Urist Dongfist- so named at birth for the deformity of his right hand, which was, in fact, a dong, but also kind of firm like a fist at the tip even when flaccid- the pretty much retarded and malformed bastard child of the legendary alcoholic Dwarven bandit Hrhalzo Strongshaft
(who once, during a round of D&D who once awoke to an ambush on his camp in the night and who, with a mighty toss of his spear, killed a Wvyern, mutilating it, and then went on to kill a second Wvyern by throwing the corpse of a mutilated Wvyern at it, wounding the Wveryn, lodging the corpse of the mutilated Wvyern in the wound and causing the Wvyern to bleed heavily unto death) *may not have actually occured in this wayand a common, nameless, GOBBLIN whore
(who once serviced the entire royal host of the REALM OF THE GOBBLIN KING in a single evening)awoke in the first hints of sunrise at the encampment of his caravan to find out he was still quite drunk from the campfire revelries of the night before. Penitents tent was already down, his men milling about, and he had been going at the mead far, FAR harder than Urist!
"It's this damn GOBBLIN blood," Urist thought, "two, three pints is all I've got in me, thanks a lot mom go home Obama". He scratched at the scraggly wisp of a beard on his face; his lack of hirsuteness, extremely rare among full-blooded dwarves, was another "gift" inherited from his mother's side of the family.
Not like his father and his band of H-hair-hairy h-h-hunks, not like any of the Dwarves who are now his companions in that way, no. Though his companions they are, and they have taken them into their fold- without harsh judgement (though plenty of friendly bants!) for his half-breed nature nor his fist *ahem* problem- following the dissolution of the REALM and his loss of a job as royal honeydipper in the keep of the late GREATLEADER, Glob rest his soul. The Dwarves recognize kinship, however distant.
Anyhow, Urist Dongfist crouched down and just crapped right where he was standing because he's pretty much as smart as a seven year old or a crow or something and is also still pretty inebriated as you'll recall. "I think.. is that?" he wonders, "it is!" he thinks as the messenger raven bears down on his turgid dongfist with the full force of its talons, causing him to do a reliably bad-lowbrow-joke-that's-kind-of-funny-in-that-bad-lowbrow-joke way pratfall into his own feces, probably face first and also his mouth is open because he was screaming, "THIS PECKER HAS MY COOOOOOOOOOOOCK! THIS PECKER HAS MY CAAAWWKWHARRGARBLL!"
With as much dignity as a what we can call a man for these purposes can in a situation like this, Urist stands up and swallows his pride and also the crap in his mouth (licking his lips), removes the scroll from the ravens leg, and, after drying it off of the seminal fluid leftover from the natural response of his malformed appendage to such vigorous and repetitive attacks, read aloud,
"aryajkdf tffdf kaelkf ngjer kill"- he can't read much of course, but makes out the name "arya" and a familiar word he knows "kill", along with a crude map depicting the position of an enemy force, his own and... that of his father Hrhalzo and his hardy harem of Hairy Hunks!? Urist may be an idiot but he puts two and two together here, he knows his old man is always game for a bit of opportunistic banditry (provided there's mead and weed in it for him), he knows he's in no condition to do the deed himself with his ragged crew, he barely is when he's at his best. He drunkely scrawls the idiosyncratic language only he and his pa write in and sends out the raven. He knows his father will answer the call. And he knows if his father calls upon him, he'll answer it as well; family is bond amongst the Dwarves.
Will YOU joinusatthisungodlyhourwhenwebothgetoffwork?I'm sorry everyone this was absolutely foul I want Uumdi to see it lol
