Sesserak

Gurtlekrep of the Truescale's page

6 posts. Alias of Hoary and Wizened.


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Following Chillel into the room, since she has been his "handler" all along, Gurtlekrep yips with excitement when he sees the robed kobold with the oversize ear. "Kerrdremak!" He calls. Kerrdremak and Gurtlekrep embrace in a short hug, before Kerrdremak turns to answer Chillel's question. He seems not at all perturbed that Gurtlekrep is tied up, nor that he is following around a group of "pink-skins."

The lop-eared, red robed kobold says: "I'm assuming you speak Common." His language is a very practiced and fluent Common. "To answer what we need saving from might require a rather lengthy conversation. The short answer, though, is easy, Vreggma, consort to the king, and Jekkajak the inept shaman-counselor. They have pulled the Truescale tribe down from glory into the depths of despair, and done so in a very short time span. All done so to feed her ego, or, in his case, following some unknown prophecy borne more by his own senility than any planar power."

Kerrdremak's vocabulary and fluent common make it very clear he is not your average kobold, and taking a closer look at his accoutrement gives one the sense that he may be an arcane caster of sorts. He looks at all those that have entered his field of vision, and remarks, "A hearty band of adventurers, indeed. What do you call yourselves?"

I thought about making another alias for Kerrdremak as he could be a frequently "posting" NPC. I think I'll wait to see how things play out before doing that. I hope my post made it clear that Kerrdremak is the kobold doing all of the talking here, besides Gurtlekrep's excited yip of his name.


Gurtlekrep looks from the north door to the east door and back again, and then suddenly says, "Arhoswch, fi yn anghywir, mae'r drws hwnnw'n ladd-dy, y drws hwnnw yn weddi."

Draconic:
Wait, me wrong, that door is slaughterhouse, that door is prayer house.

Apparently the kobold who spent most of his time on the surface is having trouble remembering which room is which. Trusting his memory at this point is dodgy at best... A slaughterhouse and prayer house, are, after all, two very different things...


Athena twitches with nervous agitation at whatever it is she hears coming from the northern door. Chillel, however, hears nothing.

Gurtlekrep responds to Illiam's question with: "Hen dŷ gweddi ar gyfer dwarves."

Draconic:

Old prayer house for dwarves.


Gurtlekrep looks at Trigatark, back at Chillel, at Trigatark, back again at Chillel, and then scratches a clawed finger underneath his chin, repeatedly. Clearly the dragon-kin is engaged in some moral dilemma or quandary. Finally, as Chillel gauges by his expression, a grand idea has come to him. "Cloi ef yn y twr clo. Efallai ei fod yn lladd pryfed cop, efallai y pryfed cop yn ei ladd. Y naill ffordd neu'r llall, mae wedi cloi i fyny."

Draconic:
Lock him in the bell tower. Maybe he kills spiders, maybe spiders kill him. Either way, he locked up.


"Llysnafeddog anghenfil neidr dringo." Is all Gurtlekrep says, in a hushed whisper as he lifts his tied hands and points to the room with the creepy red-orange glow.

Draconic:

Slimy climbing snake monster.

Illiam, the amount of speaking you've accomplished already is falling outside the realm of a free action outside of your turn. If every one is indeed holding their actions because you have the most current info, that's okay, but we are in initiative for a reason, so I'm moving Glintaxe since he would have had a turn.


Bound and still gagged, with a lead line attached to his waist, Gurtlekrep keeps close to the western corridor, eyeing the eastern room, the one with the ominous red glow, with unease.