Bryllamor Grumblebow (a Broken World story)
Bryllamor Grumblebow stood only four foot three in height, but he wasn’t a traditional ‘small person.’ Although short in stature, he had a barrel chest, muscular, almost to the point of bulging, arms and legs, ruddy cheeks and a thick beard that went almost to his belt.
When he was twenty six he changed his name to Bryllamor Grumblebow, a name he got from a Dungeons and Dragons Dwarf Name Generator he found online.
A decision he never regretted.
His favorite snack food was macadamia nuts. While a bit more expensive than your average snacking nut, he felt strongly that they was worth the extra money.
Except when he ate a bad one.
While some nuts can taste a little off now and then, macadamia nuts are either delicious or they taste like someone took a crap in your mouth. There was no middle ground. The worst part being that once you got a hold of a bad macadamia nut, there was no getting rid of that foul taste. You could throw as much mouthwash at it as you like but it would linger until it was good and ready to call an end to the siege on your taste buds.
Well, actually, that wasn’t the worst part. The absolute worst part was that it was always the last nut in the bag.
It defied logic and the odds, but he found it to be the case every damn time.
He’d heard a story about how some unscrupulous people had rigged the lottery by using a heavier paint on the balls that they wanted to be drawn that night. The balls naturally made their way down to the bottom of the machine, gravity and such, and ended up popping up on schedule.
He wondered if somehow the same was true with his macadamia nuts.
Not that he was suggesting that someone painting them, only that there was someone or something influencing the nut-eating outcome. Not necessarily unscrupulous in nature, but he also couldn’t rule it out.
The implications of this had one of his bushy eyebrows lifting itself up higher than its compatriot on the other side of his face.
It wasn’t the “why” that had his eyebrows acting in such a manner, it was simply that there was a mysterious force at work.
He didn’t believe in a higher power, but he was certain that if one did exist he would have a beard at least twice the length of the one he was sporting.
And he would wield an enormous blood-soaked battle axe and wear furs. Loads of them.
Bryllamor Grumblebow worked as an assistant manager at a sporting goods store and eventually stopped eating the last macadamia nut in the bag, which seemed to solve his problem. Although his co-workers missed hearing him occasionally bellow “By Moradin’s Hanging Hammer!”