Dozus's Profile

'Bristlebane ale. Tall.'

Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. 'You want it in a bottle?'

'From the tap.'

Mathus nodded. 'This way,' he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the 'customer' following.

A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. 'Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous.'

'You couldn't handle it, son,' an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. 'It'd right kick your ass.'

A series of singers and strummers, summarily simple and sinuous, subsisting with singularly spectacular song-stylings.

I've sat on this one for long enough. Feel free to fill in the gaps.

'Dat woman... She was terrible to behold. Terrible but beautiful. She sat on a great throne, surrounded by her gatorfolk servants. She stood and she looked mighty angry. She look down at me an' Tergryn an' de rest, and she yell in some strange tongue - de elf-folk, I tink. She had a fury in her soul, an' I could feel her evil eye on me. Doric - hui, poor Doric! - she had 'er gatorfolk slash his belly wit' his claws and tore out his entrails. De gobbled dem up... Poor Doric...'
- Jorif Grisold, survivor

She is the high priestess of Jampiri, the outcast of the Kanaar, the guardian of the gatorfolk. Swynmoor's resident witch is powerful and knowledgeable, keeping the natural balance in the swamps.