Belok "The Butcher" Rockgut

[The_Gruff_Stout]

Belok “The Butcher” Rockgut

“Butch”

First Name: Belok
Last Name: Rockgut

Appearance:
Race: Dwarf
Age: Well over 150 years
Height Just over four and a half feet tall
Weight: He tips the scales at around 180
Eyes: Dull blue
Hair: Gray, going white
Facial Hair Style: His beard is tied in two braids that hang on either side of his shaved chin. Wooden lures and fishing hooks of all sizes are braided into them.

Personality Profile:
General Health: Healthy enough for a dwarf of his age. He still has a little fight left in him.
Deity: None. Butch sends curses to them all equally.
Initial Alignment: CN
Profession: He has served as a cook on ships most of his life.
Base Class & Proposed Development: Rogue/Bard/Fighter/Dread Pirate
Habits/Hobbies: Butch enjoys smoking his pipe and drinking strong ale. He tends to cuss quite a bit once angered. Fishing and cooking are his main hobbies.
Languages: Dwarven, Thorass (he picked up this trade language along his travels), Orc (he knows enough to throw curses and insults)
Weapon of Choice: Duel meat cleavers with his crossbow a strong second.

Background:
From as far back as Butch can remember his life had been at sea. He had faint memories of his father leaving the clan and striking out on his own. His mother had died at an early time in his life and his father had taken a human wife once they had settled in a coastal village. Butch wasn't happy about this and left his home for a life of adventure. He had taken odd jobs here and there but the one that stuck was aboard a sea going vessel by the name of “The Capsized Maiden”. Butch had landed the job of cook aboard the fine ship, his duties included: cooking for the crew, going ashore for supplies and minor surgical duties like stitches and pulling teeth. The latter of his duties earning his nickname “The Butcher”

Once out at sea, Butch had jumped from ship to ship. He always went with the one that showed the most promise for profit and adventure, which landed him on quite a few pirate vessels. Butch didn't mind the lifestyle. You did what you were told and you shared in the plunder with the others. You went against the captain and found yourself at the bottom of the Trackless. Butch always did as he was told. Some things weren't too bad, he was only the ship cook. Others were the things of nightmares, cooking gruesome oddities for madmen captains.

During the war between Amn and Baldur's Gate, Butch found himself landlocked. He had come ashore for supplies, when he had returned his ship had left him. Either run out of Ulgoth's Beard by other pirates, hightailed from authorities or they were just sick of Ole' Butch's cooking he'll never know. He had waited on the beach for a tenday before selling off most of the supplies he had gathered and renting a room at the Bearded Mermaid. Now he just drinks most of the day on the beach, drowning his bait in the salty brine.

Goals:
Butch's main goal is to find another ship to serve on. If not that, make a name for himself as a fisherman in Ulgoth's Beard.

Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
Maybe his old captain finding him, wanting the coin he gave him for supplies. Old pirate buddies show up at bad times. Butch can't swim.

[The_Gruff_Stout]

Butch rolls over onto a bed of seaweed and sand. He sits up spitting sand from his mouth and squinting at the rising sun. He reaches to his backpack, looking for his morning nip only to find an empty bottle. Grumbling about how his day is ruined he stands and stomps down to the seas edge and throws the bottle as far as his stubby arms will allow.

“Ye damn'd idjits! Leave'n me 'ere wit a bunch o' lubbars!” He yells at the top of his lungs, “Ye'll dance the hempen jig if'n Butch 'ave anythin ta say 'bout it!” He spits a few more curses out across the sea before turning back to his makeshift camp. Gathering most of what he'll need, he leaves the rest in the lean-to tent.

He spends a portion of the morning trading coin for eggs, milk and other various ingredients from the local farmers. He hunts the wood until almost dusk, bagging a small boar. Before returning to the beach he buys six bottles of rum from the barkeep at the tavern, getting slapped on his way out for pinching a serving wenches bum. After the loud crack from her swing all that is heard is Butch's laughter as he walks through the door.

After stashing his foodstuffs in a pit he dug in the back of his tent, Butch cracks a bottle of rum. Nearly polishing off a third of the bottle, he takes his pole in hand and walks closer to the water.

“Time'ta try these wiggly worms tha' hin sold me. They bes'ta work!” He slides a few worms on the hook and tosses his line out to sea. “There it be. That'll be the spot wut does it!” Butch continues through the night drinking his rum and cursing at worms until he finally passes out.