Five Fingered Discount
Small and wirey, with a bit of a paunch. Mechanik's tools stick out of the many pockets of his leather apron.
Tall, for a gobber, Ozzy stands at 3 and half feet tall. He wears a leather apron filled to bursting with mechanik’s tools. A gas mask on his head, mechanik’s boots on his feet, and an overlarge ’jack wrench slung over his shoulder, tells you that this gobber knows his way around machines.
If that wasn’t enough, standing directly behind him is a bodged together steamjack. A scrapsaw in place of the right arm, and an open fist for the left. This gobber is definitely who you were looking for to fix your toaster, or wreck your living room… he could probably do both.
Wassat? Who? Me? Didn’t do it. It was that guy, I saw ‘im. Oh, you don’t want to know bout me. Just move along. Huh? Beer? Well, sure, I figger I could tellya about meself fer a beer or two… an some blackrock for me ‘jane over there. She’ll be wantin’ to come too.
Ye can call me Ozzy, most of yerfolk tend to, somfin about Oz’Lom’Mog’uladar not slidin’ off yer oversized tongues or somesuch. Ifin ya want ta refer to me ‘jane ername is Gomm’Oz’Uluk or Gommet fershort.
Anywhos, whatcha wanna kno? Well, aight then. Well, I s’ppose as far back as I can reckon I lived in the warren. The Dead Rabbits isn’t a big gobber warren, not like the Four Finger Mafia or the Bogrin Bodgers, but we gots aboot two or three dozen folks in our holes. The warren runs a small scrap an alchemy outfit for the locals which can pay fer it. Mostly fixin stuff that shoulda been scrapped a long time past, or helpin a bloke with some pains and such.
Wer located up in the nor’wes’ cliffs o’ Beggar’s Isle. Hmm? Oh… Um… Hospice I think, yeah, Hospice Island, that’s right. Anyway, we claimed some o’ the cliffside holes that were left over from da black days. We mostly keep to ourselves and eek out our survival day in day out.
Once there was a time me an’ a fren’ tried to change that… didn’t werk out so good. Now me an tha’ fren owe some o’ da wrong people alota scratch… naw, there’d hafta be a lot morn it than a brew ta bring up tha’ tale. Lesjust say I try notta go nowheres without ol’ Gommet nowadays.
Well, ifin we sweetenin da pot, sure I’ll have me a Hooga, okay trow in anoder brewski an’ I’ll tell ya.
So, me and this… fren, we were jus’ little tikes adatime, an’ we saw some folks ruffin’ up our elders all tough like. Seein’ as we were taug’ to repect those who hadn’t died befor’ us we took it upon ourselfs to fix da issue. We got a might rough’d up tha’ night. har… I dunno what made ‘im stop from killin’ us but stop ’e did.
Says to me an ma fren that we gotta get ‘im somefin. Somefin valuble. Now, my fren an’ me ‘ave ner taked nothin’ before, but we wernt gonna tell ‘im that. Seemed like blowing fish up in a barl. We got in, got out, ’ell place whant e’en locked! Anywho, when we was scotts free somethin hit us about the head and shoulers and we waked up a might time later, without the score.
We tried to tell the guy we was robbed, but he’d hear non’o’it. So, I built up Gommet, and we been doin’ our best to pay back the blackard e’er since.