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The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
This is an old, leather-bound book, its cover is unremarkable, plain as plain can be, save for two letters written in elegant silver upon the front: GG. Inside, however, is a different story. Its dog-eared pages have been painstakingly written upon in a calligraphic script. Each page of the book is written three times: first in Lantanese, then in Gnomish, then in Chondathan, the author clearly well versed in each tongue. The text is accompanied with sketches both rough and elaborate, with maps both drawn and simply tucked inside, with dog-eared pages, footnotes, and small slips of paper providing additional information. Though clearly an incomplete work, and certainly not in final form, this journal is clearly a work of passion.
The text begins as follows...
The text begins as follows...
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
PREFACE
To have lived so long as I have, and to have learned so many wondrous tales as I have, and to have given lectures on these stories and on as vast a range of topics as I have, is a reward that in my winter years I have oft wondered whether or not I have truly earned. In today's age, a scholar derives his knowledge from the work of other scholars. Mounds upon mounds of information rest upon the shelves of such wondrous halls as those of Candlekeep, or the great libraries of Lantan, the universities of Waterdeep, and the royal library of Calimsham. One so gifted with access to these marvelous vaults of knowledge can, with little effort, become most learned in virtually any subject. And so many subjects there are! One can pour an entire lifetime garnering new knowledge from the countless tomes of the world. And as one who has spent a whole gnomish lifetime doing just that, which is several lifetimes of those of a human, I am confident in saying that embracing Oghma's many gifts in this way leads to a fruitful life.
Yet despite this fruitful existence, despite the rewards I have reaped by hours upon hours of study and debate that I dare not try to calculate mathematically (for my mind has grown spotty in my late years!), I feel a strange yearning for the road. For you see, in the days of yore, these great works of literature and education had to be produced, and one did not produce them simply by sitting before a mahogany desk in candlelight, nor did one procure this knowledge by standing before a lectern and giving rambunctious speeches. Those are certainly virtuous activities, but hardly the sort which gather this knowledge. No, no; the very first scholars of our world had to find this knowledge. They were not pale from candlelight, but burnished from years beneath the sun, made strong by long days spent in the great unknown, discovering the undiscovered, bringing distant peoples into contact with one another. And it is thanks to such scholar-adventurers that we have the very foundations of science, geography, and so on and so forth that we do now, that we possess all that is necessary to undertake the task of discovering the wonders of the world from the safe confines of a library.
I have spent all my life as a student and as a teacher. I will ever be thankful for the days that are behind me, and will cherish each and every one of them, for I have been able to enjoy an existence that is full and joyous. But as I reach my two hundred and eightieth birthday, the day of my demise liable to arrive at any day in the future, I realize that I have not truly done my part to expand the knowledge that exists in the world. I have written documents, but always in critique of some arcane hypothesis, of some design in engineering, or of philosophy or ethics. I have never traveled further from my homeland of Lantan than Candlekeep, and only rarely, and for my last ten years have not left the hallowed walls of this sanctuary of knowledge.
An unimaginable number of people dwell upon Faerun, each living lives of their own, each having their own stories to tell. As a bard, it is my duty to see those stories are told, though I can but hope to glimpse only the most infinitesimal of fractions of these lives, and of those tell an even smaller number of stories. But it is my most sacred of duties to embark on a journey to record all that I can, even if I am most tardy in seeing these duties through.
I know that my beloved Garend, who passed away so many years ago now, would have called me a stubborn old badger for putting on my traveling clothes and heading out the door like this. He would have pointed out how silly it is that I wait until I am so old to begin this arduous task. And I also know he would have walked the road with me, complaining all the way, wonderful and horrible fellow that he was. Since he is not here, I shall walk for the both of us, though I only intend to complain for half so many.
Thus begins my journey. It is a frightening thing, heading out the door, knowing not when nor whether I shall return. But Candlekeep shall be waiting for me, and I pray that I do not disappoint.
----------
ON THE CITY OF BALDUR'S GATE
AND ADVENTURING ALONE
I began my journey first from Candlekeep to Baldur's Gate, and an uneventful road it was. I set off with some traveling gear, a helmet lent to me by a friend, and a walking stick, and so made my way to the city itself. I had been there in the past, but only passed through from the docks to join caravans to Candlekeep and then back again, but this time I made certain to truly see the city.
Baldur's Gate is a bustling city if ever there was one, a center of trade and commerce, though I hear it pales in comparison to the City of Splendors. Its roads are well-paved, its buildings sturdy, and its people eclectic to say the least. Upon its streets and within its many taverns shall you find people of so many different backgrounds as you can imagine: pirates and lawbringers, beggars and nobles, travelers from so far north as Icewind Dale and so far south as Calimsham. It is a melting pot of personalities, cultures, and religions, and a wonderful place to begin any adventure.
I thought to set off on my own at first, deciding that I should see what the life of an adventurer is like when an adventurer has no allies to call upon. I used the money I brought with me to purchase some proper equipment: armor, weapons, a sturdy shield, maps, and some new ink for this very book! I then proceeded from shop to shop, tavern to tavern, experiencing what life in the city was like and listening for opportunities of danger and excitement.
The first thing I learned is there is a veneer of prosperity this city has painted over some sadder truths. One may walk the boardwalks and thoroughfares of the market and the northern districts and find only evidence of well-fed and fairly-educated persons. However, take a walk toward the southern end of the city, down toward the harbor and the docks, and one finds a swathe of slums. There are so many poor souls whose chief crime was to be born in such conditions, having little to no connections and no way out of poverty but through pickpocketing or violence. But I suppose Baldur's Gate cannot be unique in this respect; yet it is a sorrowful reminder that every wonder of the world casts a shadow, and in those shadows shall dwell the unfortunate.
I did many small tasks for the people of the city, earning my keep as an adventurer, and stayed a night at an inn near the gate. When I awoke, I so happened to come upon multiple souls asking for help with problems in the sewers. Why, the city guard wanted me to give the place a looksee, another fellow was searching for something he had lost down there, and I was hearing reports of dangerous animals needing to be put down as well! Needless to say, I decided it was a portent of some sort, and that I should make my way into the sewers. I did so alone, and I shall say firmly that any would-be adventurer would do well to learn from the passage that is to follow, so as not to repeat my mistakes.
At first, my descent went rather well, despite my aching limbs and back. I climbed down a grate and into the filth and muck. I needed very little light given my gnomish vision, but did conjure a glowing orb to float behind me, just in case. And so I took my shield and my mace, repeating to myself lines from old epics of mighty heroes in cavernous depths. So began my exploration.
My first encounters were with common rats, seemingly rabid from disease, as well as some larger varieties that were of no real threat. Using my mace and my sling, I was able to dispatch them in small numbers just safely. But my luck began to run out, for as I went ever-further from the entrance, I began to lose my sense of direction, and I had not thought to bring either chalk nor charcoal to mark my exit. To make matters worse, the dangers around me were mounting, and soon I found myself fighting not one rat or two at a time, but being chased by a whole throng of dire beasts!
I ran from my pursuers, loosing a stone and then another at the horde, but they were quicker than I and too numerous. Still, I thought I could make it back to the exit, and I had my scrolls of healing. But then I saw a great beast, half-man and half-boar, and I knew in an instant I was facing a were-creature!
I cannot tell you what happened next, dear reader. One of the rats clamped its teeth down upon my leg and brought me down into the muck. The last thing I saw were the beady, red eyes of the vermin, and the tusks of the were-boar gleaming in the light of my magic as it charged me.
I awoke hours later, having bled considerably, but not having been eaten, gored, nor mauled. I was left where I had fallen, and I was sick from disease and weakness. I staggered to my feet, and marveled at the fact I was not dead. I carefully picked up my shield and my weapons, having dropped them where I'd fallen, and made my escape as quick as I could from the sewers. I was pursued again by rats, but this time I was able to get to the surface, where the creatures shied away from the light of day.
From this moment on, I decided that if I were to ever go on some dangerous delve or to dive into some darkened wood, I would be certain to bring a band of adventurers with me. My singular foray made alone shall forever remain with me as one of my most troubling of memories. To be frank, my journal should have ended there! I marvel at the fact that it didn't.
