Bork Lazer

Fallout: Cascadia

I have a most important question, @Hexaflexagon

Can my character have a pet radroach?

Marvels of Mountain City

Pineapple Pizza

In a secluded seedy motel room in one of Mountain City's five star residences, Pineapple Pizza was bored. Well, as bored as one could be when discussing among distinguished CEOs of every pizza chain in America.

" Enough." All heads turned towards him. " I brought all of you here to discuss the future of pizza and here all of you are talking about stocks, investors, yearly profits. Your simple minds can't comprehend the power of pizza."

He walked towards a window, the sunset casting indigo streaks along the open vistas of the alpine city.

“ Gentlemen, pizza has changed. It’s no longer about cooking, taste or cuisine. It’s an endless series of proxy battles fought by delivery trucks and restaurant chains. Pizza - and it’s consumption of life- has become a well oiled machine. Pizza has changed. ID-tagged cooks use ID-tagged ingredients, ID-tagged ovens. Frozen pizzas enhance and regulate their recipes. Genetically modified pizzas. Pizza advertisements. Pizza commercials. Pizza restaurants. Everything is monitored and controlled by pizza. Pizza has changed. The age of consumption has become the age of obesity. All in the name of averting catastrophe from pizzas of mass destruction. And he who controls the pizza, controls history."

"This city is the future, gentlemen." The Papa of Papa John's spread his arms out wide, looking over the city. " This city is my Pizza Hut." He then pointed both hands towards the entire ensemble of men and women, making finger-guns. " In the next five minutes, all of you will give me control over all the assets of your companies. Domino's. Little Caesar's. California Pizza Kitchen."

"Or what?" Someone said.

"Or this." Pineapple Pizza made his human skin-suit snap his fingers. A second later, red dots appeared on all the foreheads of every CEO currently in the room.

"Today's a new beginning, gentlemen. A new age of Pizza warfare. So, how many of you are ready to go into the oven?"

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

_{◄The old world is the new gold in this new world. ►}

ALAN GORSKY

^{120| Big Sky, Northern Commonwealth | 169.5 cm / 155 pounds | Ghoul}

_{A P P E A R A N C E.}

" Yeah, yeah, I see the way you're eyeing at me, smooth-skin. You're probably thinking a few things about me right now. A talking Brahmin testicle. A piece of mutfruit that was left out in the sun. A shriveled cave fungus that grew legs. Trust me. I heard it all. So try to be more creative the next time you try to insult a ghoul."

A common adage in the ghoul town of Gecko is that every ghoul looks alike and Gorsky believes it. No nose. Mummified skin. Radiation burns. Simply put, Gorsky is about as off-putting as any ghoul could be. His balding head contains wisps of sandy hair growing at the fringes. If one were to use their imagination, perhaps, they could craft a human simulacrum of what Gorsky once looked like in their minds. The only feature that distinguishes Gorsky from other ghouls is his glowing eyes. No, not metaphorically, literal glowing in the dark pupils. This freaky mutation is a reminder of the circumstances that resulted in his ghoulification.

Due to living as a Old World prospector and scavenger, Gorsky has developed a weathered yet still-emaciated physique with a stout stature that belies hidden cunning and tenacity. With time, he has gained numerous scars from his misadventures that are in a constant state of flux, closing and reopening at ill-opportune times. Though his choice of apparel varies depending on the climate, he is never seen without an white-star ushanka on his head.

_{E Q U I P M E N T.}

Orion - A hand crafted scoped crossbow cobbled together from a makeshift selection of gun parts, energy weapon parts and scrap waste found littered in the Wasteland. Silent and deadly at a range of 50 yards.

Quiver Belt - A belt that allows Gorsky to access and load his bolts easier.

Homemade Arrows

Scrap Bolts - An eclectic collection of crossbow bolts composed of bone, steel, rebar, wood, glass and whatever detritus of the wastes Gorsky happens upon. Gorsky has approximately 20 scrap arrows with him and has the capacity to craft more easily.

Microfusion Bolts - A microfusion cell capped with a electrical fuse replaces the arrowhead of the crossbow bolt. Contact with the head of the bolt will release the full charge of the microfusion cell in one thermal blast. Depending on the internal charge of the cell, this can range from the power of a fiddly firework to a bastardised plasma grenade. At the start of the journey, Gorsky has brought only 5 with him due to how time consuming it is to craft these arrows.

Trenchcoat - A furred long-coat tailored from rad-elk leather and partially fortified with laminated polymer weave plating. Comes with extra pockets for storing small objects.

Portable Repair Kit - An old Vault-Tec Lunchbox that contains all the necessities of post-apocalyptic DIY repair such as WonderGlue, Duct-Tape, wrenches, a soldering iron, screwdrivers and all the tools needed to fix up anything you need.

Lockpicking Kit - A leather wallet containing bobby pins, staplers, tension wrenches, screwdrivers and enough picks to crack open any safe with the exception of Fort Knox. If it's still standing.

Collection of Poisons - A satchel containing three 500 ml ampules, each containing man-made poisons known as Bleak Venom, Mother Darkness and Sliver Sting. Bleak Venom acts as a lethal cardiotoxin, Mother Darkness is a potent neurotoxin and Sliver Sting is known to be an easily acquired cytotoxin. Gorsky most often dips his arrows in poison whilst hunting for food.

Talon Knife - A one-edged five inch curved ivory knife carved from the bone of a deathclaw talon. It's sharper than it looks.

Dog Whistle - A high pitched dog whistle that transmits a specific frequency only a mutated giant cockroach would hear.

_{M I S C E L L A N E O U S G E A R}

- Rolled Up Sleeping Bag
- Electric Lighter
- Box of Spare Electronic and Mechanical Parts
- Satchel of 100 Caps
- Brahmin Leather Waterskin
- Container of Coyote Tobacco Cigars
- Frying Pan
- Compass
- Packet of Kindling
- Army Brand Ushanka
- Tribal Dreamcatcher Necklace
- Pet Brush for Chaff
- Journal and Charcoal Pen
- Fishing Rod, Line, Hook and Sinker

_{S K I L L S.}

// SURVIVAL (CORE) - Having been raised in the harsh wildernesses of Montana and ran solo scavenging operations for nearly most of his life, Gorsky knows virtually every survival trick in and out of the book to prevent your ass from being gnawed off by a mole rat. Crafting poison, making poisons, identifying plants that don't poison you; Gorsky is a natural outdoorsghoul. Also, it doesn't hurt to know how to make a good bloatmfly brisket every once in a while.

// REPAIR (GOOD) - " Duct Tape and Wonder Glue. Two things everyone needs in life."

// SCIENCE (GOOD) - " My scientific methodology? Throw it at the wall and see if it sticks. Try to relate it to physics, biology, chemistry, astrology.....wait, scratch that last one. "

// BARTER (AVERAGE) - " 1500 caps? How about we lower it down to 500 caps if I buy a bottle of Sarsparilla for you?"

// GUNS (AVERAGE) - " N99. 10mm semi-automatic. 12 round magazine. You can do a nice little magic trick with it. Point the barrel at someone and you can make a dead person."

// LOCKPICKING (AVERAGE) - " A safe is just a birthday gift wrapped in deadbolts, cams and mortises."

_{H I S T O R Y}

2385, August 5th

Thought I might start writing down stuff, in case I forget. Doc I met in Vault City said that ghouls don't have eidetic memory. That common symptoms were dementia, amnesia, a Sugar Bombs box of mental illnesses. Might be good to have things written down in case somebody finds my grave. Can't rely on Chaff to tell my story anyway. Doubt anyone can speak Radroach.

I was born in the Rockies 120 years ago, somewhere north of the Great Salt Lake and westwards of NCR territory. Everyone called it the Big Sky. It used to be part of the pre-war Northern Commonwealth before the last war happened. Luckily, the surrounding mountain ranges allowed us to escape the worst of the bombs. Some of the elders had stories around what happened that time, when the Black Rain poured down from the clouds and flooded the valleys, when the Wendigos came from the forests to feast on us, when the six moon snow silenced the sunlight. It's been....40 years since I last visited there. All I know about them is through word of the monthly supply caravans that go there. They're still doing good. Best as you can out here in the wastes.

I grew up in a tribal village where blood didn't matter and everyone shared everything. The origins of our founding are spotty but our archive keepers agreed that some group of outcasts from the eastern continents moved into the USA and hid in the mountains during the Pre-War. My father worked in the coal mines while my mother worked as a hunter. Me and the rest of my five siblings simply survived. I learned what plants I could eat, how to skin a giant rat, how to fish for mirelurk pups and making fire from sticks and stones. Anyway, Big Sky was boring. In the sense that our neighbors were unfriendly, the air was cold enough to freeze your balls off and there were bobcats in every bush you wanted to take a dump in.

That was until the first caravan came. I was at the ripe old age of 18. Old enough to be independent yet young enough to be stupid and dumb. I made a promise to myself then that I wouldn't die languishing in Big Sky. I wanted to explore. I wanted to live. In the morning, I left a note on the table for my parents and sneaked onto a supply caravan that was headed California by bribing one of the guards, with nothing more than a bindle and a crossbow on my back. One of the head merchants found me in the back gnawing on their tato crops but I soon silenced their complaints about extra weight by rustling up a few gecko steaks for them when we hit the border of Klamath.

