by jerwin (Adam L F)Dear Dad,
I hope this finds you all well. I thought I would send you an account of my first “adventure”. I joined a group of newcomers to this area on a Ham Hunt. We met at the tavern here in Fort Providence and seeing how I was casually acquainted with Som and Varron already (Som is a barbarian who came through our home a few years ago and Varron is one of those young Firbolg we met last summer) I decided to join them with the Tiefling Syndar and a dirty, drunk Dwarf monk named Ham who had thought this little journey up. Needless to say that getting to the “Watering Hole” to kill a boar didn’t go that easily. Almost to the river due west of here we came to a split in the road when it all went quiet. As I knew from growing up in the wilds, this was never a good thing. Our drunken monk decided to sneak ahead to the right to see if he could find anything, Som and Varron decided to follow leaving me with the mysterious Paladin. Apparently the Paladin is impulsive and took off down the other path. I followed so that he wasn’t alone. Next thing I knew we spy three Bullywogs - frog people - watching the far bank when the impulsive Paladin spooks them making noise! The next thing I know he starts yelling and banging on his shield in some sort of idiotic challenge and sends them running at our companions across the narrow bog. A fight ensues of course and Ham almost dies. I healed him all the while thinking that Syndar is an idiot. After I did my duty I wandered over to where the frogs were hiding and discover a small dugout and a small sack slightly buried there. I open it up seeing nothing but darkness so I took it back to the group borrowed Varron’s shield and turned the bag upside down. Low and behold a huge pile of silver coins and seven severed heads fall out. I FOUND A BAG OF HOLDING! How cool is that?
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3/2/2018 0 Comments Syndar's Journalby Syndar (Steve G)Journal of Syndar, last proud Tiefling of Beratos Clan, servant of Sargonnas (begrudgingly).
Day 10 in this godforsaken swamp: I got wet, and I don’t like water. I’ve been ill since I returned from my first excursion away from civilization and am just now returning to form. Damn this place! If not for my Call, I would have turned back onto the ship from which I came and sailed to a more agreeable and dry land. BUT, the souls of these wild lands are fresh for harvest by my master, and if I am to make any move to spite him, I must go forth. I first encountered a Barbarian brute on my way to a local tavern, sizable beast, but not one with vengeance in his eye. Inside the tavern, I met a young elvish looking man, a giant child, and a bumbling drunk who wouldn’t shut up. I suggested a boar hunt to test these new strangers in their resolve, and to shut up the drunk yelling about ham. I have much to learn about this land, but my resolve will keep me alive when my knowledge of the wilds fails me. On our way to a promising hunting ground, we encountered several frog people the locals call “Bullywogs”. The details aren’t important, but needless to say they no longer live, and we pressed on. The elf fellow (a mixed blood type), calling himself Jerwin, seems to be my companion in this group, but I’m not sure how long I can sustain his more delicate tactics. Jerwin discovered a magical bag full of treasure among the dead’s hideout, in amongst was a healing scroll of some type I cannot yet comprehend. The drunk also nearly died due to my exuberance for battle. I am here to help others seek vengeance, not get them killed. I must do better. Onward we went, finding nothing at the hunting ground but an unintelligent bear and a cold night’s sleep. Feeling a drop in moral, I suggested a northerly trek and upon that path we stumbled upon a beast. Possibly able to be tamed, we left it alone for our mission, but the Barbarian, Som he so eloquently calls himself, mapped its location... 9/22/2017 0 Comments back from the brinkby SHAENA TOSSCOBBLE (lisa s.) 19-22 SS19 Springswell, 1 A.E. I’ve been cooped up at the Black River Tavern for over a week. I had watched adventurers come in and go out, but no one seemed to need a perky halfling among their party. And so, I practiced my trade, learning a few new tricks along the way. One evening, the innkeeper Hurlee took me aside and rewarded my day’s work with some of her own private reserve Helles. It seems she is quite the brewer. The ale was certainly a step above anything coming from the Albannic region these days. On another day, I was commiserating with Feinthald about the trials of being a bard. He’s really not so bad a man if you can overlook his blatant lack of talent and overstated self-importance. He told me of a story he learned from a mad halfling named Pascale. Pascale told of a portal the Feywilde plane to the north in the marshes of the Black River region. It opened only during high summer. From the way he described Pascale, I question the truth of this rumor. But it was enough to bring Feinthald to this backwater tavern in the hopes of finding adventurers who would take him to the portal when the season was right. I wasn’t the only one spending time in the Tavern though. Along the way I met Liam Buckham, another half-elf of Diwata heritage. He is known as a researcher on control of magical arts. Something about him reminds me of a tale I once heard of a young child whose soul was sold to a demon. Over time, he lost control of the power within him, killing his parents. Could this be that child? I can’t help but worry what will happen when he is called on to cast spells in the field. I also met a stout halfling, clad head to heal in heavy armor and bristling with weapons. He has a reputation among the fishermen and ship crew for slaying a pirate captain. |
AuthorThe journal entries here are provided by the active player characters participating in the Detroit Marches. Archives
July 2018
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