----------
ON THE BENEFITS OF HAVING FRIENDS
ENTER MY COMPANIONS
I came to rest at the Elfsong Tavern, a most wonderful place that all who enter Baldur's Gate should visit at least once in their lives. It is not for the food, which is lovely, nor for the drink, which is lovelier still, but rather for the eponymous elvish songstress. A spirit lurks in the upper floors, and now then materializes to share her song with the patrons, one of mourning and longing. Versed as I am in the Elvish tongue, I could not help but be brought to tears multiple times when listening. She longs for a lost lover, and her words brought my thoughts back to my own.
While I ate and drank at the Elfsong Tavern, recording the details of my previous misadventure, I met with the most delightful young fellow, a halfling who called himself Bancroft. We began with small talk, and he asked me what I was doing and where I was from. He had a certain charisma about him, and I daresay a magical aura, which I later learned was because he was, in fact, a magic-user of some capability! The young fellow was but the first of several, though, for soon we were joined by a steel-clad dwarf named Garth Irongobbler, and then by a young and blind human woman named Lavinia. Garth was at once gruff and excitable, jovial in his own way. Lavinia, I sensed, had a certain empathy to her, perhaps from having lived as she had for some time. Garth had his axe, Lavinia her staff, and Bancroft his crossbow.
It became abundantly clear that the whole company was one of adventurers! We decided to move our conversation to another locale, the Three Kegs, and were quickly tasked by the barkeep with removing an ooze from the cellar! We dispatched it with ease.
I wasted no time in befriending these three youths, not only because I wished to hear their stories, but because I saw we could each benefit by association with one another. We had a vast array of skills between us, and it was clear we were all combat-ready (yes, dear reader, even I). So I suggested we go into the sewers on those very tasks I had failed to pursue before, and that is what we did.
I tell you, dear reader, working as a team went far better than adventuring alone! Garth and I strode at the front, shields up and weapons at the ready. Behind us was Lavinia, who waited with her staff until our enemies were focused upon myself and my stalwart dwarvish companion, then fell upon them with surprising prowess for one without sight! And in the back was Bancroft, lending his magics where he could, and elsewise wielding his crossbow with skill.
Many dire rats fell to us, as did a rare specimen of dire rabbit! We slew a rabid dog, too, and fought off thugs in our journeys within the sewers and up on the harbor itself. When one of us was injured, I could use my collection of magical scrolls to assuage the pain; and when I was in danger, Garth's shield was there. Lavinia's swiftness and Bancroft's accuracy cannot be dismissed, either! And I understood, as our short venture came to a close, why so many adventurers choose to travel in groups despite having to split up treasure more. Four heads are most certainly better than one!
Eventually, our tasks were finished, and we were paid for our work. I made plans to arrange for travel to Beregost and Gullykin later, and I hope that when next I write, it shall detail our band's next adventures in that part of the Sword Coast!
To have lived so long as I have, and to have learned so many wondrous tales as I have, and to have given lectures on these stories and on as vast a range of topics as I have, is a reward that in my winter years I have oft wondered whether or not I have truly earned. In today's age, a scholar derives his knowledge from the work of other scholars. Mounds upon mounds of information rest upon the shelves of such wondrous halls as those of Candlekeep, or the great libraries of Lantan, the universities of Waterdeep, and the royal library of Calimsham. One so gifted with access to these marvelous vaults of knowledge can, with little effort, become most learned in virtually any subject. And so many subjects there are! One can pour an entire lifetime garnering new knowledge from the countless tomes of the world. And as one who has spent a whole gnomish lifetime doing just that, which is several lifetimes of those of a human, I am confident in saying that embracing Oghma's many gifts in this way leads to a fruitful life.
Yet despite this fruitful existence, despite the rewards I have reaped by hours upon hours of study and debate that I dare not try to calculate mathematically (for my mind has grown spotty in my late years!), I feel a strange yearning for the road. For you see, in the days of yore, these great works of literature and education had to be produced, and one did not produce them simply by sitting before a mahogany desk in candlelight, nor did one procure this knowledge by standing before a lectern and giving rambunctious speeches. Those are certainly virtuous activities, but hardly the sort which gather this knowledge. No, no; the very first scholars of our world had to find this knowledge. They were not pale from candlelight, but burnished from years beneath the sun, made strong by long days spent in the great unknown, discovering the undiscovered, bringing distant peoples into contact with one another. And it is thanks to such scholar-adventurers that we have the very foundations of science, geography, and so on and so forth that we do now, that we possess all that is necessary to undertake the task of discovering the wonders of the world from the safe confines of a library.
I have spent all my life as a student and as a teacher. I will ever be thankful for the days that are behind me, and will cherish each and every one of them, for I have been able to enjoy an existence that is full and joyous. But as I reach my two hundred and eightieth birthday, the day of my demise liable to arrive at any day in the future, I realize that I have not truly done my part to expand the knowledge that exists in the world. I have written documents, but always in critique of some arcane hypothesis, of some design in engineering, or of philosophy or ethics. I have never traveled further from my homeland of Lantan than Candlekeep, and only rarely, and for my last ten years have not left the hallowed walls of this sanctuary of knowledge.
An unimaginable number of people dwell upon Faerun, each living lives of their own, each having their own stories to tell. As a bard, it is my duty to see those stories are told, though I can but hope to glimpse only the most infinitesimal of fractions of these lives, and of those tell an even smaller number of stories. But it is my most sacred of duties to embark on a journey to record all that I can, even if I am most tardy in seeing these duties through.
I know that my beloved Garend, who passed away so many years ago now, would have called me a stubborn old badger for putting on my traveling clothes and heading out the door like this. He would have pointed out how silly it is that I wait until I am so old to begin this arduous task. And I also know he would have walked the road with me, complaining all the way, wonderful and horrible fellow that he was. Since he is not here, I shall walk for the both of us, though I only intend to complain for half so many.
Thus begins my journey. It is a frightening thing, heading out the door, knowing not when nor whether I shall return. But Candlekeep shall be waiting for me, and I pray that I do not disappoint.
----------
ON THE CITY OF BALDUR'S GATE
AND ADVENTURING ALONE
I began my journey first from Candlekeep to Baldur's Gate, and an uneventful road it was. I set off with some traveling gear, a helmet lent to me by a friend, and a walking stick, and so made my way to the city itself. I had been there in the past, but only passed through from the docks to join caravans to Candlekeep and then back again, but this time I made certain to truly see the city.
Baldur's Gate is a bustling city if ever there was one, a center of trade and commerce, though I hear it pales in comparison to the City of Splendors. Its roads are well-paved, its buildings sturdy, and its people eclectic to say the least. Upon its streets and within its many taverns shall you find people of so many different backgrounds as you can imagine: pirates and lawbringers, beggars and nobles, travelers from so far north as Icewind Dale and so far south as Calimsham. It is a melting pot of personalities, cultures, and religions, and a wonderful place to begin any adventure.
I thought to set off on my own at first, deciding that I should see what the life of an adventurer is like when an adventurer has no allies to call upon. I used the money I brought with me to purchase some proper equipment: armor, weapons, a sturdy shield, maps, and some new ink for this very book! I then proceeded from shop to shop, tavern to tavern, experiencing what life in the city was like and listening for opportunities of danger and excitement.
The first thing I learned is there is a veneer of prosperity this city has painted over some sadder truths. One may walk the boardwalks and thoroughfares of the market and the northern districts and find only evidence of well-fed and fairly-educated persons. However, take a walk toward the southern end of the city, down toward the harbor and the docks, and one finds a swathe of slums. There are so many poor souls whose chief crime was to be born in such conditions, having little to no connections and no way out of poverty but through pickpocketing or violence. But I suppose Baldur's Gate cannot be unique in this respect; yet it is a sorrowful reminder that every wonder of the world casts a shadow, and in those shadows shall dwell the unfortunate.