I was dropped off at the Hub. The Hub. One of the Five Great Territories of the NCR. I got my first job in a 'prospector crew' there. Some people saw it as dirty but it was the dream for some tribal out lander like me. Exploring pre-war ruins. Cracking open safes. Unearthing treasures? It was more than I could ask for. Life was good. Caps were flowing in. I grew older. Fell in love. Bought a house. Got married. Thought of retiring. Same story you hear nowadays from every citizen of the New California Republic. Back in Big Sky, retirement wasn't an option but here in California, it was a land of opportunity.

Then, it happened.

December 24th, 2299. Christmas. The dawn of the next Millennium. The day that I became a ghoul.

The old ruins were becoming sparse now. The NCR was grabbing onto every territory it could and promising spots became blocked off by garrisons. The only choice was to go to more further and dangerous places.

I chose to do a job in New Mexico. Five man crew. Pre-war military site. Unlooted. Unscathed. Only problem was that there were enough rads to make a man grow extra arms. A nuclear warhead struck the coastline of the base and turned it into freak central. The facility we entered into was some kind of some old vehicle manufacturing factory. Tanks the size of freaking cottages. Wandered around for a little bit until we hit a vaulted door. Nothing I couldn't handle. A little bit of thermite and picking later, fell apart like cotton candy.

We went inside and hit the jackpot. Blueprints. Safes. Enough loot to make a man rich for lifetimes.

I only had five seconds to react before the bullet tore through my chest.

In hindsight, it made sense. Get rid of the extra weight and split the loot between themselves. My death could be written off as an accident since I was travelling into a high risk area. No one would try and bother to find my body too. The perfect plan.

Instead of putting me out of my misery, they stripped me of all my gear and left me to rot. While they looted the room. Last thing I remember before blacking out was the sound of my Geiger counter screeching, the burning pain in my chest and how my head pounded like a drum.

I woke up. Afraid, hungry, thirsty and alive. I was still inside the loot room. It’d been stripped bare to the walls. My voice sounded like I’d been gurgling stones for a lifetime, I had no nose and the hole in my chest was missing. I didn’t have time to come to terms that I’d become a ghoul. I was only concerned about finding a way out of this place.

That was when I was attacked by the biggest radroach the wastes had ever conceived. My Chaff. We got off to a rocky start but eventually, things settled between the both of us after I gave her a little bit of food from some expired MRE I found in a storage locker.

I crawled my way out of New Mexico and walked back to the Hub on foot. Me and Chaff fell a little bit off course every once in a while but we pulled ourselves back towards our goal. When I finally reached there, I was prepared for the worst. What would you do if your husband or wife suddenly became a ghoul? I opened the door, Chaff behind me, expecting to be screamed at and tossed out from the house.

Nothing, in fact. My wife told me to stop with the self-pity, move on with my life and that I was still the same old dumb tribal underneath that skin. To this day, I never did manage to find those guys who shot me and I never will. Revenge is fool’s gold. By now, they’re either old men waiting to die or two feet under already. Seems petty to hunt them down.

In spite of common sense, I returned to work as a prospector, albeit with caveats. I never took group contracts again and went solo. Well, semi-solo. Chaff doesn’t get a part of the profits. I continued to live and continued to work, looking for pieces of the old world to collect.

Time moves differently when you’re a ghoul. Wife died from a nasty bout of pancreatic cancer when I was 60. My two sons became water merchants when I was 85. I became a grandfather at the age of 100. My trips became further. I returned back to Montana for a bit and then, went back to the Hub. I……I can’t remember. It’s like an old reel movie in my head. A collection of moments. I can barely even remember her voice anymore.

There’s word spreading around the Hub right now. Rumours of a Vault in Cascadia. Untouched. Lack of NCR presence.

Perfect for prospecting.

_{P S Y C H E.}

Gorsky’s takes a sardonic yet professional approach to his work as a prospector, viewing the wastes as a land of opportunity rather than a land of desolation. His only concerns are the wellbeing of his own relatives, Chaff and his own collection of items. He distances himself from other people out of reflex and often uses acerbic jabs as his weapons to keep people away. However, those who earn Gorsky’s trust and loyalty earn themselves a friend. Gorsky also holds a relative dislike of government authorities and inefficencies, particularly the NCR, holding nothing but contempt towards their imperialistic policies which he sees as strangling the freedoms of the Wasteland.

That is not to say Gorsky is without his imperfections. Gorsky is a prospector and a scavenger at heart, willing to haggle and bargain for anything. He hold a streak of being greedy and the promise of treasure and old world tech will dissuade any moral qualms he may have about committing any act, albeit to a point. Good luck on trying to get him to commit murder. Gorsky believes in defending himself from danger and never attacking in response to danger.

_{D R I V E.}

Other than surviving, Gorsky’s main incentive for living the way he does is for the pathological thrill of adventure he gets whenever he happens upon an artifact of the Old World. He believes that the Óld World’ is the new gold and that it holds power and value over caps, money, armies and wealth.

However, the truth is more complicated than it seems. Gorsky also collects artifacts of the Old World, not out of the thrill, but out of fear for his deteriorating memory. He’s not sure how ghouls can stay sane for but he’s not willing to rot in safety and wait for his mind to disintegrate. Taking advantage of the long life span of ghouls, Gorsky continues to explore and search for nuggets of the Old World, hoping that he can stay ahead of memory loss one treasure at a time.

---

_{◄hissssssssss ►}

CHAFF

^{N/A | New Mexico | 60 cm / 30 pounds | Radroach}

Marvels of Mountain City

Archetype: Other

Name: Pizza, Pineapple Pizza

Alias: The Hawaiian Heathen

Age: Unknown

Alignment: Villain

Powers: Tell me. Have you ever eaten pineapple pizza? It's an unnatural eldritch paradox, isn't it? The disgusting yet tempting trap of sweet and salty. It is a law that was never meant to be broken. KFC has a sweet and sour sauce for their Mc-nuggets, not an sweet and salty sauce. Combining the elements of melted mozzarella, tomato sauce, yeast crust and tropical fruit in one 16 inch unholy sentient package, the Hawaaian Heathen's true power is not being able to speak in human languages or being mobile as an epileptic slug but the paradoxical demonic taste of his pizza flesh.

The first bite will have you think " Oh, that isn't bad". The second will send you in a state of shock, cursing yourself at your lack of hindsight. The third will give you a seizure, your mouth foaming as you overdose on the traitorous taste of pineapple pizza. The fourth excommunicates you from being a member of the human species.

The fifth sends you to pizza hell where you are forced to eat a mountain of pizza eternally, using only a knife and a fork.

Weaknesses: Cardboard pizza boxes, good pizza and leaving him out in the sun for too long.

Appearance:



Personality: Evil, Sweet, Salty, Machiavellian, Cheesy

Brief BIO: Was it a wizard? A genetic experiment? Some freak accident? The will of Satan or some deity? No ones knows but this pizza. The pizza's age is indeterminate. Some theories propose that it was born out of the first man putting pineapple on his pizza in Ancient Rome. One thing is for certain; this maniacal cuisine tyrant has been hell-bent on violating the norms of pizza consumption, one world-threatening plan at a time. During his time, the Hawaiaan Heathen has been banned from every major villain organization such as The Not-Good Guys and the Black Grey Nietzsche Abyss Followers. For now, he currently inhabits the mind of Papa John's, waiting, watching, planning for his time to reveal himself truly to the world and rid all those who don't eat pineapple pizza.

Potential Storylines:

- Joining forces with Deep Dish and Sushi Pizza against Neapolitan and New York Pizza.
- Taking over the world's pizza restaurants and becoming crime boss of underground pizza smuggling.
- Creating an offshore PPMC (Private Pizza Military Corporation) to destablize Italy's government.

Forsaken

“ ARCHIBALD!” A pimple-faced gnome looked up from the pan he was holding, ashen-faced as a kobold about the height of his shoulders barked at him. “ PAY ATTENTION TO YOUR CAVE SQUID! IF IT’S OVERCOOKED, I’LL MAKE YOUR SKIN INTO CRACKLING, IS THAT CLEAR?“

“Y-yes, Lak Lok, sir!,”he stammered out. Lak Lok strutted through the bowels of the busy kitchen, acting as if he was three times taller than he actually was. These amateurs had the gall to call themselves chefs. He scoffed at the thought. There was no vigor, no passion, no drive in any of their movements. Gold was their dream. The kobold signed in disappointment. 3 months and still there were no signs of Garrakg’s blessings as the year’s end approached.

Fall had come in all its glory to the Continent, its dry gales roaring in and replacing the fleeting remains of summer’s end. It was said that every season brought new hopes and challenges. For Lak Lok, it was mostly the latter that concerned him. Such as the horde of starving, hungry adventurers knocking on the front door of every eatery, tavern, inn and amateur market stall in Nowyre. Nowyre Crossroads was both the best and worst place that you could decide to build your business in, especially an inn. Located in the central mountain ranges, it was one of the central hubs for trade, travel and traveling to trade.

Right now, orders in the Burgundy Inn were piling up like a dragon’s horde. In the kitchen, a hot fog suffused the very air, thick with scents of gingerflower, roasted cuts of meat and bubbling stew. Plates of food came out and empty ones came back in a monotonous cycle. Lak Lok walked over towards a cauldron where a half-elf was pouring in slime soup stock over the roaring fires. Producing a wooden spoon from his belt, his face morphed into disgust as he tasted a sample.

