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Here are some general comments and stories, Jan will tell along the way, when it is important I have included the situations in a () for example it says (Jan in Hell) before one of the comments and thereby making more sense. (Amok is what my character is called)
(When first meeting Jan) Jan- Well, you’ve got the look of an adventurer about you. I’ve been one myself, betwixt stints as a turnip salesman that is. Occasionally the markets get down and the formally self-respecting purveyors of fine veggies are forces to prostitute their abilities in the form of adventuring. (Jan about Flasher Master Bruiser Mates) Jan- Now pay attention, you take one o’ these babies and chuck it at average Joe Orc, close your eyes real tight and WHOOSH!, he’s running around in circles cluthing at his eyeballs and screaming and yelling like Uncle Sven after three days on a turnip beer bender… (Unseeing eye quest) Jan- So why can’t the nasty beholder go and get this rod on his own? I’ll tell you why. It’s likely trapped three ways from Sunday, that’s what. Good thing you’ve got me along, Amok. Smart thinking on your part. You’ll go far, you know, Farther, maybe, than cousin Bifflechips… allthough he was flung by a catapult, so I suppose is doesn’t really count. (After Xar is killed by a Harper assassin) Jan- Oh, it’s the old the-bird-is-really-the-assassin-trick, is it? I should have seen that one coming. Cousin Belar once pulled that on my great Uncle Tookar, although to be fair he didn’t actually mean to kill anyone. He turned from a hummingbird into his original form just as a practical joke on my uncle’s birthday… and startled the old gnome so much he went and had a heart attack on the spot. The elders were so upset they turned Belar into a hummingbird for good. He liked it, though, and flew off (that branch of the family was always a bit odd in the head, if you catch my meaning)… only to get eaten by a griffon a week later, I hear. Now, that’s justice if there ever was, I suppose. Jan- That reminds me of that time that dear Cousin Josephine fell in with the gully dwarf. Miserable bloke, really. Bad teeth, rancid smell, truly a joke o’ the gods. We used to torment josey, that was my pet name for her, about her teensy-weensy nose and the way it hooked in to her… Jan- Ahhh, the plot thickens. Not unlike a good bowl of turnip soup if you’ve let it sit out for the proper amount of time. Traditionally that’s a week, although Pappy used to complain about the smell so much that we just went and shortened it to a day and a half. It doesn’t taste quite the same, though, which just goes to show you that you can’t buck tradition. I’ll make you some, and Imoen too, if time allows. You wont regret it! Jan- My cousin Urnist…bad speller, by the way, always been the curse of that particular branch of the family…once owned a tavern that opended up into a pancake factory in the back. Best pancakes this side of the vales, too, and you wouldn’t know it if you drank there. Mind you, after the Pancake Famine things were never quite the same at the factory again. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime. Jan- Hmph Being around this group too long is sort of like having the Calimshite itch, isn’t it? Exept for the uncomfortable burning sensation. And the rash. But still. Jan- Ah, yes, off to rescue the kidnapped victim to restore one’s good name! Sounds like a tale my Aunt Bertha once told me… although it was her turnip pie recipe that was being held hostage. Still, turnips are a serious business where I come from. You should have seen Aunt Bertha ride in, armed to the teeth, battling Aunt Bimmy for the right to her pie. The entire village almost went to war over that one… worst crisis since the griffon famine in ’22. Ahhh, nostalgia… Jan- You want to steal into the temple of Talos, do you? Ouch now that’s no light task. I once knew a comrade who tried to lift a thing or two from under the nose of the Talassans… and I speak of him in the past tense naturally, as the Talassans are overfond of lightning and my friend mistook his Boots of Groundings for his steel-toe boots that evening with predictable results. Still, it sounds like a lark. You wouldn’t happen to be resistant to electricity would you? Jan- Well, I’ve heard schemes to make your head spin, my boy. Or my Aunt Patty’s head spin, anyway. Uncle Rufus worked long and hard on that one, let me tell you, and Patty’s neck was sore for weeks. She never really forgave him, but such is the nature of schemes, or so they say. Jan- Ahhhh, I can see the bards singing it, now: the Quest for the Gong! The life of a drunkard lies in the balance as Amok and his band of merry adventurers strive to retrieve fenced stolen musical goods from the depths of the sewers! The passion! The exitement! It brings a tear to my eye. (sniff) Not since Uncle Gerhardt went on a four-day turnip beer bender and mistook Uncle Scratchy for a griffon was I ever part of such a grandiose story. Jan- Whoo… all this talk of Umar brings back memories, let me tell you. My great-great-cousin-One-Knee was one of the adventurers that hunted the Great