I did many small tasks for the people of the city, earning my keep as an adventurer, and stayed a night at an inn near the gate. When I awoke, I so happened to come upon multiple souls asking for help with problems in the sewers. Why, the city guard wanted me to give the place a looksee, another fellow was searching for something he had lost down there, and I was hearing reports of dangerous animals needing to be put down as well! Needless to say, I decided it was a portent of some sort, and that I should make my way into the sewers. I did so alone, and I shall say firmly that any would-be adventurer would do well to learn from the passage that is to follow, so as not to repeat my mistakes.
At first, my descent went rather well, despite my aching limbs and back. I climbed down a grate and into the filth and muck. I needed very little light given my gnomish vision, but did conjure a glowing orb to float behind me, just in case. And so I took my shield and my mace, repeating to myself lines from old epics of mighty heroes in cavernous depths. So began my exploration.
My first encounters were with common rats, seemingly rabid from disease, as well as some larger varieties that were of no real threat. Using my mace and my sling, I was able to dispatch them in small numbers just safely. But my luck began to run out, for as I went ever-further from the entrance, I began to lose my sense of direction, and I had not thought to bring either chalk nor charcoal to mark my exit. To make matters worse, the dangers around me were mounting, and soon I found myself fighting not one rat or two at a time, but being chased by a whole throng of dire beasts!
I ran from my pursuers, loosing a stone and then another at the horde, but they were quicker than I and too numerous. Still, I thought I could make it back to the exit, and I had my scrolls of healing. But then I saw a great beast, half-man and half-boar, and I knew in an instant I was facing a were-creature!
I cannot tell you what happened next, dear reader. One of the rats clamped its teeth down upon my leg and brought me down into the muck. The last thing I saw were the beady, red eyes of the vermin, and the tusks of the were-boar gleaming in the light of my magic as it charged me.
I awoke hours later, having bled considerably, but not having been eaten, gored, nor mauled. I was left where I had fallen, and I was sick from disease and weakness. I staggered to my feet, and marveled at the fact I was not dead. I carefully picked up my shield and my weapons, having dropped them where I'd fallen, and made my escape as quick as I could from the sewers. I was pursued again by rats, but this time I was able to get to the surface, where the creatures shied away from the light of day.
From this moment on, I decided that if I were to ever go on some dangerous delve or to dive into some darkened wood, I would be certain to bring a band of adventurers with me. My singular foray made alone shall forever remain with me as one of my most troubling of memories. To be frank, my journal should have ended there! I marvel at the fact that it didn't.
----------
ON THE BENEFITS OF HAVING FRIENDS
ENTER MY COMPANIONS
I came to rest at the Elfsong Tavern, a most wonderful place that all who enter Baldur's Gate should visit at least once in their lives. It is not for the food, which is lovely, nor for the drink, which is lovelier still, but rather for the eponymous elvish songstress. A spirit lurks in the upper floors, and now then materializes to share her song with the patrons, one of mourning and longing. Versed as I am in the Elvish tongue, I could not help but be brought to tears multiple times when listening. She longs for a lost lover, and her words brought my thoughts back to my own.
While I ate and drank at the Elfsong Tavern, recording the details of my previous misadventure, I met with the most delightful young fellow, a halfling who called himself Bancroft. We began with small talk, and he asked me what I was doing and where I was from. He had a certain charisma about him, and I daresay a magical aura, which I later learned was because he was, in fact, a magic-user of some capability! The young fellow was but the first of several, though, for soon we were joined by a steel-clad dwarf named Garth Irongobbler, and then by a young and blind human woman named Lavinia. Garth was at once gruff and excitable, jovial in his own way. Lavinia, I sensed, had a certain empathy to her, perhaps from having lived as she had for some time. Garth had his axe, Lavinia her staff, and Bancroft his crossbow.
It became abundantly clear that the whole company was one of adventurers! We decided to move our conversation to another locale, the Three Kegs, and were quickly tasked by the barkeep with removing an ooze from the cellar! We dispatched it with ease.
I wasted no time in befriending these three youths, not only because I wished to hear their stories, but because I saw we could each benefit by association with one another. We had a vast array of skills between us, and it was clear we were all combat-ready (yes, dear reader, even I). So I suggested we go into the sewers on those very tasks I had failed to pursue before, and that is what we did.
I tell you, dear reader, working as a team went far better than adventuring alone! Garth and I strode at the front, shields up and weapons at the ready. Behind us was Lavinia, who waited with her staff until our enemies were focused upon myself and my stalwart dwarvish companion, then fell upon them with surprising prowess for one without sight! And in the back was Bancroft, lending his magics where he could, and elsewise wielding his crossbow with skill.
Many dire rats fell to us, as did a rare specimen of dire rabbit! We slew a rabid dog, too, and fought off thugs in our journeys within the sewers and up on the harbor itself. When one of us was injured, I could use my collection of magical scrolls to assuage the pain; and when I was in danger, Garth's shield was there. Lavinia's swiftness and Bancroft's accuracy cannot be dismissed, either! And I understood, as our short venture came to a close, why so many adventurers choose to travel in groups despite having to split up treasure more. Four heads are most certainly better than one!
Eventually, our tasks were finished, and we were paid for our work. I made plans to arrange for travel to Beregost and Gullykin later, and I hope that when next I write, it shall detail our band's next adventures in that part of the Sword Coast!
Last edited by Tatalia on Sun Jan 02, 2022 6:45 am, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
OF A SIMPLE JOURNEY
AND MY AWFUL MEMORY
The day came that we were to set off for Beregost, but Garth and I were having trouble finding our other companions. I decided to leave a message for them at the post office, deciding we could always just meet our compatriots when they followed us to Beregost. So, Garth and I traveled with neither Bancroft nor Lavinia. We did, however, travel with a lovely young woman from Kara-Tur named Reiha.
Reiha I had met in the Blade and Stars that night. I'm certain that most any hot-blooded young fellow would find her appearance quite delightful, though I've never been enraptured by the feminine persuasion myself. She spoke with dignity, moved with grace, and all-in-all seemed both well-traveled and proper. She made for good company given her musical ability, playing a cheerful song on her flute. The melody brought the glances of several curious patrons, and for good reason!
It was a curious story she told me. Apparently, she had been born in a nation of Kara-Tur known as Wa, but her family had greatly offended their masters, and they had been traveling west since. Imagine, a girl of less than thirty winters traveling across the entirety of the world, all the way from the farthest reaches of the east to the Sword Coast on the opposite side of the known world! And myself at two-hundred and eighty years of age and not having traveled even a tenth the distance! I can only imagine the wonderful array of peoples she must have met along the way. Reiha will, I think, have much to offer the world as she grows older. Indeed, the girl is already a font of musical talent!
In return for her story, I regaled the girl with a tale I knew rather well, one of the Attack on Myth Drannor. It turns out that the girl is quite taken with Elvish culture and language, and it felt only right to share a little of my knowledge in return for the story she had shared! Of course, I was only able to share pieces of the tale, speaking briefly on but one of the groups involved in the reclamation of that mythical city. I shan't share that story here, but I will heartily recommend a few books you can read to catch up on the subject in the footnotes!
Nevertheless, it was myself, Reiha, and Garth traveling together to Beregost. I'd heard of a need for some trade goods to be delivered there - anvils and grains, to be specific - and so we purchased the requisite goods, paid for a wagon to take us the distance, and rode quietly to our destination. The trade goods more than paid for our transportation, and we found a little work dealing with a rather impressive specimen of rat inside a barn. After that, we were ready for our next adventure! All that was left to do was to wait for our dear friends Bancroft and Lavinia.
Unfortunately, it was while I was at the inn that night taking off my traveling pants and getting into something a little more comfy that I realized I still had the letter in my pants pocket! Yes, that's right; the very letter intended to inform my good friends to follow us to Beregost had never been delivered! I had written it out, signed it, sealed it in wax, written everything I needed to, but by Garl's gleaming eyes, I had forgotten to send the letter! Oh, how my memory becomes ever more porous as the years go by.
In the morning I met up with Garth and we began the long trek back to Baldur's Gate, this time on foot. We talked for a while, but as the topics were rather personal in nature, I shall not repeat them here in this book. Instead, I shall tell you my gleanings about Beregost.