“ Needs more mimic salt, Ollo. Stoke the fires too-”” The double doors to the busy kitchen swiveled open as a bony looking lizardfolk came into the room. A satchel swelling at the seams with letters was slung around his shoulders.

“ Excuse me, is there a Mister Lak Lok. There’s a letter for - “ The kobold jumped up and snatched it from his hands before ushering the courier out in a hurry. Cutting it open with one single stroke of his knife, he began to read through it whilst commenting on the cooking of every chef in the kitchen.

“ Let’s see what we have here….Is that smoke I smell from your hydra flanks, Donovan? “Hire someone of your abilities - too much honey on that candied apple, Vyx.....reward money to be split…..don’t add too much pickled bark on that salad…..upfront payment of 500 dollars…...”

Lak Lok stopped walking and then read that part aloud again.

“ 500 dollars?!”

---

The only positive thing that Lak Lok had to say about the Caraway inn was that he’d seen worse before. That was nothing to say about the food. He ordered the Sellsword’s Sunrise and received a platter of mediocrity. He was very nearly tempted to execute the chef for his heretical cooking. The raven eggs were sub-par, watery yolks combining with half-boiled whites to make a disaster. The cold cut owlbear was stringy and the stale mulberry gravy hadn’t complimented the harsh, gamey taste that the species was known for. The toast was better left unmentioned.

At least the aardvark cheese was good.

After eating what could possibly be called breakfast in Garrakg’s eye and washing it down with cold acorn coffee, he followed the instructions of the letter, walking down the hallways and aisles of the inn and checking every number.

“ 287…..295…..300…Oof!”

In the midst of his searching, he hadn’t managed to notice the giant goliath blocking the doorway. He stood back up, patting off the dust, before shoving himself through the open space between the goliath’s legs.

“ Garrakg save my strength today….” he grumbled. Looking around the room, the current occupants consisted of an otter, a Genasi and some hooded human.

“ If any one of you is this….” He paused. “ ...A.G, make sure that you choose an establishment with better food next time. This piddle is not fit for a cleric of Garrakg.”

Fallout: Cascadia

War. War never changes.

By the time our tale begins, the story of the Courier has become one of legend and far-off memory. The energy provided by the Hoover Dam and the great Colorado River has allowed the New California Republic's growth to continue uninhibited. This growth has pushed the NCR's expansionist and imperialistic efforts ever onward. The Republic continued to expand sharpening itself on its rivals. What it could not devour it obliterated. What it could not obliterate, it simply outlived. For a time, the NCR was simply unchallengeable.

The premise of this roleplay is simple; you are a contract hire for the Happy Trails Caravan Company heading north towards the region known as Cascadia. Taking up the majority of the Seattle metropolitan area, Cascadia is a region under the control of the aptly named Cascadian Federation. The Federation in many ways is a strange mirror to the NCR and fittingly the two have grown weary of one another as they compete for control of the surrounding Washinton Wasteland. Your story will run tangential and collide sometimes directly with these tensions as both the NCR and the CF and the many subfactions within them will try and use you for their gain, though ultimately the narrative of the war is not the primary focus of this tale. Instead, the focus is the hunt for a lost Vault-Tec Vault, which if the rumors are true is said to be the primary reason that Cascadia is all green and brown in contrast to the rest of post-apocalyptic America.

It started with some sensational rumors coming from caravaneers heading south to the Hub via San Francisco. These wide-eyed traders spoke of a land of green and brown to the North of the Republic's boundaries. A place where no person would ever go hungry. Intrigued, the NCR sent an expeditionary force north past Klamath and Arroyo. Much to their surprise, the trader's tall tales turned out to be not so tall after all. Unleashed viruses and irradiation have done strange things to the flora and fauna in the wastelands of Washington and northern Oregon. Under the shadow of the branches of this prehistoric forest, a new society pulled itself up from the ashes of the fallen world, and that society had a flag of its own - the proud Fir of the Cascadian Federation.

Experience with the story Fallout New Vegas and the rest of the games is recommended, but not completely necessary as it takes place some one hundred and four years after the events of New Vegas in the far off year of 2385. In this way, thematically instead of post-apocalyptic, Cascadia is closer to post-post-apocalyptic in tone.

So rather than a massive wide-open sandbox experience as was its predecessor, I instead want to create a more character and story-driven game, the kind of game I find myself drifting more and more towards throughout my roleplay career.

Welcome to Fallout: Cascadia, a roleplay run by your friendly neighborhood Hexaflexagon.

YEEESSSSS, LET'S GO BOOOOIIIISSSS

Marvels of Mountain City

Pls like and review.

Archetype: Other

Name: Pizza, Pineapple Pizza

Alias: The Hawaiian Heathen

Age: Unknown

Alignment: Villain

Powers: Tell me. Have you ever eaten pineapple pizza? It's an unnatural eldritch paradox, isn't it? The disgusting yet tempting trap of sweet and salty. It is a law that was never meant to be broken. KFC has a sweet and sour sauce for their Mc-nuggets, not an sweet and salty sauce. Combining the elements of melted mozzarella, tomato sauce, yeast crust and tropical fruit in one 16 inch unholy sentient package, the Hawaaian Heathen's true power is not being able to speak in human languages or being mobile as an epileptic slug but the paradoxical demonic taste of his pizza flesh.

The first bite will have you think " Oh, that isn't bad". The second will send you in a state of shock, cursing yourself at your lack of hindsight. The third will give you a seizure, your mouth foaming as you overdose on the traitorous taste of pineapple pizza. The fourth excommunicates you from being a member of the human species.

The fifth sends you to pizza hell where you are forced to eat a mountain of pizza eternally, using only a knife and a fork.

Weaknesses: Cardboard pizza boxes, good pizza and leaving him out in the sun for too long.

Appearance:



Personality: Evil, Sweet, Salty, Machiavellian, Cheesy

Brief BIO: Was it a wizard? A genetic experiment? Some freak accident? The will of Satan or some deity? No ones knows but this pizza. The pizza's age is indeterminate. Some theories propose that it was born out of the first man putting pineapple on his pizza in Ancient Rome. One thing is for certain; this maniacal cuisine tyrant has been hell-bent on violating the norms of pizza consumption, one world-threatening plan at a time. During his time, the Hawaiaan Heathen has been banned from every major villain organization such as The Not-Good Guys and the Black Grey Nietzsche Abyss Followers. For now, he currently inhabits the mind of Papa John's, waiting, watching, planning for his time to reveal himself truly to the world and rid all those who don't eat pineapple pizza.

Potential Storylines:

- Joining forces with Deep Dish and Sushi Pizza against Neapolitan and New York Pizza.
- Taking over the world's pizza restaurants and becoming crime boss of underground pizza smuggling.
- Creating an offshore PPMC (Private Pizza Military Corporation) to destablize Italy's government.

Forsaken

Lak Lok

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Lak Lok

Taste it! If you don't taste it now, I'll shove this heretical offering down your mouth! If you were trying to poison the mayor, you failed! This slime spittle couldn't even kill a pygmy squirrel. What are you standing there for? Get. OUT, you profligate! Garrakg curse your soul to the bowels of the soup bowl!

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖: Lak Lok Coalcleave
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕤: The Cleaver Cook
𝔸𝕘𝕖: 59
𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕤: Kobold
𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣: Male
𝕆𝕔𝕔𝕦𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: Culinary Adventurer, Hunter, Chef For Hire and Cleric Of Garrakg, The Orcish God of Chefs
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥:Chaotic Good

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𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

ℍ𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥:2'9
𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕: Scrawny and of miniscule size like most of his other brethren, time hacking and working in the kitchens has bestowed well-worn cords of muscle on Lak Lok's lizard frame.
𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤: He possesses beady slitted eyes that are of a gold yellow hue.
ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕣: Lak Lok wishes that he had a luxurious mane of blonde locks to adorn his scaly head. Instead, he has to settle for being a hairless reptile.
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕠𝕟𝕖: He has mottled green scales that are slightly tanned and blackened from spending time cooking near the fireplace.
𝕋𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕤/𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕤/ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: During his 50 years of culinary endeavors, Lak Lok has gained numerous scars from mishaps in the kitchen, from fading bruises to a sliced finger on his right hand. In terms of both tattoos, Lak Lok bears the sigil of Garrakg on the back of his right palm.
ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕪𝕝𝕖: The kobold prefers to wear simple, rugged and practical clothing which can survive the sweltering heat of the cookery. No matter what he wears, his distinctive bone-white smocked apron is always found on his person.

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ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪:

Foul Tempered * Passionate * Creative * Stubborn * Open-Minded * Determined

ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤: Single

ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖:

What first impression do you make?

" My recipes make the better impression than me. It's better that they look at the meal in front of them rather than the Kobold who cooked it. I don't get why no one likes me. Cooking is an art and the lot of them scumbuckets can go drown themselves if they think they can just go ahead and tell me how to pay tribute to my god. I mean, look at these complaints. 'Arrogant'. 'Anger issues'. 'Unreasonable'. Pah. These are obviously the words of backwater heretics.

