"Rocks n' stones, what in blazes are ya talkin' about?" Belzac asks Varga, utterly baffled by his aged pop culture references. Not that he has any idea that those are what they are, of course.
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"If dem Gomoks an' slavers are the same, then it makes our job that much easier," Belzac says, brushing a thumb over his nose. "No point in wastin' more time. If we get a movin', maybe we can get the drop on 'em."
"We're a long way from Fair'aven," Belzac says at last, having taken the past several moments with a grain of salt. His hand never moves far from the large holster on his belt, but he never shows any hostility towards Romycas. Stroking his long, braided beard, the dwarf continues. "The mayor don't like it, but aways from town, there ain't no rules 'bout slavery or nothin', because there ain't no one to enforce 'em. Out here, it's all 'bout what you can take. Dem critters from before take hair, slavers take slaves, and dem Gomoks take my damned instruments. Might take yer lives, too, if y'all mess dis up. So listen to the the Tall Woman an' don't split up."
Surrounded by the strange creatures, Belzac assumes a defensive stance, once hand readied by the holster on his belt. "Don't even think 'bout it," he says roughly, his fingers moving with a gunslinger's twitch, "Ye ain't yankin' on this beard. Not in a thousan' years. Now get outta here, b'fore I decide to put ya in some stew after all. I'm starved." The dwarf was not quite sure if they understood a single word he just said, or if they were even edible, but he was willing to take chances on both accounts.
"Hmm. I bet that thing'd taste good in a stew with some taters," Belzac comments, hearing the talking cat's question.
"Well, I s'pose I could dig up some roots..." Belzac mumbles, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The dwarf had lived on the road long enough to know what was good for eating, and what wasn't. He very nearly shudders when he recalls what had happened with the speckled shroom. "Just don't come cryin' to me if it don't taste good. Some of your hume' stomachs might not be able to handle it."
Belzac regards the display of Finwa's power with a curious expression, but merely shakes his head when offered a pillow. "Nah, I'm fine, thanks. I'mma jus find a nice rock to sleep on."
"Got some of the ol' darkvision myself. Comes with the stoneblood, y'see."
"There's a music shop in Fairaven called Flutes n' Chimes," Belzac says, nodding when Bryn mentions his lost instrument, "But it just ain't the same without your own instrument. It's like a piece o' your soul is missin'. You can't jus' replace that." The dwarf huffs, pushing back some of his hair. "We'd best get a move-on. I've got some Gomoks to shoot up."
Belzac seems to brighten up considerably at the mention of Bryn's band. "Ah, so you're a musician too?" he asks, the flying gorilla debacle floating out of his mind, "Yeah, my beaut's a 'coustic alright. It does got one of them holes for an amp, though. O' course, they don't seem to have that much 'lectricity up here on the surface." Despite the revelation that the Gomoktooths are incapable of flight, Belzac turns his gaze back to the sky, as though something might swoop down and snatch one of them up at any time. Swooping is bad, after all.
"They can fly, I swear!" the dwarf claims, before going quiet. He contemplatively strokes his beard, as though he had just remembered something. "Wait, no... wait a sec... Could they fly? Or was it dem goats..." he mutters, lost in thought. He decides to leave out the fact that his entire band had been drunk out of their minds when the Gomoktooth attacked them.
"What in the bloody 'ell is a 'Deathmatch Extravaganzer?'" Belzac asks, the whole 'safari' and 'season' nonsense flying over his head. Mus' be some surface folk nonsense...
"I'll let Scruffy take the lead," Belzac says, having mostly kept to himself over the past night. The small group was an odd bunch, but then again, everything on the surface was odd to him. To make a point, he pats the bulging holster at his side, then points up. "B'sides, someone's gotta keep an eye on the skies. I ain't lettin' no Gomok snatch me up. Not without a fight, at least."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." the dwarf mumbles as he stands, patting dust off his duster. He then pulls the man he attacked off the ground, taking the time to straighten his collar. "Same time next week, eh?" he tells him, before walking off without a care in the world. "Like I said, I was already plannin' gettin' my stuff back." He regards the odd group with a stony gaze before nodding to himself. "If y'all are goin' in that direction anyways, I might's well tag along."
"Gimme jus' one sec..." Belzac says to Charlene when the man's hand lands on his shoulder, his voice trembling with anger. When the man shoves him, the dwarf's hand reaches out to grab the closest object he could find. It just so happens to be an empty liquor bottle. he suddenly bellows, turning to swing the glass bottle at the man's head. The sound of shattering glass splits through the air as the bottle explodes into a thousand pieces. Not one to avoid escalating a situation, he immediately discards the broken bottleneck and tries to follow up by tackling the man.
