Gormalien Gormalien
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Gormalien Gormalien
Physical Description: He is large. Huge, even. Have you noticed? A half-orcen merchant of tremendous bulk and posture, towering even among his own kind and sculpted from the sheer will to acquire wealth. He is a magnificent paradox; his exceptionally brutish frame is draped with the trappings of intercity commerce, featuring blue silks, furs, and textiles of varying quality. Like the golden ring that adorns the snout of his porcine face, his is a countenance that combines the testaments of presumed opulence with the testosterone of violence and brigandage. He is, in short, nothing of such sort, but rather a colossal creature of brawn and business, if you can tell the difference.
Public Knowledge: Though he presents himself as a merchant, he is better known as an impulsive, juvenile, brazen, potentially insane miscreant, allegedly having robbed, pillaged, blackmailed and intimidated his way into the acquisition of whatever pretenses of wealth he presumes to own. He once abducted a chicken. He named himself, including his last name, which is the same as his first name because he couldn't think of a different one when someone asked. Now he's stuck with it. He also married a lamppost. With a prenup. It seemed like a bright idea at the time. He thinks Bezentil is like Zhentil Keep but for bees. He entered into a business partnership with that chicken from before. Until he ate it for lunch because he had no money to buy lunch because partnership with poultry isn't a sustainable investment strategy.
He is member of the so-called "Nameless Six," an amateur crime syndicate composed of eight or twelve or however many, each no doubt equally skilled in arithmetic as the twice named Gormalien Gormalien. He thinks the group is taking care of an elderly man who is about to pass away. A pie-maker's grandfather. He won't help with funeral costs. Yet it remains the party with which he adventures, gets into trouble, and engages in violent escapades. He shot people with a crossbow from a rocket wagon alongside a priestess of Lathander. Their crossbows matched. At least one person thinks he might have a conscience. That may be doubtful, but there is no doubt he thoroughly enjoys combat. It's a boar market, and he's as much of a glutton for punishment as he is for profit. He will go whole hog and throw his comrade - a circus-performer halfling named Pix - at enemies, following up with wide, two-handed and arching follow-through swings of his axe in between jovial laughs, flared snouts, pearls-for-swine smiles, and pig-headed quips.
Thematic Music:
Combat -- The Nameless Six
