scales and tend to Miss Olegia’s friction burns from all the grinding she did. Against what, I don’t recall

Common Wisdom on Trolls
From the folk of Hoarsport

Gathered from meticulous research at the Hoarsport Tavern and Inn over several nights on which troll attacks allegedly occured:

  • Trolls look just like people, but is trolls.
  • Only trolls wear clothes.
  • Trolls always wear boots, to hide their troll feet.
  • Trolls still tell you to look at they feet, because trolls ain’t that smart.
  • Only trolls knock.
  • Trolls is decent folk, but would you want your daughter to marry one?
  • Trolls are exempt from taxes.
  • The Six Troll Bankers run the world.
  • Troll infestations are still better than gnome infestations, they don’t muck up your garden with their pointy hats.
  • The Baron is a troll, and won’t admit it.
  • If you kiss a troll, you become a troll.
  • If you refuse to kiss a troll, it curses you and you still become a troll.
  • Trolls like making nests out of shiny objects, so keep your coin purse hidden.
  • Trolls like to start tabs at the bar but never shows up to pay them off.
  • The only way to identify a troll, besides their feet, is to see if they sink in water.
  • People who don’t sink in water is witches.
  • Trolls like sneaking off with your menfolk, much like witches but different.
  • Trolls with two heads is wizards.
  • Troll wizards know three spells; smash, bash, slam, and crash.
  • If you cut off a Trolls toe, it grows into a whole new Troll.
  • The only way to kill a Troll is to cut off all their toes.
  • Trees are in fact just very old Trolls.
  • Trolls love to eat fish.
  • Trolls hate fishing, it bores ’em.
Day 89
Atrocity at Home

Having slain the lusty temptress in the tower, our noble band has returned to jolly Hoarsport, pockets bursting with ancient and forgotten plunder! I fear my absence has proven perilous for our citizenry, however. We found, as we approached, that some of our beloved and hale Hoarsportians lay savaged just outside the castle gates! High Priest Laluc, with his knowledge of all manner of wild footshape, was able to discern wolf prints leading from the site of the butchery and point our merry party in the direction of an expansive copse of shrubbery. Cautious as ever, my noble officers of law and duty held back, but the flames of justice did lick upon my heart, and bold as Choral himself did I stride into the brambles. Within I discovered no enemy bearing tooth and nail, but merely a gilded earring of sorts, and footsteps of unclothed human nature leading back towards majestic Hoarsport. We set off towards town to investigate further. As wroth as I was at such barbarism in the Barony, I maintained a regal aire as we entered, so as not to incite panic in my cherished burghers. The people were overjoyed at my return, and poured from their slipshod apartments to greet us. Many a babe did I scoop up into the saddle and bestow upon heroic kisses. Once the crowds had dispersed we entered the Inn, for my councilor, the most impeccably dressed Michael Kobold, and I have many matters of governing to handle. As I write these very words, my most adroit Spymaster, the cunning Larochka, my Warden, the indelicate but fearsome Bootamos, my Marshall, the brooding Eriqui, and my Magister, the quixotic Potato Sack are all combing the streets of Hoarsport searching for answers as to this most gruesome crime.

Krulcinea, in my dream

The folds of a purple
kerchief shadowed
your cheeks—the one

- Hoather Farland,
2 Kuthona 4709 AR

Thee Battyle at Fergoton Keepe
as sung by Aylden Coppertongue

A dreary and fergoton keepe
elvin roone and forist creepe
enhabit’d by dreerie folke
monster grene and spuriyose bloke
scrambing qwykling up casteel wol
our compny folewed, hoped to fall
thew they gave a hearty chees
ye bloke escapyd nathelees
atop the towere, a lusty maid
who to brayve knyght she lust’ly bade
for smoochys whyle the rest in traunce
helde captyv by her bootie daunce
our sondry comp’ny triumphed thow
the battyle wonne with killing blow
her richees they dide mer’ly plund
and rest’d there til ryse of sun…d


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