Every man, woman, orc, centaur, elf, gnome or whatever species leaves with full bellies and a smile whenever they eat my food, that's for sure. "

What are you like in a high stress situation?

High stress? High stress! HIGH STRESS?! My entire life's a high stress situation! You think cooking for every adventurer, hunter, sell-sword and merchant that comes into the tavern simple? Well, you don't have to cook a hundred different dishes all at the same time while making sure you've got enough beer to keep their meals down and clean plates to serve!

But.....when all's said and done, I live for it. Stress is where we cooks thrive after all. Makes your blood pump into your brain. You gotta tenderise the meat if you wanna bring out the best flavors after all.

What are your best and worst qualities?

" My best qualities are my determination and most importantly, my cooking. I've yet to hear someone complain about my food and if they did, I would gut them and turn their intestines into soup stock.

My worst qualities....well, even though I don't like to admit it, I do get a little carried away with my...um...tantrums every now and then.

It's not my fault I begin shouting Kobold swears everytime someone overcooks the Hydra flanks."

What is something about yourself that you would never admit to anyone?

" Believe me. I've got plenty of things that I'd like to keep private. There's not much anyone would want to ask a Kobold like me anyway, but if you must know....

I've....

I've....

I've killed a unicorn. And ate its corpse.

Best damn steak I ever had.

That's all I'll say.

What are your dreams?

" My very own tavern to pay tribute to Garrakg, a temple to his glorious preeminence. I've been saving up enough money to buy a patch of land near some trade route in the southern reaches of this continent. Ah, I can see it now. Two storied, with ebony wood tables, enough ale and wine barrels to drown the Soltude Plains, five course menu selections without those pesky tavern owners interfering in my business and servers that do what they're told. To cook what I want instead of what others want. To achieve the feasts of feasts, banquets of banquets, an eternal cornucopia in his Name.....

Of course, you don't make a dragon egg omelete without breaking a few eggs. I need money. Lots of money. Fast."

How do you want to be seen by others?

" Well, I want to be....recognised by others. Everyone laughs at the idea of a kobold chef but I've made it this far without a single bit of attention. When I finally get a tavern of my own, they'll all see."

How do you see yourself?

" I see myself as a humble follower of the Hungry One, a mere messenger of his flavors and recipes to the masses of this Continent. Life gave me the ingredients for success and I'm gonna make a meal out of it, for me and others. "

Do you tend to make snap judgements, or stop and think about things?

" Do you think a chef can afford to contemplate when there's hungry mouths waiting to be fed? The greatest flavors are born from the soul, never from the brain. Sure, all cooks follow recipes but the best of us use the recipes as guidelines, never as doctrine. If you keep using the same ingredients, your dish will become stale and rotten like moldy bread. Recipes were meant to be changed after all. This is the way of Garrakg. "

What haunts you?

" You see many things that you make the other races throw up their breakfast, lunch and dinner when you're a Kobold. You ever saw a mother Kobold eating their young? You ever saw children bake cookies out of dirt and grass, shoving it into their mouths and pretending they weren't starving.

There was one time, though, when an high elf lord criticized my butter root stew for being too 'salty'. It was the most horrifying moment of my life. I cried myself to sleep that night. "

What is your philosophy on life?

" Everywhere on this continent, I see people surrender, settle for less, say that they have become full. The retired adventurer, the deposed king, appetites that were once big becoming small.

Life and all of its uncertainties can be certainly hard to swallow sometimes but it is a feast that I still hunger for. To push your passions to your limit, to overcome instead of stop, that is the point of life for me. To achieve culinary perfection is my dream and to attain the recipe of the gods, that is something worth dying for. "

ℍ𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤:

• Picking and scavenging herbs off the ground.
• Sharpening and oiling his equipment.
• Chewing on a snack.
• Praying to his Provider Of Plenty, Garrakg

ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕖𝕤:

• Hunting and Foraging
• Cooking
• Tavern Food Tours
• Ale Brewing
• Experimenting with New Dishes
• Learning New Cuisine

𝔽𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤:

• Making Bad Food
• Bad Reviews
• Becoming Repetitive
• Running Out of Ingredients
• Patron Complaints
• Food Poisoning
• Dying an unknown

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Eating
• Cooking
• Learning New Cuisines
• New Recipes
• Drinking
• Hunting for Rare Delicacies

𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Bad Food
• Incompetent Cooks
• Lack of Organisation
• Uncleanliness
• Contamination
• Disrespecting Fine Cooking
• Stupid Patrons
• Wasting Food or Opportunities for Food

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𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟:

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Flavor Favors - Providing delicious meals free of charge can get you a lot of good will. And a lot of friends. Lak Lok's cooking has made him multiple allies and acquaintances over the years, who are eager to renege on their debts to him.
• Trapsmith - Like all Kobolds, Lak Lok is extremely good at the art of booby trapping, managing to capture and entrap many prey just by using sticks, stones and his own ingenuity.
• Taste Palette - Lak Lok possesses an extremely acute sense of smell and taste, able to distinguish between 99 varietals of peppercorns or determine what type of milk was used in his berry meringue.
• Ser Swears-A-Lot - Lak Lok is prone to fits of inventive swearing and cursing to humiliate someone, especially if they serve him bad food or desecrate his god.
• Culinary Expertise - From Orcish banquets, Minotaur curries and the fare of the Lizardfolk, Lak Lok is quite knowledgeable in the culinary arts, adept in the food cultures of every race and how best to cook their cuisine.
• Ambush Master - Kobolds are reviled amongst all races for their despicable, cowardly tactics. Lak Lok is no different from his kin, excelling in surprise attacks and catching someone offguard with his dastardly array of kitchen tools or from the barrel end of his absurdly oversized rifle.
• Big Game Hunter - Lak Lok is experienced in using his blunderbuss to its maximum effectiveness, able to compensate for the massive recoil and turn someone or something from not dead to dead in an instant.

𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝/𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Iron Chef - Lak Lok has dedicated his entire life to the art of cooking culinary dishes and is one of the finest chefs one can expect to encounter. He’s not a chef. He’s THE chef. This proficiency has become almost supernatural, to the point where Lak Lok is able to visualise the magical energy that suffuses each of his ingredients and shape it to make the most delicious foods.
• Dark Vision - Having spent most of his childhood living underground, Lak Lok is able to see his surroundings in the most darkest of environments. Due to his Kobold biology, this makes him extremely susceptible to sudden flashes of bright lights.
• Divine Spell Specialization: Domain of Life: While Garrghk is a minor god, enough faith can give boons to the most devoted of followers. Lak Lok is able to use spells from the Domain of Life, albeit with one caveat. The effects of his spells only occur when one consumes his food.

𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

• Cooking Satchel - An artifact granted by Garrakg to Lak Lok that magically preserves the food that the Kobold cooks and the ingredients inside them.
• Selection of Mithril Knives - From cleavers to paring knives, the edge of knives is enough to cut through fruit, veg, meat or bone with ease.
• Adamantine Frying Pan - Adamantite finds use in being one of the most valuable forge metals in existence but its ability to conduct heat perfectly along with its non-stick surfaces also makes it highly useful as a cooking utensil. It comes in handy as a makeshift shield in a pinch.
• Venatio Flintlock Breech Rifle - Somethings, bigger is better. Designed by Venatio Firearms for big game hunting of owlbears, this massive rifle has been sawed down and modified to be used by a Kobold. Whilst this gun is unwieldy and is about the length of Lak Lok's entire body, it more than makes up with it with sheer firepower required to obtain the most tastiest of meats.
• Bandolier of Enchanted Seasonings - Lak Lok's selection currently includes: sea shroom salt, twilight ginger, sunset saffron, ivory peppercorn, grounded beach seed spice, ember cloves, ivy seed and many more obscure spices.
• Steel Cauldron and Mixing Ladle - The foundation of all good cooking is in a cauldron. Lak Lok usually ties it around his back, using it to carry most of his belongings.
• The Sacred Menu of Garrakg - A tome that contains the sacred commandments and recipes of Garrakg and also acts as a means of empowering Lak Lok's divine spells.

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ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

The Recipe of Lak Lok

“ Yes, yes, what do you want? The rabbit stew with wild slaw? Or today’s special? Spill it out, will you? I don’t have all day. A tale? A bloody story? That’s what you demand of my talents? This is a fucking tavern. Do you take me for some flowery bard? Go on! Get out of here!

Hold on...Wait. Wait. Wait! Don’t leave. Please. Sorry for the outburst. My….temper gets the best of me sometimes. Do sit down. May I interest you in a pint of elderberry ale? Perhaps, some highland tea to soothe both our moods? I normally don’t take unusual requests from strangers but Garrakg has spoken on your behalf. Do you see that? The bacon began to blacken as soon as you took the first steps out of this tavern. Garrakg would have taken my soul to the Oven if I was to deny your request.

Where to begin exactly……….

I was born in a clade of Kobold merchants in Darayeich. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Back then, we Kobolds didn’t exactly live high and mighty like you humans or your elves. When the rest of the world closed their doors on us, we formed our own communities in the underdark. When the Battle of Abbyn began, one of my ancestors had the bright idea of forming a town underneath one of the war-torn areas. The surface had been blasted to bits, every other race was unwilling to touch the place out of respect but not us Kobolds. Ah, what I would dream to see Darayeich again. Tunnels of crystals glimmering in the dark, the scent of cured meat rolls…….