----------
ON THE TOWN OF BEREGOST
WHICH IS MOST LOVELY
The town of Beregost is just small enough to be sleepy and just large enough to have everything a traveler might need. If you need a drink, there are plenty of establishments to choose from. If you need work, there's always a need for more hunters in the area, and there's no shortage of either game nor dangerous critters lurking outside of town. And if you need a good, quiet place to rest for the night, I can say without a doubt there is no better place to visit than Feldepost's Inn. The rooms are well-priced, spacious without being absurd in their size, comfortable, and may I just add that room number two has a particularly comfortable chair set before the finest fireplace I've encountered in years? It's worth resting there, I tell you that! And there's never a ruckus downstairs.
Now, if you should need some weapons or armor, you can find the famous Thunderhammer Smithy in this fair town! Yes, a would-be adventurer will be well equipped should they have the coin. And there's a temple of Lathander not too far from there, and the town is relatively safe thanks to the patrols of Lathanderite guardsmen all about the place. There's usually a caravan or two parked on the outskirts of town, often traveling along the Coast Road, so you can rest assured that you'll find whatever it is you may need to resupply in Beregost!
I will say that I rather like the gentle pace of such towns as this. Having come from Lantan myself, I'm rather used to large cities and constant clamor. I would never have recognized it as such before my years spent at Candlekeep. Somehow, this town manages to at once feel quiet and pastoral while definitely being a busy trade center in its own right, and I believe it worth stopping by if you happen to be traveling through the area.
Let me only add that I hear some strange tales about the Ulcaster Ruins outside of town. According to history, the ruins used to be a school of magic, a place where would-be mages came to master the arcane. However, it was destroyed in the year 1106 DR by mages from Calimsham. Since then, the place has been haunted by spirits and other such things. I hope that one day I will be able to explore this place myself and learn what mysteries it holds.
----------
OF CAVES AND SPIDERS
AND HOW I NEARLY DIED (AGAIN!)
I returned to Baldur's Gate with my friend Garth, and we found both Bancroft and Lavinia there. We were all quite glad to be back in each others' company, and quickly began making plans to pursue some task or another. With so many strange places around Baldur's Gate to visit, and so much work needing to be done, it took a bit of debate for us to settle on a job!
Ultimately, we decided to follow a suggestion of Bancroft's. The young magician suggested we could help the local herbalist recover some mushrooms from a cave to the north. It seemed a simple enough task, and she promised good pay; and given that we'd only contended with sewer critters, impoverished thugs, and a few wild animals out on the road, it seemed like a good decision to us all to start with such a task.
We left the city via the Black Dragon Gate, and headed north toward the town of Darfleet. We chattered on the way, and I was practically swimming in the youthful excitement of my companions. How I envy them! They move so swiftly, and the world is yet full of mystery to them all. I cannot wait to see what manner of heroes they will become, for I truly believe that spark of great promise lies within each of them, waiting for kindling to make their souls blaze.
As we headed toward the cave in question, my compatriots and I were hailed by a farmer who asked us to retrieve some family heirloom from the cave. I missed the details of the task; Bancroft did most of the talking. He seems quite a personable fellow, and I believe that to be a strength of his, though I often worry his strong personality may be matched with a lack of awareness for how sharp his barbs are from time to time. Poor Garth always seems to end up on the receiving end of his jokes! But they get along well. Nevertheless, we proceeded to the cave in question.
The cave was better lit than I expected, and we had no need for conjured light. We made our way through a long passage uneventfully, and I marveled at the ruins we found within. Bancroft was the first to spot them; myself, versed as I am in architecture and history, I could not tell you who made those structures, or how they came to be underground. Perhaps it relates to the...? No, I dare not make guesses without any proof.
When we came out the other end of the passage, we found ourselves in a large cavern with mushrooms that were red as blood! We began to harvest them, but as we did a few giant spiders assailed us! We dispatched those with ease, and encountered no further threats; and we also retrieved the heirloom in question. We congratulated each other for a job well done, and before long returned to Baldur's Gate with some sacks of grain (which we sold) and coinpurses just a little fatter.
This was not to be the end of our spider-related adventures, however. I had been told previously by the City Guard about a large, dangerous spider lurking in the sewers, one of magnificent danger. So, I suggested we go down there and search for the creature! We did so, and this time I believe the sewers must have sensed the drama that was to unfold, and so kept the path between us and our prey clear.
We had a simple plan. Garth and I were to lead at the front, searching for the spider. Bancroft was in the pack, his magic prepared; and Lavinia was in the center, her staff in one hand and a blessed potion in the other. When we spotted the creature, Lavinia's task was to drink the potion, inspiring us all. Garth would grab the beast's attention, and I would provide my oration and wield my mace, using my magic to heal the wounded as necessary. Bancroft kept the rear, prepared to do what he did best from afar.
The plan worked well at first. The moment we saw the creature - easily larger than a horse; the most massive specimen of spider I have ever seen! - Lavinia drank the potion and we were all inspired by its magical effects! Then Garth and I rushed the creature. I got a good hit in while it was focused on the young dwarf, and Lavinia bolted in from its left side with her staff, striking with impressive power! Globules of acid would fly out here and there from Bancroft's hand, splashing the creature and making its chitin pop and hiss, exposing weak points that Lavinia would hammer in yet again with her staff.
All was well until Garth was bitten by the strange spider. He held up well enough, but I thought it best to lend my magical help. As I unfurled a healing scroll and began chanting, the spider lashed out, nearly knocking me out in a single bite! I finished the spell, but then was forced to stagger back, my stomach bleeding profusely, the armor badly damaged. I was forced to watch with my back against the wall as my young compatriots finished the beast off. Garth held the creature's attention so well, forcing his shield upon it such that it had no choice but to face him, and the acid and the staff continued to hammer home until it fell. You would have been proud of them, dear reader, if you had seen the prowess and courage with which they fought. I feel fortunate to be allowed the opportunity to witness it!
I nearly collapsed from the severity of my wounds. My companions came to me, worried for my health. I felt no poison in my veins, and so uttered the words of a spell to bind my wounds. It did the job just fine. The pain was still there, and my armor was still damaged, but my wound was closed. More importantly, each of us was alive and in one piece, and we'd slain a powerful creature together!
Our reward from the City Guard was... rather magnificent. I think my companions were overjoyed at the sum of wealth we were given in return for our deed. The glow upon their faces to be rewarded so well for such a task shall be my own reward for the rest of my days, I think. I only hope the gleaming in their eyes never fades.
We parted ways then. I went for a good, long walk, then had a rest at an inn, using a simple mending cantrip to repair my armor. And that, dear reader, is the end of this particular adventure. I hope the next chapter shall be its equal in terms of excitement!
AND MY AWFUL MEMORY
The day came that we were to set off for Beregost, but Garth and I were having trouble finding our other companions. I decided to leave a message for them at the post office, deciding we could always just meet our compatriots when they followed us to Beregost. So, Garth and I traveled with neither Bancroft nor Lavinia. We did, however, travel with a lovely young woman from Kara-Tur named Reiha.
Reiha I had met in the Blade and Stars that night. I'm certain that most any hot-blooded young fellow would find her appearance quite delightful, though I've never been enraptured by the feminine persuasion myself. She spoke with dignity, moved with grace, and all-in-all seemed both well-traveled and proper. She made for good company given her musical ability, playing a cheerful song on her flute. The melody brought the glances of several curious patrons, and for good reason!
It was a curious story she told me. Apparently, she had been born in a nation of Kara-Tur known as Wa, but her family had greatly offended their masters, and they had been traveling west since. Imagine, a girl of less than thirty winters traveling across the entirety of the world, all the way from the farthest reaches of the east to the Sword Coast on the opposite side of the known world! And myself at two-hundred and eighty years of age and not having traveled even a tenth the distance! I can only imagine the wonderful array of peoples she must have met along the way. Reiha will, I think, have much to offer the world as she grows older. Indeed, the girl is already a font of musical talent!