Witch of the Hills a long time ago. Said she had a fondness for little children and that her house was made out of chocolate candy, of all things. Personally, a house made of turnips sounds much more appealing, but One-knee statet decisively that the house was delicious, nevertheless. According to his stories, the witch was dead… something about getting shoved in an oven… but then gramma Jansen said that One-Knee was pretty delusional, so who knows? (Jan in elf city) Jan- You’ve done me a few good turns here and there Amok. And besides… leaving now would be like turning your back on a three-copper-a-barrel turnip deal. It just isn’t done. I would become a Jansen of infamy and ill-repute, never again allowed to involve myself in turnip merchandise anywhere. Tsk. Even Golodon the Unmanned would consider himself superior to me, and i’ve seen the man’s underwear. (Jan in Hell) Jan- Whoa! This place looks just like… it reminds me of… this is just like that time I… hm. I don’t think anything like this has ever happend to me before… (Final Battle with Irenicus) Jan- Hmph. Some villains just refuse to die. Kill them once, kill them twice… it’s like some bad play. Well, here’s hoping for a decent ending… Jan- Yes, that was quite the voyage, wasn’t it? All the swaying to and fro, and then there was that storm two days ago and the close brush with the dragon turtle, there. The food reminded me of the time Ma Jansen went on her trip to Smurtlepuss and Uncle Scratchy did all the cooking, too. Ahhhh, smell the air! Feel the invigoration. Jan- All bluster and balderdash, ain’t ya. Uncle Chester Bellowsbreath was like that too, talking himself so big that you’d swear he was 10 feet tall, which was not far off considering he has a strange disorder stemming from and obsenity hurled at a passing wizard one drunken eve in Waterdeep. Stomp and pomp all ye wish, but it would do you well to take simple advice of never telling Khelben Blackstaff to "put a shine on that thing and stop being so darned pompous with yer dark-cornered mysteriosity," and if you do, don’t punctuate it with a rotten turnip at high velocity Jan- Ahh, this reminds me of the turnip cellars…exept Uncle Gerhardt isn’t passed out by the turnip satill in the corner…Jan- Oh, sure we’re his best friends now that we’re going to go and steal him a nice brand new ship and everything. And once we gotten it for him, you think he’ll still be so nice? Reminds me of my Cousin Bureaugarde. The most selfish gnome you’ve ever seen, he wouldn’t give you a spare turnip for anything. Well okay there was that one time he gave a turnip to Uncle Scratchy, but Uncle Scratchy had him held over a vat of boiling --- Amok- Alright, Jan. I think that’s enogh. I get the point. Jan- Well, fine. I just wanted to point out that Bureaugarde was eaten by a griffon that was terrorizing the hillside and he gave the beast fatal indigestion. So sometimes even the most selfish of us can still give. Jan- I’ve heard this tune before. It’s right up there on the oldies-but-goodies list along with ’fail and I Kill You’. Or, maybe in this case, it’s the variant sung by the infamous ogre bard Chumba-khan, ’Fail and I Eat You’. Of course, we could always just leave… Jan- Ho Hum, ho hum. Oh, look, did the grass just grow another half-inch? Wonders! Jan- So we’re going to be fighting side-by-side with the famous Drizzt Do’Urden, hey? Well, if a book gets written about us, then, I hope they remember who the real heroes are, here. I’d really hate to see myself portrayed as some fuzzy-wuzzy sidekick to Amok who get’s killed off in the first encounter, you know. Jan- But… what harm have the deep gnomes done? They are harmless, really, just miners and other types of simple folk. Perhaps a bit dour, and I never heard of one of them ever liking a turnip, but not too bad overall. Is all this really necessary? Jan- Oooh, mages are the best for hidden treasure. Back home, you couldn’t toss a turnip without unearthing some old wizards stash of goodies. Occasionally the wiz would still be in it, too Jan- Isn't that the way it is with folks? Huffy, grumpy, unbathed and so on. Like an ogre with a finger infection; picking his nose should make him happy but it just gets him angrier. If you want to buy one of Jan Jansen's Flasher Master Bruiser Mate, you'd best return with a civil tongue and a patient ear. Jan- As Pappy used to say during that unfortunate fiasco with the githyanki, 'You'd better pay now before the bastards really get greasy'. Jan- I've had dangerous dealings with a wizard or two, myself. In fact, Golodon the Unmanned had the most dangerous breath this side of Rashemen. A casual conversation between him and Rozar the Unwilling almost started the Guild War of '42, you know. All those spells he cast, thinking he was cursed, and all he really needed was a good dentist. Of course, you show me a dentist whose willing to yank a rotten tooth out of the mouth of a cranky wizard and I'll show you a pig with wings. Big ones. They have them in the Moonshaes, you know. But enough about me. Jan- Remember, there's no turnips like Jansen turnips
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