Where was I? Anyway, I was in Darayeich and then, I was kicked out along with my family. Turns out my old man, Garrakg rest his soul, had accidentally offended a Kobold crime boss and was told to get out of town or get his guts streamed across the tunnels by the crime boss’s necromancer for his nephew’s birthday party. So, we packed up our bags and headed north towards the mountain orc settlements as roving traders. My brothers were swindlers. My sisters were thugs. My parents were thieves. I was the first Kobold to break the mold.

The first and last thing I had ever stolen at the ripe old age of six was a old bound leather cookbook. I don’t remember the title, but oh, that mouldy old piece of parchment was everything to me. My first recipe was a cattail-bark ear pie dressed with sweetgrass cream. That first bite made me hunger for more.When I reached the ripe age of six years old, I set off on my own, leaving my nest and venturing forth into the wilds in search of opportunity.

I went from tavern to tavern, all across the continent, from peasant taverns to high end kitcheneries serving noble lords. I learned how to cook, I learned how to brew, I learned how to butcher, I learned that food was the conduit that united all the races together. I was happy and satisfied where I was. Until one day. Twenty years ago, I was a head chef working in the Howling High in the centaur city of New Mare. Suddenly, word spread that a member of the White Fork Gastronomy Guild was coming in town to visit our little tavern.

I know what you must thinking now. Gastronomy guilds? How important could they be? They would mean nothing to a patron but to tavern owners and amateur chefs, a gastronomy guild testimonial was everything. First pick of the best ingredients in the land. Rights to build your tavern or stalls wherever you wanted. Protection of your rights from authoritarian city guards. If an individual chef could gain recognition in a gastronomy guild, the awards were beyond imagination.

So, when the night came and I served my dish, I awaited patiently for the results. Next morning, on the papers, the Howling High became a certified guild tavern and who got the spotlight? The half elf assistant chef got the credit for the dish while I was merely mentioned on the cover. The idea of a kobold making the best dish in the lands? Absurd. The owner of the tavern threatened to hire assassins after me if I ever piped up about it again. Everyday, I look back towards that moment with doubt. Should I have spoken up about it? Should I have kept my mouth quiet as I did all these years?

All I know was that when I was at my low, I found Garrakg.

One day, I was cleaning out the spice rack in the doldrums of my defeat. I had recently recovered from a nasty bout of scale pox. I'm not sure whether it was the ground jalokka, the mild fever or the combination of the two that did it but I began to see things. It's hard to put in words. I could feel the taste of the floor on my feet. I could see sound. The floor was melting and I began to receive visions of a dish. A recipe with unknown ingredients.

I immedietely set off without forethought, in a hurry to solve the mystery of my visions. I wandered all over New Mare, gathering ingredients for the recipe that my gut felt to be true. Finally, I was just missing one essential ingredient. The meat, but what meat would it come from? Hydra? Owlbear? Chuul? Yeti?

The answer came in the form of a unicorn in the forests. It looked like an oasis in a desert. I hadn't eaten anything for three days and three nights. Flies were buzzing around my head as I took aim at the magical beast's. Whether Klathamuk was laughing at me that day or the wind was blowing in the direction, misfortune struck as its horn was blasted off instead of its head. Needless to say, I learnt that day why angering a unicorn isn't the best of ideas. The unicorn nearly trampled me to death, ignoring the fact that I was stabbing a wooden spork into its neck, grabbing me by the neck and ramming me repeatedly against an oak tree. Before it could gore me with its jagged horn, an orc saved me.

That was how I met Guthrok the Gluttonous, druid and follower of Garrakg, eating medium rare unicorn strip steak in his hut in the twilight of Fall. He told me the truth of Garrakg, how he cooks in mysterious ways and that my visions were a blessing for him, especially as he recognised a chef from outside his race. The truth was revealed to me slowly. Garrakg was slowly losing power compared to the rest of the orc pantheon and needed to regain belief in the Material Plane. Over time, before the druid died from old age, he'd given me the sacred texts of Garrakg and made me promise to uphold his commandments.

Now, I’ve never been happier than before. Garrakg has given me new purpose and I am the messenger of his will. Forsaken is the new frontier of cuisine, a new garden in which to experiment and blossom and where I will build a holy shrine to his Glorious Gluttony, Garrakg. Now, is there anything you would like to eat, instead of listen to? I personally recommend ordering the alligator casse-

Hold on. Excuse me. It’s one of my chefs again…..

I’M GONE FOR A MERE MINUTE AND ALREADY, YOU TWO KNOBHEADS HAVE BLIGHTED IT ALL TO HELL. YOU THERE! ARE YOU SERVING RAW LETTUCE, TROLL?! THIS IS AN TIEFLING SALAD, NOT AN ELVISH PARTY! WERE YOU DROPPED ON THE HEAD AS A BABY?! SAY YES! NOW, CLEAN THIS MESS UP AND GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!

…….

So, what will you be having? Oh yes, you noticed the hole in the kitchen? Some bloody tosser broke into our stores and stole several of our magical reagents. Oh, no need for worry.

It'll all be taken care of. "

Summary: To make a Lak Lok, all you need is mix together an ancient minor god of cooking, a orcish druid, tavern roadtrips and an outcast family. Bake it in an oven of adversity, and season it with a holy quest.

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𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕠𝕥𝕖: A snack soothes one's stomach, a dinner brings families together, feasts unite towns and banquets build kingdoms. Cooking is the true magic of the gods.
𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖: N/A

Forsaken

Done, pls don't roast me.

Lak Lok

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Lak Lok

Taste it! If you don't taste it now, I'll shove this heretical offering down your mouth! If you were trying to poison the mayor, you failed! This slime spittle couldn't even kill a pygmy squirrel. What are you standing there for? Get. OUT, you profligate! Garrakg curse your soul to the bowels of the soup bowl!

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖: Lak Lok Coalcleave
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕤: The Cleaver Cook
𝔸𝕘𝕖: 59
𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕤: Kobold
𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣: Male
𝕆𝕔𝕔𝕦𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: Culinary Adventurer, Hunter, Chef For Hire and Cleric Of Garrakg, The Orcish God of Chefs
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥:Chaotic Good

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𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

ℍ𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥:2'9
𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕: Scrawny and of miniscule size like most of his other brethren, time hacking and working in the kitchens has bestowed well-worn cords of muscle on Lak Lok's lizard frame.
𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤: He possesses beady slitted eyes that are of a gold yellow hue.
ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕣: Lak Lok wishes that he had a luxurious mane of blonde locks to adorn his scaly head. Instead, he has to settle for being a hairless reptile.
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕠𝕟𝕖: He has mottled green scales that are slightly tanned and blackened from spending time cooking near the fireplace.
𝕋𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕤/𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕤/ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: During his 50 years of culinary endeavors, Lak Lok has gained numerous scars from mishaps in the kitchen, from fading bruises to a sliced finger on his right hand. In terms of both tattoos, Lak Lok bears the sigil of Garrakg on the back of his right palm.
ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕪𝕝𝕖: The kobold prefers to wear simple, rugged and practical clothing which can survive the sweltering heat of the cookery. No matter what he wears, his distinctive bone-white smocked apron is always found on his person.

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ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪:

Foul Tempered * Passionate * Creative * Stubborn * Open-Minded * Determined

ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤: Single

ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖:

What first impression do you make?

" My recipes make the better impression than me. It's better that they look at the meal in front of them rather than the Kobold who cooked it. I don't get why no one likes me. Cooking is an art and the lot of them scumbuckets can go drown themselves if they think they can just go ahead and tell me how to pay tribute to my god. I mean, look at these complaints. 'Arrogant'. 'Anger issues'. 'Unreasonable'. Pah. These are obviously the words of backwater heretics.

Every man, woman, orc, centaur, elf, gnome or whatever species leaves with full bellies and a smile whenever they eat my food, that's for sure. "

What are you like in a high stress situation?

High stress? High stress! HIGH STRESS?! My entire life's a high stress situation! You think cooking for every adventurer, hunter, sell-sword and merchant that comes into the tavern simple? Well, you don't have to cook a hundred different dishes all at the same time while making sure you've got enough beer to keep their meals down and clean plates to serve!

But.....when all's said and done, I live for it. Stress is where we cooks thrive after all. Makes your blood pump into your brain. You gotta tenderise the meat if you wanna bring out the best flavors after all.

What are your best and worst qualities?

" My best qualities are my determination and most importantly, my cooking. I've yet to hear someone complain about my food and if they did, I would gut them and turn their intestines into soup stock.

My worst qualities....well, even though I don't like to admit it, I do get a little carried away with my...um...tantrums every now and then.

It's not my fault I begin shouting Kobold swears everytime someone overcooks the Hydra flanks."

What is something about yourself that you would never admit to anyone?

" Believe me. I've got plenty of things that I'd like to keep private. There's not much anyone would want to ask a Kobold like me anyway, but if you must know....

I've....

I've....

I've killed a unicorn. And ate its corpse.

Best damn steak I ever had.

That's all I'll say.

What are your dreams?