In return for her story, I regaled the girl with a tale I knew rather well, one of the Attack on Myth Drannor. It turns out that the girl is quite taken with Elvish culture and language, and it felt only right to share a little of my knowledge in return for the story she had shared! Of course, I was only able to share pieces of the tale, speaking briefly on but one of the groups involved in the reclamation of that mythical city. I shan't share that story here, but I will heartily recommend a few books you can read to catch up on the subject in the footnotes!
Nevertheless, it was myself, Reiha, and Garth traveling together to Beregost. I'd heard of a need for some trade goods to be delivered there - anvils and grains, to be specific - and so we purchased the requisite goods, paid for a wagon to take us the distance, and rode quietly to our destination. The trade goods more than paid for our transportation, and we found a little work dealing with a rather impressive specimen of rat inside a barn. After that, we were ready for our next adventure! All that was left to do was to wait for our dear friends Bancroft and Lavinia.
Unfortunately, it was while I was at the inn that night taking off my traveling pants and getting into something a little more comfy that I realized I still had the letter in my pants pocket! Yes, that's right; the very letter intended to inform my good friends to follow us to Beregost had never been delivered! I had written it out, signed it, sealed it in wax, written everything I needed to, but by Garl's gleaming eyes, I had forgotten to send the letter! Oh, how my memory becomes ever more porous as the years go by.
In the morning I met up with Garth and we began the long trek back to Baldur's Gate, this time on foot. We talked for a while, but as the topics were rather personal in nature, I shall not repeat them here in this book. Instead, I shall tell you my gleanings about Beregost.
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ON THE TOWN OF BEREGOST
WHICH IS MOST LOVELY
The town of Beregost is just small enough to be sleepy and just large enough to have everything a traveler might need. If you need a drink, there are plenty of establishments to choose from. If you need work, there's always a need for more hunters in the area, and there's no shortage of either game nor dangerous critters lurking outside of town. And if you need a good, quiet place to rest for the night, I can say without a doubt there is no better place to visit than Feldepost's Inn. The rooms are well-priced, spacious without being absurd in their size, comfortable, and may I just add that room number two has a particularly comfortable chair set before the finest fireplace I've encountered in years? It's worth resting there, I tell you that! And there's never a ruckus downstairs.
Now, if you should need some weapons or armor, you can find the famous Thunderhammer Smithy in this fair town! Yes, a would-be adventurer will be well equipped should they have the coin. And there's a temple of Lathander not too far from there, and the town is relatively safe thanks to the patrols of Lathanderite guardsmen all about the place. There's usually a caravan or two parked on the outskirts of town, often traveling along the Coast Road, so you can rest assured that you'll find whatever it is you may need to resupply in Beregost!
I will say that I rather like the gentle pace of such towns as this. Having come from Lantan myself, I'm rather used to large cities and constant clamor. I would never have recognized it as such before my years spent at Candlekeep. Somehow, this town manages to at once feel quiet and pastoral while definitely being a busy trade center in its own right, and I believe it worth stopping by if you happen to be traveling through the area.
Let me only add that I hear some strange tales about the Ulcaster Ruins outside of town. According to history, the ruins used to be a school of magic, a place where would-be mages came to master the arcane. However, it was destroyed in the year 1106 DR by mages from Calimsham. Since then, the place has been haunted by spirits and other such things. I hope that one day I will be able to explore this place myself and learn what mysteries it holds.
----------
OF CAVES AND SPIDERS
AND HOW I NEARLY DIED (AGAIN!)
I returned to Baldur's Gate with my friend Garth, and we found both Bancroft and Lavinia there. We were all quite glad to be back in each others' company, and quickly began making plans to pursue some task or another. With so many strange places around Baldur's Gate to visit, and so much work needing to be done, it took a bit of debate for us to settle on a job!
Ultimately, we decided to follow a suggestion of Bancroft's. The young magician suggested we could help the local herbalist recover some mushrooms from a cave to the north. It seemed a simple enough task, and she promised good pay; and given that we'd only contended with sewer critters, impoverished thugs, and a few wild animals out on the road, it seemed like a good decision to us all to start with such a task.
We left the city via the Black Dragon Gate, and headed north toward the town of Darfleet. We chattered on the way, and I was practically swimming in the youthful excitement of my companions. How I envy them! They move so swiftly, and the world is yet full of mystery to them all. I cannot wait to see what manner of heroes they will become, for I truly believe that spark of great promise lies within each of them, waiting for kindling to make their souls blaze.
As we headed toward the cave in question, my compatriots and I were hailed by a farmer who asked us to retrieve some family heirloom from the cave. I missed the details of the task; Bancroft did most of the talking. He seems quite a personable fellow, and I believe that to be a strength of his, though I often worry his strong personality may be matched with a lack of awareness for how sharp his barbs are from time to time. Poor Garth always seems to end up on the receiving end of his jokes! But they get along well. Nevertheless, we proceeded to the cave in question.
The cave was better lit than I expected, and we had no need for conjured light. We made our way through a long passage uneventfully, and I marveled at the ruins we found within. Bancroft was the first to spot them; myself, versed as I am in architecture and history, I could not tell you who made those structures, or how they came to be underground. Perhaps it relates to the...? No, I dare not make guesses without any proof.
When we came out the other end of the passage, we found ourselves in a large cavern with mushrooms that were red as blood! We began to harvest them, but as we did a few giant spiders assailed us! We dispatched those with ease, and encountered no further threats; and we also retrieved the heirloom in question. We congratulated each other for a job well done, and before long returned to Baldur's Gate with some sacks of grain (which we sold) and coinpurses just a little fatter.
This was not to be the end of our spider-related adventures, however. I had been told previously by the City Guard about a large, dangerous spider lurking in the sewers, one of magnificent danger. So, I suggested we go down there and search for the creature! We did so, and this time I believe the sewers must have sensed the drama that was to unfold, and so kept the path between us and our prey clear.
We had a simple plan. Garth and I were to lead at the front, searching for the spider. Bancroft was in the pack, his magic prepared; and Lavinia was in the center, her staff in one hand and a blessed potion in the other. When we spotted the creature, Lavinia's task was to drink the potion, inspiring us all. Garth would grab the beast's attention, and I would provide my oration and wield my mace, using my magic to heal the wounded as necessary. Bancroft kept the rear, prepared to do what he did best from afar.
The plan worked well at first. The moment we saw the creature - easily larger than a horse; the most massive specimen of spider I have ever seen! - Lavinia drank the potion and we were all inspired by its magical effects! Then Garth and I rushed the creature. I got a good hit in while it was focused on the young dwarf, and Lavinia bolted in from its left side with her staff, striking with impressive power! Globules of acid would fly out here and there from Bancroft's hand, splashing the creature and making its chitin pop and hiss, exposing weak points that Lavinia would hammer in yet again with her staff.
All was well until Garth was bitten by the strange spider. He held up well enough, but I thought it best to lend my magical help. As I unfurled a healing scroll and began chanting, the spider lashed out, nearly knocking me out in a single bite! I finished the spell, but then was forced to stagger back, my stomach bleeding profusely, the armor badly damaged. I was forced to watch with my back against the wall as my young compatriots finished the beast off. Garth held the creature's attention so well, forcing his shield upon it such that it had no choice but to face him, and the acid and the staff continued to hammer home until it fell. You would have been proud of them, dear reader, if you had seen the prowess and courage with which they fought. I feel fortunate to be allowed the opportunity to witness it!
I nearly collapsed from the severity of my wounds. My companions came to me, worried for my health. I felt no poison in my veins, and so uttered the words of a spell to bind my wounds. It did the job just fine. The pain was still there, and my armor was still damaged, but my wound was closed. More importantly, each of us was alive and in one piece, and we'd slain a powerful creature together!
Our reward from the City Guard was... rather magnificent. I think my companions were overjoyed at the sum of wealth we were given in return for our deed. The glow upon their faces to be rewarded so well for such a task shall be my own reward for the rest of my days, I think. I only hope the gleaming in their eyes never fades.
We parted ways then. I went for a good, long walk, then had a rest at an inn, using a simple mending cantrip to repair my armor. And that, dear reader, is the end of this particular adventure. I hope the next chapter shall be its equal in terms of excitement!