"For the last time, it ain't no blasted flute or any of that slag!" Belzac yells, tossing up his arms up in annoyance. Having finally noticed the newcomers, he takes the opportunity to vent his frustrations at them, turning away from the infuriating owner. "Just 'cause it got strings don't make it no damned harp! Them Gomoks took my guitar; no telling what in blazes they plan on doin' with it though. I was just on my way to git it back right when this ignoramus got in my face." He tosses the owner yet another look.
"Watch ye bloody mouth, hume! I don't mind ya servin' me lousy ale, or bein' a cheapskate with yer pay, or even makin' me pay extra for room n' board, but don't ya DARE call me a liar!" The owner of the angry, robust voice spits on the ground, as though the very idea of dishonesty disgusted him. A thick, callused finger emerges from the shadows, pointing at the large human. "Dem Gomoks got my stuff, and I intend to get it back. You'll get yer show, so for the time bein', I'll be holdin' onto my money." Having apparently settled with the owner, he quickly directs his disdain towards the human who had the audacity to taunt him. "And flute? Flute? Come an' say that to my face! Do I look like a bloody elf to ye?! If ya want some of that junk ye best go prancin' into the forest! I bet you'll 'ave plenty of fun in there!"
"Ye don't 'av to worry bout carrying my things around. I don't trust leavin' the axe in anyone else's hands," Belzac says, patting the assembly of items slung on his back. "So, what would be the plan? Unless I heard wrong, you folk won that showdown."
"What in the bloody 'ell is an accordion? Whatever it is, I don't like it. But y'all can see, I have the guitar covered."
Belzac grunts, seemingly unimpressed by Jonah's performance. "Yeah, yeah, so ye can get yer knickers off and on real fast... big whoop. Now MY art is something to behold!" Reaching over his shoulder, Belzac pulls out his guitar and breaks out into a boisterous solo that rips through the air. Perform (guitar):
Belzac's expression turns grim as he lets out a sigh. "Of course you aven't... sometimes I forget that you surface folk have no taste in music whatsoever. Not that it matters anyways - the Kegs don't exist no more. All got themselves blown to smithereens, 'cept me..." the dwarf's face goes melancholy before he breaks out into a smile, "But bah, who needs 'em? I was the only good thing about that band anyway!" Sizing up Squealy Nord at a glance, Belzace smooths out a beard braid and nods to himself. "Not exactly what I was expectin', but I suppose you'll do. I been tryin' to get into a new band for months, but I kept gettin' turned down. Not everybody can appreciate my art, you see."
A look of outrage passes over Belzac's face at the suggestion of being shaven. "Me - a dwarf - shaven? Are you out of ye bloody mind? Now ye listen here, now...!" His tirade dies out before it even begins when he hears Vinny's question, his expression becoming one of surprise. Gathering himself up, he takes the opportunity to boast. "Well now, I'd be the lead guitarist of the Powder Kegs, the loudest, most explosive band in the under-deep!" he says with gusto, before looking over the members of Squealy Nord with a raised, bushy brow, "Surely y'all heard of us before, eh?"
Unfortunately for the dwarf, braided facial hair seems to be in style this year. "Oi! What in blazes are ye doin'? Hands off the beard!"
Likewise! Dotting here for now.
Alright, that should put me at 39 hp unless I royally screwed up the math somewhere along the line.
Here's the fluff and crunch for Belzac Boomshot, bard/mysterious stranger (and prospective guitarist). Backstory: Belzac Boomshot was once the lead guitarist of the Powder Kegs, an emerging band that was all the rage in their underground home. The band quickly gained popularity due to their use of pyrotechnics and gunfire in their performances - the music itself wasn't all that great. One day, the drummer had the brilliant plan to use barrels full of gunpowder in place of a drum set. Belzac initially protested, but relented when he was assured that the proper safety precautions would be taken. It was said that the explosion that took place that night could be felt even on the surface. Burnt but alive and left without a band, Belzac was exiled to the surface for the crime of domestic terrorism, despite his protests. With only his guitar and the clothes on his back, he began to wander from town to town, trying and failing to capitalize on the fame he had back home. After spending a night downing a barrel of booze, he came to a conclusion that he loathed - he had to join another band, a surface band.
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