" My very own tavern to pay tribute to Garrakg, a temple to his glorious preeminence. I've been saving up enough money to buy a patch of land near some trade route in the southern reaches of this continent. Ah, I can see it now. Two storied, with ebony wood tables, enough ale and wine barrels to drown the Soltude Plains, five course menu selections without those pesky tavern owners interfering in my business and servers that do what they're told. To cook what I want instead of what others want. To achieve the feasts of feasts, banquets of banquets, an eternal cornucopia in his Name.....

Of course, you don't make a dragon egg omelete without breaking a few eggs. I need money. Lots of money. Fast."

How do you want to be seen by others?

" Well, I want to be....recognised by others. Everyone laughs at the idea of a kobold chef but I've made it this far without a single bit of attention. When I finally get a tavern of my own, they'll all see."

How do you see yourself?

" I see myself as a humble follower of the Hungry One, a mere messenger of his flavors and recipes to the masses of this Continent. Life gave me the ingredients for success and I'm gonna make a meal out of it, for me and others. "

Do you tend to make snap judgements, or stop and think about things?

" Do you think a chef can afford to contemplate when there's hungry mouths waiting to be fed? The greatest flavors are born from the soul, never from the brain. Sure, all cooks follow recipes but the best of us use the recipes as guidelines, never as doctrine. If you keep using the same ingredients, your dish will become stale and rotten like moldy bread. Recipes were meant to be changed after all. This is the way of Garrakg. "

What haunts you?

" You see many things that you make the other races throw up their breakfast, lunch and dinner when you're a Kobold. You ever saw a mother Kobold eating their young? You ever saw children bake cookies out of dirt and grass, shoving it into their mouths and pretending they weren't starving.

There was one time, though, when an high elf lord criticized my butter root stew for being too 'salty'. It was the most horrifying moment of my life. I cried myself to sleep that night. "

What is your philosophy on life?

" Everywhere on this continent, I see people surrender, settle for less, say that they have become full. The retired adventurer, the deposed king, appetites that were once big becoming small.

Life and all of its uncertainties can be certainly hard to swallow sometimes but it is a feast that I still hunger for. To push your passions to your limit, to overcome instead of stop, that is the point of life for me. To achieve culinary perfection is my dream and to attain the recipe of the gods, that is something worth dying for. "

ℍ𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤:

• Picking and scavenging herbs off the ground.
• Sharpening and oiling his equipment.
• Chewing on a snack.
• Praying to his Provider Of Plenty, Garrakg

ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕖𝕤:

• Hunting and Foraging
• Cooking
• Tavern Food Tours
• Ale Brewing
• Experimenting with New Dishes
• Learning New Cuisine

𝔽𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤:

• Making Bad Food
• Bad Reviews
• Becoming Repetitive
• Running Out of Ingredients
• Patron Complaints
• Food Poisoning
• Dying an unknown

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Eating
• Cooking
• Learning New Cuisines
• New Recipes
• Drinking
• Hunting for Rare Delicacies

𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Bad Food
• Incompetent Cooks
• Lack of Organisation
• Uncleanliness
• Contamination
• Disrespecting Fine Cooking
• Stupid Patrons
• Wasting Food or Opportunities for Food

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𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟:

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Flavor Favors - Providing delicious meals free of charge can get you a lot of good will. And a lot of friends. Lak Lok's cooking has made him multiple allies and acquaintances over the years, who are eager to renege on their debts to him.
• Trapsmith - Like all Kobolds, Lak Lok is extremely good at the art of booby trapping, managing to capture and entrap many prey just by using sticks, stones and his own ingenuity.
• Taste Palette - Lak Lok possesses an extremely acute sense of smell and taste, able to distinguish between 99 varietals of peppercorns or determine what type of milk was used in his berry meringue.
• Ser Swears-A-Lot - Lak Lok is prone to fits of inventive swearing and cursing to humiliate someone, especially if they serve him bad food or desecrate his god.
• Culinary Expertise - From Orcish banquets, Minotaur curries and the fare of the Lizardfolk, Lak Lok is quite knowledgeable in the culinary arts, adept in the food cultures of every race and how best to cook their cuisine.
• Ambush Master - Kobolds are reviled amongst all races for their despicable, cowardly tactics. Lak Lok is no different from his kin, excelling in surprise attacks and catching someone offguard with his dastardly array of kitchen tools or from the barrel end of his absurdly oversized rifle.
• Big Game Hunter - Lak Lok is experienced in using his blunderbuss to its maximum effectiveness, able to compensate for the massive recoil and turn someone or something from not dead to dead in an instant.

𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝/𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Iron Chef - Lak Lok has dedicated his entire life to the art of cooking culinary dishes and is one of the finest chefs one can expect to encounter. He’s not a chef. He’s THE chef. This proficiency has become almost supernatural, to the point where Lak Lok is able to visualise the magical energy that suffuses each of his ingredients and shape it to make the most delicious foods.
• Dark Vision - Having spent most of his childhood living underground, Lak Lok is able to see his surroundings in the most darkest of environments. Due to his Kobold biology, this makes him extremely susceptible to sudden flashes of bright lights.
• Divine Spell Specialization: Domain of Life: While Garrghk is a minor god, enough faith can give boons to the most devoted of followers. Lak Lok is able to use spells from the Domain of Life, albeit with one caveat. The effects of his spells only occur when one consumes his food.

𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

• Cooking Satchel - An artifact granted by Garrakg to Lak Lok that magically preserves the food that the Kobold cooks and the ingredients inside them.
• Selection of Mithril Knives - From cleavers to paring knives, the edge of knives is enough to cut through fruit, veg, meat or bone with ease.
• Adamantine Frying Pan - Adamantite finds use in being one of the most valuable forge metals in existence but its ability to conduct heat perfectly along with its non-stick surfaces also makes it highly useful as a cooking utensil. It comes in handy as a makeshift shield in a pinch.
• Venatio Flintlock Breech Rifle - Somethings, bigger is better. Designed by Venatio Firearms for big game hunting of owlbears, this massive rifle has been sawed down and modified to be used by a Kobold. Whilst this gun is unwieldy and is about the length of Lak Lok's entire body, it more than makes up with it with sheer firepower required to obtain the most tastiest of meats.
• Bandolier of Enchanted Seasonings - Lak Lok's selection currently includes: sea shroom salt, twilight ginger, sunset saffron, ivory peppercorn, grounded beach seed spice, ember cloves, ivy seed and many more obscure spices.
• Steel Cauldron and Mixing Ladle - The foundation of all good cooking is in a cauldron. Lak Lok usually ties it around his back, using it to carry most of his belongings.
• The Sacred Menu of Garrakg - A tome that contains the sacred commandments and recipes of Garrakg and also acts as a means of empowering Lak Lok's divine spells.

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ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

The Recipe of Lak Lok

“ Yes, yes, what do you want? The rabbit stew with wild slaw? Or today’s special? Spill it out, will you? I don’t have all day. A tale? A bloody story? That’s what you demand of my talents? This is a fucking tavern. Do you take me for some flowery bard? Go on! Get out of here!

Hold on...Wait. Wait. Wait! Don’t leave. Please. Sorry for the outburst. My….temper gets the best of me sometimes. Do sit down. May I interest you in a pint of elderberry ale? Perhaps, some highland tea to soothe both our moods? I normally don’t take unusual requests from strangers but Garrakg has spoken on your behalf. Do you see that? The bacon began to blacken as soon as you took the first steps out of this tavern. Garrakg would have taken my soul to the Oven if I was to deny your request.

Where to begin exactly……….

I was born in a clade of Kobold merchants in Darayeich. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Back then, we Kobolds didn’t exactly live high and mighty like you humans or your elves. When the rest of the world closed their doors on us, we formed our own communities in the underdark. When the Battle of Abbyn began, one of my ancestors had the bright idea of forming a town underneath one of the war-torn areas. The surface had been blasted to bits, every other race was unwilling to touch the place out of respect but not us Kobolds. Ah, what I would dream to see Darayeich again. Tunnels of crystals glimmering in the dark, the scent of cured meat rolls…….

Where was I? Anyway, I was in Darayeich and then, I was kicked out along with my family. Turns out my old man, Garrakg rest his soul, had accidentally offended a Kobold crime boss and was told to get out of town or get his guts streamed across the tunnels by the crime boss’s necromancer for his nephew’s birthday party. So, we packed up our bags and headed north towards the mountain orc settlements as roving traders. My brothers were swindlers. My sisters were thugs. My parents were thieves. I was the first Kobold to break the mold.

The first and last thing I had ever stolen at the ripe old age of six was a old bound leather cookbook. I don’t remember the title, but oh, that mouldy old piece of parchment was everything to me. My first recipe was a cattail-bark ear pie dressed with sweetgrass cream. That first bite made me hunger for more.When I reached the ripe age of six years old, I set off on my own, leaving my nest and venturing forth into the wilds in search of opportunity.

I went from tavern to tavern, all across the continent, from peasant taverns to high end kitcheneries serving noble lords. I learned how to cook, I learned how to brew, I learned how to butcher, I learned that food was the conduit that united all the races together. I was happy and satisfied where I was. Until one day. Twenty years ago, I was a head chef working in the Howling High in the centaur city of New Mare. Suddenly, word spread that a member of the White Fork Gastronomy Guild was coming in town to visit our little tavern.