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
THE HILLS OF THE CLOAKWOOD
OUR FIRST FORAY
I must admit, even I am growing surprised by the continued success of our little band! Each day that passes, I find myself impressed at the ability of my companions, and even more certain in my assessment that the potential for heroism lies in each of these young souls!
Our group gathered once again in Baldur's Gate, not so far from the market. Garth and Lavinia approached me first, and I was about to mount a search party for Bancroft when he appeared as well! We discussed what sort of work to pursue next, and we settled on exploring the hills of the Cloakwood first, specifically to hunt for a new goblin camp. Apparently, the city watch of Baldur's Gate was concerned by a recent rise in goblin activity, and so we were asked to investigate the matter and report back once we'd scouted out their campsite. Of course, my dear reader, we took it upon ourselves to do a little more than just scout!
We set off in the midst of a terrible rainstorm. Such weather wreaks a terror upon my body, let me tell you! Nevertheless, the trip to the hills was not particularly long, and we passed by the estate of some duke whose name I frankly cannot recall. A gentleman at the gates of his estate warned us about nearby goblin activity, and said one of them had taken shelter inside a tower. Therefore, we took it upon ourselves to contend with that little menace as well!
The goblins were laid low by our group rather easily. A group attacked us from the left as we assailed the tower; however, they were ill-prepared for our canny defense! More scattered bands of goblins throughout the hills intended to do battle with the four of us, but each goblin was slain or dispersed with equal wrath. Now, perhaps this is not the stuff of legends, but mind you that we are all rather inexperienced adventurers; so to see my fellows cut down twenty goblins or so in total was rather impressive! And that is indeed a rough estimate of the number we faced, though only ever in groups of two to six.
The first truly large group of goblins we faced guarded an old ruin, seeming to have made it their home. We fought them all at once, as well as an undead creature I assumed at the time was the result of goblin necromancy! The corpulent thing swaggered toward us, quicker on its feet than any zombie, but pale as death and well-equipped with armor and a shield! I suppose in retrospect it was not the goblins' doing, but at the time I was caught up in the excitement and of the discovery of their camp! Nevertheless, we let Garth hold the creature, as per usual, as we dispatched it and then the goblins. A battle well fought!
Speaking of Garth, I begin to worry that his incredible battle fury may perhaps be matched with a certain stubbornness. When we descended into the ruins proper, we noticed a large group of goblins armed with ranged weaponry. I laid out a plan of attack, one of luring them toward us so they could not pepper us with arrows and javelins, but the brash young fellow took it upon himself to charge into their ranks instead! It worked this time, I'll admit, but his admonishment of ranged combat and his pride may well prove disastrous if we should ever face a similar situation involving foes more dangerous than goblins!
Nevertheless, we'd more than scouted the terrain, and we had much to report. Our band made its way out of the ruins and back toward Baldur's Gate.
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RETURN TO THE SEWERS
AND SHE THEY CALL SHESHE
On our way back to Baldur's Gate, we encountered an odd woman named Sheshe. She seemed to be an elf, perhaps; I'd sooner wager she was half-elvish, particular of Wood Elven blood, for she was similarly dark of skin (though not so dark as my own!) but seemed to have the sort of brawn I would sooner associate with a human. Her manner of speech was odd, as if human languages were not her first tongue, and she seemed to be possessed of a wilder disposition. My fellows did not treat her especially well at first; Bancroft wondered if she had suffered a head injury, and Garth saw her as a weak elf at first glance. But the boys warmed up to her eventually. Garth in particular was impressed when he saw the axe she carried!
Sheshe expressed an interest in adventuring with our group, and I have to say I'm glad she did. While I am sure we could have handled the dangers that followed without her help, I worry one of us may have been grievously wounded in the process... or slain.
I wonder if I shall have the opportunity to say more of Sheshe in the future. She is certainly a strong and capable warrior, but where Garth's stubbornness and dwarvish might are tempered by logic and reason (usually!), Sheshe appears to have a spirit of war and bloodlust driving her actions. She revels in combat in a way that makes me think of the berserkers of Rashemen, and throws herself into combat with no heed for herself. It is definitely a rage of some sorts that wrests control from her, and I must admit, it is a frightening thing to behold. I shall tell more of this in the next section about the Cloakwood Hills!
Whatever I might say about Sheshe, I must admit she is more than capable. Once we returned to the watch captain, he sent us back into the sewers. We fought a few sewer creatures down below, but nothing terrible dangerous. Yet it's worth noting that she was able to fight the creatures down there even more skillfully than Garth, and opted to fight defensively for the time being. She did not reveal her rage just yet, you see! No, while she was lucid, Sheshe fought with cunning and skill, and I could tell just by watching her she was far more experienced in the ways of war than the whole rest of our band combined.
Anyway, there is little more to be said of the sewers in this chapter of our tale. We stalked the tunnels and stepped about discolored stonework, and at one point waded through the green-tinted muck that encompassed the sewage. It was as smelly and unenticing an experience as you can imagine. We found what we were sent to retrieve: a crate of weapons stolen by bandits! After that. we returned to the surface and did our best to clear our noses of the terrible stench.
(I do wonder why wicked things always gather in sewers. Surely your evil lairs can be made somewhere cleaner? Resign not your pursuers to chasing you through such foul murk again, please! Please!)
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BACK INTO THE HILLS
AND INTO DEEPER DEPTHS
Our group was sent back to the Cloakwood Hills, more specifically the goblin encampment in the ruins. It turns out that some noble's laundry had been stolen by the goblins, and said noble wanted it returned. I would not consider it a glamorous request, but, well... Would-be heroes do not precisely choose what ills befall those who need their help, do they?
So, our band of five made its way back to the Cloakwood. We prepared ourselves as best we could. I had used the last of my bardic magic by this point, and was relegated to fighting with my mace, my sling, and a few healing scrolls. It was night when we arrived. New goblins had been assigned to keep watch, and we spotted something else, something that frightened me: a shadowy, incorporeal shape with red eyes.
Now, I do not know precisely what manner of undead being that ghostly apparition was. I do know, however, it was an incorporeal being, and as such unlikely to be harmed by mundane weaponry. Bancroft was as diminished in spellcasting capacity as I was, and none of us (save Sheshe, I think!) had magical weaponry to speak of. We were entirely unprepared for a confrontation with such a being, for even magical weapons might simply pass through them without causing harm, and their touch can do terrible things to mortal bodies! Ultimately, we decided it was best to evade the spirit and the goblin watch, and to carefully sneak our way to the entrance to the ruins proper. We had a retreat plan in case the spirit attacked... but it never spotted us. I will readily admit that I was relieved as soon as it was well out of sight.
Into the depths we plunged, then, and though we had some light, I largely depended on my gnomish vision. Down and down we went, past a more natural seeming formation until we arrived in a large, circular chamber. It was decorated with strange crystals that glowed, and there was a giant ribcage leading up to a skeletal head at the ceiling that made giants seem tiny! I believe it was just incredible stonework, but I would not dismiss the possibility that it was petrified bone. I have sketched it here, that you may witness what we found for yourself, but my shaky fingers can scarcely do the towering monstrosity justice!
But that was the least of our concerns when we entered. Of more immediate concern was the warband of goblins and their gnoll overseers!
Let it not be said that our battle was easy. No, it was a hard-fought victory, at times confused, but generally my companions and I worked together. Garth and Sheshe took to the fore, Sheshe descending into the battle-lust I spoke of before, a woman touched by Tempus if I ever saw one! She wielded two weapons and cut a bloody swathe through the enemy ranks. Garth was right beside her, a fortress unto himself, his shield clanging with every club, mace, and spear that struck it. Then myself and Lavinia rushed on behind them, at first hurling darts and bullets, but quickly moving to reinforce the frontline as our friends were fighting at times seven to two against their foes! Bancroft kept to the back, launching crossbow bolts as best he could, rather accurate with his shots.
Garth and Lavinia both were struck by hurled weapons during the fight. They growled and cried with pain, but shook it off rather quickly; I attended them both mid-battle with my scrolls as I could. Sheshe took injuries, too, but she ignored them, seeming to feel no pain at all. Then I found myself made the victim of my enemies, struck in the chest with a spear; I cannot recall now whether it was thrust or thrown, so hectic was the fight! And goblin darts found their way past my armor as well. I do believe I looked the part of a pincushion by the end of the battle!