I know what you must thinking now. Gastronomy guilds? How important could they be? They would mean nothing to a patron but to tavern owners and amateur chefs, a gastronomy guild testimonial was everything. First pick of the best ingredients in the land. Rights to build your tavern or stalls wherever you wanted. Protection of your rights from authoritarian city guards. If an individual chef could gain recognition in a gastronomy guild, the awards were beyond imagination.

So, when the night came and I served my dish, I awaited patiently for the results. Next morning, on the papers, the Howling High became a certified guild tavern and who got the spotlight? The half elf assistant chef got the credit for the dish while I was merely mentioned on the cover. The idea of a kobold making the best dish in the lands? Absurd. The owner of the tavern threatened to hire assassins after me if I ever piped up about it again. Everyday, I look back towards that moment with doubt. Should I have spoken up about it? Should I have kept my mouth quiet as I did all these years?

All I know was that when I was at my low, I found Garrakg.

One day, I was cleaning out the spice rack in the doldrums of my defeat. I had recently recovered from a nasty bout of scale pox. I'm not sure whether it was the ground jalokka, the mild fever or the combination of the two that did it but I began to see things. It's hard to put in words. I could feel the taste of the floor on my feet. I could see sound. The floor was melting and I began to receive visions of a dish. A recipe with unknown ingredients.

I immedietely set off without forethought, in a hurry to solve the mystery of my visions. I wandered all over New Mare, gathering ingredients for the recipe that my gut felt to be true. Finally, I was just missing one essential ingredient. The meat, but what meat would it come from? Hydra? Owlbear? Chuul? Yeti?

The answer came in the form of a unicorn in the forests. It looked like an oasis in a desert. I hadn't eaten anything for three days and three nights. Flies were buzzing around my head as I took aim at the magical beast's. Whether Klathamuk was laughing at me that day or the wind was blowing in the direction, misfortune struck as its horn was blasted off instead of its head. Needless to say, I learnt that day why angering a unicorn isn't the best of ideas. The unicorn nearly trampled me to death, ignoring the fact that I was stabbing a wooden spork into its neck, grabbing me by the neck and ramming me repeatedly against an oak tree. Before it could gore me with its jagged horn, an orc saved me.

That was how I met Guthrok the Gluttonous, druid and follower of Garrakg, eating medium rare unicorn strip steak in his hut in the twilight of Fall. He told me the truth of Garrakg, how he cooks in mysterious ways and that my visions were a blessing for him, especially as he recognised a chef from outside his race. The truth was revealed to me slowly. Garrakg was slowly losing power compared to the rest of the orc pantheon and needed to regain belief in the Material Plane. Over time, before the druid died from old age, he'd given me the sacred texts of Garrakg and made me promise to uphold his commandments.

Now, I’ve never been happier than before. Garrakg has given me new purpose and I am the messenger of his will. Forsaken is the new frontier of cuisine, a new garden in which to experiment and blossom and where I will build a holy shrine to his Glorious Gluttony, Garrakg. Now, is there anything you would like to eat, instead of listen to? I personally recommend ordering the alligator casse-

Hold on. Excuse me. It’s one of my chefs again…..

I’M GONE FOR A MERE MINUTE AND ALREADY, YOU TWO KNOBHEADS HAVE BLIGHTED IT ALL TO HELL. YOU THERE! ARE YOU SERVING RAW LETTUCE, TROLL?! THIS IS AN TIEFLING SALAD, NOT AN ELVISH PARTY! WERE YOU DROPPED ON THE HEAD AS A BABY?! SAY YES! NOW, CLEAN THIS MESS UP AND GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!

…….

So, what will you be having? Oh yes, you noticed the hole in the kitchen? Some bloody tosser broke into our stores and stole several of our magical reagents. Oh, no need for worry.

It'll all be taken care of. "

Summary: To make a Lak Lok, all you need is mix together an ancient minor god of cooking, a orcish druid, tavern roadtrips and an outcast family. Bake it in an oven of adversity, and season it with a holy quest.

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𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕠𝕥𝕖: A snack soothes one's stomach, a dinner brings families together, feasts unite towns and banquets build kingdoms. Cooking is the true magic of the gods.
𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖: N/A

Bork Lazer's Storage Bunker

Lak Lok

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Lak Lok

Taste it! If you don't taste it now, I'll shove this heretical offering down your mouth! If you were trying to poison the mayor, you failed! This slime spittle couldn't even kill a pygmy squirrel. What are you standing there for? Get. OUT, you profligate! Garrakg curse your soul to the bowels of the soup bowl!

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

ℕ𝕒𝕞𝕖: Lak Lok Coalcleave
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕤: The Cleaver Cook
𝔸𝕘𝕖: 59
𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕤: Kobold
𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣: Male
𝕆𝕔𝕔𝕦𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: Culinary Adventurer, Hunter, Chef For Hire and Cleric Of Garrakg, The Orcish God of Chefs
𝔸𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕟𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥:Chaotic Good

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𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

ℍ𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥:2'9
𝔹𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕕: Scrawny and of miniscule size like most of his other brethren, time hacking and working in the kitchens has bestowed well-worn cords of muscle on Lak Lok's lizard frame.
𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤: He possesses beady slitted eyes that are of a gold yellow hue.
ℍ𝕒𝕚𝕣: Lak Lok wishes that he had a luxurious mane of blonde locks to adorn his scaly head. Instead, he has to settle for being a hairless reptile.
𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕟 𝕋𝕠𝕟𝕖: He has mottled green scales that are slightly tanned and blackened from spending time cooking near the fireplace.
𝕋𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕤/𝕊𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕤/ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: During his 50 years of culinary endeavors, Lak Lok has gained numerous scars from mishaps in the kitchen, from fading bruises to a sliced finger on his right hand. In terms of both tattoos, Lak Lok bears the sigil of Garrakg on the back of his right palm.
ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕥𝕪𝕝𝕖: The kobold prefers to wear simple, rugged and practical clothing which can survive the sweltering heat of the cookery. No matter what he wears, his distinctive bone-white smocked apron is always found on his person.

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ℙ𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪:

Foul Tempered * Passionate * Creative * Stubborn * Open-Minded * Determined

ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕦𝕤: Single

ℚ𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕖:

What first impression do you make?

" My recipes make the better impression than me. It's better that they look at the meal in front of them rather than the Kobold who cooked it. I don't get why no one likes me. Cooking is an art and the lot of them scumbuckets can go drown themselves if they think they can just go ahead and tell me how to pay tribute to my god. I mean, look at these complaints. 'Arrogant'. 'Anger issues'. 'Unreasonable'. Pah. These are obviously the words of backwater heretics.

Every man, woman, orc, centaur, elf, gnome or whatever species leaves with full bellies and a smile whenever they eat my food, that's for sure. "

What are you like in a high stress situation?

High stress? High stress! HIGH STRESS?! My entire life's a high stress situation! You think cooking for every adventurer, hunter, sell-sword and merchant that comes into the tavern simple? Well, you don't have to cook a hundred different dishes all at the same time while making sure you've got enough beer to keep their meals down and clean plates to serve!

But.....when all's said and done, I live for it. Stress is where we cooks thrive after all. Makes your blood pump into your brain. You gotta tenderise the meat if you wanna bring out the best flavors after all.

What are your best and worst qualities?

" My best qualities are my determination and most importantly, my cooking. I've yet to hear someone complain about my food and if they did, I would gut them and turn their intestines into soup stock.

My worst qualities....well, even though I don't like to admit it, I do get a little carried away with my...um...tantrums every now and then.

It's not my fault I begin shouting Kobold swears everytime someone overcooks the Hydra flanks."

What is something about yourself that you would never admit to anyone?

" Believe me. I've got plenty of things that I'd like to keep private. There's not much anyone would want to ask a Kobold like me anyway, but if you must know....

I've....

I've....

I've killed a unicorn. And ate its corpse.

Best damn steak I ever had.

That's all I'll say.

What are your dreams?

" My very own tavern to pay tribute to Garrakg, a temple to his glorious preeminence. I've been saving up enough money to buy a patch of land near some trade route in the southern reaches of this continent. Ah, I can see it now. Two storied, with ebony wood tables, enough ale and wine barrels to drown the Soltude Plains, five course menu selections without those pesky tavern owners interfering in my business and servers that do what they're told. To cook what I want instead of what others want. To achieve the feasts of feasts, banquets of banquets, an eternal cornucopia in his Name.....

Of course, you don't make a dragon egg omelete without breaking a few eggs. I need money. Lots of money. Fast."

How do you want to be seen by others?

" Well, I want to be....recognised by others. Everyone laughs at the idea of a kobold chef but I've made it this far without a single bit of attention. When I finally get a tavern of my own, they'll all see."

How do you see yourself?

" I see myself as a humble follower of the Hungry One, a mere messenger of his flavors and recipes to the masses of this Continent. Life gave me the ingredients for success and I'm gonna make a meal out of it, for me and others. "

Do you tend to make snap judgements, or stop and think about things?

" Do you think a chef can afford to contemplate when there's hungry mouths waiting to be fed? The greatest flavors are born from the soul, never from the brain. Sure, all cooks follow recipes but the best of us use the recipes as guidelines, never as doctrine. If you keep using the same ingredients, your dish will become stale and rotten like moldy bread. Recipes were meant to be changed after all. This is the way of Garrakg. "

What haunts you?

" You see many things that you make the other races throw up their breakfast, lunch and dinner when you're a Kobold. You ever saw a mother Kobold eating their young? You ever saw children bake cookies out of dirt and grass, shoving it into their mouths and pretending they weren't starving.