We were victorious, of course. None of us was laid low by our foes, and we were able to slay each and every assailant within. We took some weapons and gold from the corpses, as well as some clothing and armor; and we took some herbs within and without the place. We also found the laundry we were sent to find, which turned out to be rather fancy undergarments! Well, good underwear is hard to come by, so I don't blame the noble for asking the city watch to recover it for him!
I noticed a gate that seemed to lead deeper into the complex. We followed it, and within there encountered even more dangers: goblins more, but with large wolves as well that I believe to have been wargs, a magical variety of beast with human-like intelligence. They were dangerous, but we dispatched them and their riders with relative ease.
We would have ventured further into the tunnels beneath those ruins, but unfortunately we were unable to go further due to a cave-in blocking the way. Sheshe tried to venture a little further but declared the path simply stopped. So, we left together, content with our prize and our exploration.
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OF LAVINIA TULWOOD
AND THE VAST SWAMP OF CORMYR
Our band separated for the night once we returned to town, with the exception of myself and Lavinia. We decided to share a meal at the Elfsong Tavern. It was early morning when we arrived, so the eponymous elvish singer was not present to regale us with her beauteous dirge, but we settled in all the same.
Lavinia Tulwood told me a bit more about herself as we dined together. First I told her about my own homeland at her request, of the wonders of Lantan and of the marvelous jungle and the azure ocean surrounding the fair isle. She, in turn, told me that she comes from Cormyr! Yes, that very land of the Purple Dragon Knights, so distant from the Sword Coast! Not only that, but she hails from the very easternmost edge of the realm, from the borders of the Vast Swamp!
My dear readers, there is much I could tell you of the Vast Swamp. Many stories have been written about that perilous landscape. It is a frightening marshland that swallows up the land around it, growing ever more vast year after year; hence the name, I believe. It is the edge of the swamp where civilization ends and wildlands begin. And no matter what is done to reduce it in size, it persists, and it grows, and it flourishes in its own, grim way. They say the boughs of the trees are thick and gnarled, knotted and crooked, with grasping branches like hag fingers. Some parts are perfectly traversable by foot; indeed, most are. But there are also deeper parts where the trees grow thick as the thickest forest, and others parts where the waters become deep and swallow the whole of the land, forcing one to travel by boat. And the life within the Vast Swamp is of dangerous breeds: vicious crocodiles (including the dire variety!), oversized and feral beasts, marsh vipers and constrictors, and many tribes of lizardfolk that prefer their solitude be left unaffected by outsiders.
Still, Lavinia's painting of the picture added a bit more nuance. She spoke of the swamp with some fear, of course, but also with a sort of longing. She grew up on the edge of it with her mother, a talented herbalist, and apparently came into contact with lizardfolk residents of the Vast Swamp in the past. She described them kindly, noting them as being hardy sorts. I believe she has a fondness for them, and though I have ever been raised to believe that scaled humanoids are often vicious, I wonder if perhaps I have had the wrong image in my head of lizardfolk entirely. After all, if someone so good as Lavinia can make friends with their species, then surely they cannot be so bad!
But the swamp itself, well... Lavinia seemed to have more mixed feelings about the Vast Swamp. For her mother, it was a place to be free, a font of independence from an agrarian lifestyle. She (and I assume her daughter as well) entered the Vast Swamp frequently to harvest herbs and such. But Lavinia's tone became sadder as she explained to me that one day her mother entered the Vast Swamp, then never returned. It consumed her, she told me, as it consumes everything.
Poor girl! I know she is strong, but loss is never easy, and the heart does not forget what is lost, never entirely. I should know that well enough, having seen the passing of most of my family, as well as of my own lover, in my long life. To lose someone so important at a young age, and then to take to the road because of it... I admire the courage that Lavinia has displayed, and the strength of her spirit.
Do many adventurers take to the road because of loss? Is it sorrow that spurs heroes onto their path? I wonder, dear reader, if this is so; for it seems that tragedy breeds the sort of soul that never wishes tragedy to be thrust upon another. What is that Ilmatari saying? "Let me suffer so that others do not have to?" I believe something similar is afoot here.
But those are just my musings. And I suppose it cannot be entirely true; after all, I am on the road out of simple wanderlust. But then again, I'm not really a hero, myself. I'm just an old fuddy.
Anyway, I hope you have found this chapter enjoyable, dear reader. I hope to catalogue a less sorrowful story when next I sit at the writing desk!
OUR FIRST FORAY
I must admit, even I am growing surprised by the continued success of our little band! Each day that passes, I find myself impressed at the ability of my companions, and even more certain in my assessment that the potential for heroism lies in each of these young souls!
Our group gathered once again in Baldur's Gate, not so far from the market. Garth and Lavinia approached me first, and I was about to mount a search party for Bancroft when he appeared as well! We discussed what sort of work to pursue next, and we settled on exploring the hills of the Cloakwood first, specifically to hunt for a new goblin camp. Apparently, the city watch of Baldur's Gate was concerned by a recent rise in goblin activity, and so we were asked to investigate the matter and report back once we'd scouted out their campsite. Of course, my dear reader, we took it upon ourselves to do a little more than just scout!
We set off in the midst of a terrible rainstorm. Such weather wreaks a terror upon my body, let me tell you! Nevertheless, the trip to the hills was not particularly long, and we passed by the estate of some duke whose name I frankly cannot recall. A gentleman at the gates of his estate warned us about nearby goblin activity, and said one of them had taken shelter inside a tower. Therefore, we took it upon ourselves to contend with that little menace as well!
The goblins were laid low by our group rather easily. A group attacked us from the left as we assailed the tower; however, they were ill-prepared for our canny defense! More scattered bands of goblins throughout the hills intended to do battle with the four of us, but each goblin was slain or dispersed with equal wrath. Now, perhaps this is not the stuff of legends, but mind you that we are all rather inexperienced adventurers; so to see my fellows cut down twenty goblins or so in total was rather impressive! And that is indeed a rough estimate of the number we faced, though only ever in groups of two to six.
The first truly large group of goblins we faced guarded an old ruin, seeming to have made it their home. We fought them all at once, as well as an undead creature I assumed at the time was the result of goblin necromancy! The corpulent thing swaggered toward us, quicker on its feet than any zombie, but pale as death and well-equipped with armor and a shield! I suppose in retrospect it was not the goblins' doing, but at the time I was caught up in the excitement and of the discovery of their camp! Nevertheless, we let Garth hold the creature, as per usual, as we dispatched it and then the goblins. A battle well fought!
Speaking of Garth, I begin to worry that his incredible battle fury may perhaps be matched with a certain stubbornness. When we descended into the ruins proper, we noticed a large group of goblins armed with ranged weaponry. I laid out a plan of attack, one of luring them toward us so they could not pepper us with arrows and javelins, but the brash young fellow took it upon himself to charge into their ranks instead! It worked this time, I'll admit, but his admonishment of ranged combat and his pride may well prove disastrous if we should ever face a similar situation involving foes more dangerous than goblins!
Nevertheless, we'd more than scouted the terrain, and we had much to report. Our band made its way out of the ruins and back toward Baldur's Gate.
----------
RETURN TO THE SEWERS
AND SHE THEY CALL SHESHE
On our way back to Baldur's Gate, we encountered an odd woman named Sheshe. She seemed to be an elf, perhaps; I'd sooner wager she was half-elvish, particular of Wood Elven blood, for she was similarly dark of skin (though not so dark as my own!) but seemed to have the sort of brawn I would sooner associate with a human. Her manner of speech was odd, as if human languages were not her first tongue, and she seemed to be possessed of a wilder disposition. My fellows did not treat her especially well at first; Bancroft wondered if she had suffered a head injury, and Garth saw her as a weak elf at first glance. But the boys warmed up to her eventually. Garth in particular was impressed when he saw the axe she carried!
Sheshe expressed an interest in adventuring with our group, and I have to say I'm glad she did. While I am sure we could have handled the dangers that followed without her help, I worry one of us may have been grievously wounded in the process... or slain.