There was one time, though, when an high elf lord criticized my butter root stew for being too 'salty'. It was the most horrifying moment of my life. I cried myself to sleep that night. "

What is your philosophy on life?

" Everywhere on this continent, I see people surrender, settle for less, say that they have become full. The retired adventurer, the deposed king, appetites that were once big becoming small.

Life and all of its uncertainties can be certainly hard to swallow sometimes but it is a feast that I still hunger for. To push your passions to your limit, to overcome instead of stop, that is the point of life for me. To achieve culinary perfection is my dream and to attain the recipe of the gods, that is something worth dying for. "

ℍ𝕒𝕓𝕚𝕥𝕤:

• Picking and scavenging herbs off the ground.
• Sharpening and oiling his equipment.
• Chewing on a snack.
• Praying to his Provider Of Plenty, Garrakg

ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕖𝕤:

• Hunting and Foraging
• Cooking
• Tavern Food Tours
• Ale Brewing
• Experimenting with New Dishes
• Learning New Cuisine

𝔽𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤:

• Making Bad Food
• Bad Reviews
• Becoming Repetitive
• Running Out of Ingredients
• Patron Complaints
• Food Poisoning
• Dying an unknown

𝕃𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Eating
• Cooking
• Learning New Cuisines
• New Recipes
• Drinking
• Hunting for Rare Delicacies

𝔻𝕚𝕤𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖𝕤:

• Bad Food
• Incompetent Cooks
• Lack of Organisation
• Uncleanliness
• Contamination
• Disrespecting Fine Cooking
• Stupid Patrons
• Wasting Food or Opportunities for Food

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𝕀𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟:

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Flavor Favors - Providing delicious meals free of charge can get you a lot of good will. And a lot of friends. Lak Lok's cooking has made him multiple allies and acquaintances over the years, who are eager to renege on their debts to him.
• Trapsmith - Like all Kobolds, Lak Lok is extremely good at the art of booby trapping, managing to capture and entrap many prey just by using sticks, stones and his own ingenuity.
• Taste Palette - Lak Lok possesses an extremely acute sense of smell and taste, able to distinguish between 99 varietals of peppercorns or determine what type of milk was used in his berry meringue.
• Ser Swears-A-Lot - Lak Lok is prone to fits of inventive swearing and cursing to humiliate someone, especially if they serve him bad food or desecrate his god.
• Culinary Expertise - From Orcish banquets, Minotaur curries and the fare of the Lizardfolk, Lak Lok is quite knowledgeable in the culinary arts, adept in the food cultures of every race and how best to cook their cuisine.
• Ambush Master - Kobolds are reviled amongst all races for their despicable, cowardly tactics. Lak Lok is no different from his kin, excelling in surprise attacks and catching someone offguard with his dastardly array of kitchen tools or from the barrel end of his absurdly oversized rifle.
• Big Game Hunter - Lak Lok is experienced in using his blunderbuss to its maximum effectiveness, able to compensate for the massive recoil and turn someone or something from not dead to dead in an instant.

𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝/𝕊𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕜𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕤:

• Iron Chef - Lak Lok has dedicated his entire life to the art of cooking culinary dishes and is one of the finest chefs one can expect to encounter. He’s not a chef. He’s THE chef. This proficiency has become almost supernatural, to the point where Lak Lok is able to visualise the magical energy that suffuses each of his ingredients and shape it to make the most delicious foods.
• Dark Vision - Having spent most of his childhood living underground, Lak Lok is able to see his surroundings in the most darkest of environments. Due to his Kobold biology, this makes him extremely susceptible to sudden flashes of bright lights.
• Divine Spell Specialization: Domain of Life: While Garrghk is a minor god, enough faith can give boons to the most devoted of followers. Lak Lok is able to use spells from the Domain of Life, albeit with one caveat. The effects of his spells only occur when one consumes his food.

𝕀𝕟𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

• Cooking Satchel - An artifact granted by Garrakg to Lak Lok that magically preserves the food that the Kobold cooks and the ingredients inside them.
• Selection of Mithril Knives - From cleavers to paring knives, the edge of knives is enough to cut through fruit, veg, meat or bone with ease.
• Adamantine Frying Pan - Adamantite finds use in being one of the most valuable forge metals in existence but its ability to conduct heat perfectly along with its non-stick surfaces also makes it highly useful as a cooking utensil. It comes in handy as a makeshift shield in a pinch.
• Venatio Flintlock Breech Rifle - Somethings, bigger is better. Designed by Venatio Firearms for big game hunting of owlbears, this massive rifle has been sawed down and modified to be used by a Kobold. Whilst this gun is unwieldy and is about the length of Lak Lok's entire body, it more than makes up with it with sheer firepower required to obtain the most tastiest of meats.
• Bandolier of Enchanted Seasonings - Lak Lok's selection currently includes: sea shroom salt, twilight ginger, sunset saffron, ivory peppercorn, grounded beach seed spice, ember cloves, ivy seed and many more obscure spices.
• Steel Cauldron and Mixing Ladle - The foundation of all good cooking is in a cauldron. Lak Lok usually ties it around his back, using it to carry most of his belongings.
• The Sacred Menu of Garrakg - A tome that contains the sacred commandments and recipes of Garrakg and also acts as a means of empowering Lak Lok's divine spells.

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ℍ𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪:

The Recipe of Lak Lok

“ Yes, yes, what do you want? The rabbit stew with wild slaw? Or today’s special? Spill it out, will you? I don’t have all day. A tale? A bloody story? That’s what you demand of my talents? This is a fucking tavern. Do you take me for some flowery bard? Go on! Get out of here!

Hold on...Wait. Wait. Wait! Don’t leave. Please. Sorry for the outburst. My….temper gets the best of me sometimes. Do sit down. May I interest you in a pint of elderberry ale? Perhaps, some highland tea to soothe both our moods? I normally don’t take unusual requests from strangers but Garrakg has spoken on your behalf. Do you see that? The bacon began to blacken as soon as you took the first steps out of this tavern. Garrakg would have taken my soul to the Oven if I was to deny your request.

Where to begin exactly……….

I was born in a clade of Kobold merchants in Darayeich. You wouldn’t have heard of it. Back then, we Kobolds didn’t exactly live high and mighty like you humans or your elves. When the rest of the world closed their doors on us, we formed our own communities in the underdark. When the Battle of Abbyn began, one of my ancestors had the bright idea of forming a town underneath one of the war-torn areas. The surface had been blasted to bits, every other race was unwilling to touch the place out of respect but not us Kobolds. Ah, what I would dream to see Darayeich again. Tunnels of crystals glimmering in the dark, the scent of cured meat rolls…….

Where was I? Anyway, I was in Darayeich and then, I was kicked out along with my family. Turns out my old man, Garrakg rest his soul, had accidentally offended a Kobold crime boss and was told to get out of town or get his guts streamed across the tunnels by the crime boss’s necromancer for his nephew’s birthday party. So, we packed up our bags and headed north towards the mountain orc settlements as roving traders. My brothers were swindlers. My sisters were thugs. My parents were thieves. I was the first Kobold to break the mold.

The first and last thing I had ever stolen at the ripe old age of six was a old bound leather cookbook. I don’t remember the title, but oh, that mouldy old piece of parchment was everything to me. My first recipe was a cattail-bark ear pie dressed with sweetgrass cream. That first bite made me hunger for more.When I reached the ripe age of six years old, I set off on my own, leaving my nest and venturing forth into the wilds in search of opportunity. I went from tavern to tavern, all across the continent, from peasant taverns to high end kitcheneries serving noble lords. Oh, those were the good years.

I began to find myself in a state of ennui, though. I was cooking but for what purpose? For profit? For glory? For fame? No one cared about a kobold cook.

One day, I received strange visions of a kitchen, a massive figure standing above me and telling me a strange recipe.

Now, I’ve never been happier than before. Garrakg has given me new purpose and I am the messenger of his will. Forsaken is the new frontier of cuisine, a new garden in which to experiment and blossom and where I will build a holy shrine to his Glorious Gluttony, Garrakg. Now, is there anything you would like to eat, instead of listen to? I personally recommend ordering the alligator casse-

Hold on. Excuse me. It’s one of my chefs again…..

I’M GONE FOR A MERE MINUTE AND ALREADY, YOU TWO KNOBHEADS HAVE BLIGHTED IT ALL TO HELL. YOU THERE! ARE YOU GRILLING LETTUCE, TROLL?! THIS IS AN ELVISH SALAD, NOT A TIEFLING CHAR FEST! WERE YOU DROPPED ON THE HEAD AS A BABY?! SAY YES! NOW, CLEAN THIS MESS UP AND GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!

…….

So, what will you be having?"

Summary: To make a Lak Lok, all you need is mix together an ancient minor god of cooking, a orcish druid, tavern roadtrips and an outcast family. Bake it in an oven of adversity, and season it with a holy quest.

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𝔼𝕩𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕤

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 ℚ𝕦𝕠𝕥𝕖: A snack soothes one's stomach, a dinner brings families together, feasts unite towns and banquets build kingdoms. Cooking is the true magic of the gods.
𝔸𝕟𝕪𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔼𝕝𝕤𝕖: N/A