I wonder if I shall have the opportunity to say more of Sheshe in the future. She is certainly a strong and capable warrior, but where Garth's stubbornness and dwarvish might are tempered by logic and reason (usually!), Sheshe appears to have a spirit of war and bloodlust driving her actions. She revels in combat in a way that makes me think of the berserkers of Rashemen, and throws herself into combat with no heed for herself. It is definitely a rage of some sorts that wrests control from her, and I must admit, it is a frightening thing to behold. I shall tell more of this in the next section about the Cloakwood Hills!
Whatever I might say about Sheshe, I must admit she is more than capable. Once we returned to the watch captain, he sent us back into the sewers. We fought a few sewer creatures down below, but nothing terrible dangerous. Yet it's worth noting that she was able to fight the creatures down there even more skillfully than Garth, and opted to fight defensively for the time being. She did not reveal her rage just yet, you see! No, while she was lucid, Sheshe fought with cunning and skill, and I could tell just by watching her she was far more experienced in the ways of war than the whole rest of our band combined.
Anyway, there is little more to be said of the sewers in this chapter of our tale. We stalked the tunnels and stepped about discolored stonework, and at one point waded through the green-tinted muck that encompassed the sewage. It was as smelly and unenticing an experience as you can imagine. We found what we were sent to retrieve: a crate of weapons stolen by bandits! After that. we returned to the surface and did our best to clear our noses of the terrible stench.
(I do wonder why wicked things always gather in sewers. Surely your evil lairs can be made somewhere cleaner? Resign not your pursuers to chasing you through such foul murk again, please! Please!)
----------
BACK INTO THE HILLS
AND INTO DEEPER DEPTHS
Our group was sent back to the Cloakwood Hills, more specifically the goblin encampment in the ruins. It turns out that some noble's laundry had been stolen by the goblins, and said noble wanted it returned. I would not consider it a glamorous request, but, well... Would-be heroes do not precisely choose what ills befall those who need their help, do they?
So, our band of five made its way back to the Cloakwood. We prepared ourselves as best we could. I had used the last of my bardic magic by this point, and was relegated to fighting with my mace, my sling, and a few healing scrolls. It was night when we arrived. New goblins had been assigned to keep watch, and we spotted something else, something that frightened me: a shadowy, incorporeal shape with red eyes.
Now, I do not know precisely what manner of undead being that ghostly apparition was. I do know, however, it was an incorporeal being, and as such unlikely to be harmed by mundane weaponry. Bancroft was as diminished in spellcasting capacity as I was, and none of us (save Sheshe, I think!) had magical weaponry to speak of. We were entirely unprepared for a confrontation with such a being, for even magical weapons might simply pass through them without causing harm, and their touch can do terrible things to mortal bodies! Ultimately, we decided it was best to evade the spirit and the goblin watch, and to carefully sneak our way to the entrance to the ruins proper. We had a retreat plan in case the spirit attacked... but it never spotted us. I will readily admit that I was relieved as soon as it was well out of sight.
Into the depths we plunged, then, and though we had some light, I largely depended on my gnomish vision. Down and down we went, past a more natural seeming formation until we arrived in a large, circular chamber. It was decorated with strange crystals that glowed, and there was a giant ribcage leading up to a skeletal head at the ceiling that made giants seem tiny! I believe it was just incredible stonework, but I would not dismiss the possibility that it was petrified bone. I have sketched it here, that you may witness what we found for yourself, but my shaky fingers can scarcely do the towering monstrosity justice!
But that was the least of our concerns when we entered. Of more immediate concern was the warband of goblins and their gnoll overseers!
Let it not be said that our battle was easy. No, it was a hard-fought victory, at times confused, but generally my companions and I worked together. Garth and Sheshe took to the fore, Sheshe descending into the battle-lust I spoke of before, a woman touched by Tempus if I ever saw one! She wielded two weapons and cut a bloody swathe through the enemy ranks. Garth was right beside her, a fortress unto himself, his shield clanging with every club, mace, and spear that struck it. Then myself and Lavinia rushed on behind them, at first hurling darts and bullets, but quickly moving to reinforce the frontline as our friends were fighting at times seven to two against their foes! Bancroft kept to the back, launching crossbow bolts as best he could, rather accurate with his shots.
Garth and Lavinia both were struck by hurled weapons during the fight. They growled and cried with pain, but shook it off rather quickly; I attended them both mid-battle with my scrolls as I could. Sheshe took injuries, too, but she ignored them, seeming to feel no pain at all. Then I found myself made the victim of my enemies, struck in the chest with a spear; I cannot recall now whether it was thrust or thrown, so hectic was the fight! And goblin darts found their way past my armor as well. I do believe I looked the part of a pincushion by the end of the battle!
We were victorious, of course. None of us was laid low by our foes, and we were able to slay each and every assailant within. We took some weapons and gold from the corpses, as well as some clothing and armor; and we took some herbs within and without the place. We also found the laundry we were sent to find, which turned out to be rather fancy undergarments! Well, good underwear is hard to come by, so I don't blame the noble for asking the city watch to recover it for him!
I noticed a gate that seemed to lead deeper into the complex. We followed it, and within there encountered even more dangers: goblins more, but with large wolves as well that I believe to have been wargs, a magical variety of beast with human-like intelligence. They were dangerous, but we dispatched them and their riders with relative ease.
We would have ventured further into the tunnels beneath those ruins, but unfortunately we were unable to go further due to a cave-in blocking the way. Sheshe tried to venture a little further but declared the path simply stopped. So, we left together, content with our prize and our exploration.
----------
OF LAVINIA TULWOOD
AND THE VAST SWAMP OF CORMYR
Our band separated for the night once we returned to town, with the exception of myself and Lavinia. We decided to share a meal at the Elfsong Tavern. It was early morning when we arrived, so the eponymous elvish singer was not present to regale us with her beauteous dirge, but we settled in all the same.
Lavinia Tulwood told me a bit more about herself as we dined together. First I told her about my own homeland at her request, of the wonders of Lantan and of the marvelous jungle and the azure ocean surrounding the fair isle. She, in turn, told me that she comes from Cormyr! Yes, that very land of the Purple Dragon Knights, so distant from the Sword Coast! Not only that, but she hails from the very easternmost edge of the realm, from the borders of the Vast Swamp!
My dear readers, there is much I could tell you of the Vast Swamp. Many stories have been written about that perilous landscape. It is a frightening marshland that swallows up the land around it, growing ever more vast year after year; hence the name, I believe. It is the edge of the swamp where civilization ends and wildlands begin. And no matter what is done to reduce it in size, it persists, and it grows, and it flourishes in its own, grim way. They say the boughs of the trees are thick and gnarled, knotted and crooked, with grasping branches like hag fingers. Some parts are perfectly traversable by foot; indeed, most are. But there are also deeper parts where the trees grow thick as the thickest forest, and others parts where the waters become deep and swallow the whole of the land, forcing one to travel by boat. And the life within the Vast Swamp is of dangerous breeds: vicious crocodiles (including the dire variety!), oversized and feral beasts, marsh vipers and constrictors, and many tribes of lizardfolk that prefer their solitude be left unaffected by outsiders.
Still, Lavinia's painting of the picture added a bit more nuance. She spoke of the swamp with some fear, of course, but also with a sort of longing. She grew up on the edge of it with her mother, a talented herbalist, and apparently came into contact with lizardfolk residents of the Vast Swamp in the past. She described them kindly, noting them as being hardy sorts. I believe she has a fondness for them, and though I have ever been raised to believe that scaled humanoids are often vicious, I wonder if perhaps I have had the wrong image in my head of lizardfolk entirely. After all, if someone so good as Lavinia can make friends with their species, then surely they cannot be so bad!
But the swamp itself, well... Lavinia seemed to have more mixed feelings about the Vast Swamp. For her mother, it was a place to be free, a font of independence from an agrarian lifestyle. She (and I assume her daughter as well) entered the Vast Swamp frequently to harvest herbs and such. But Lavinia's tone became sadder as she explained to me that one day her mother entered the Vast Swamp, then never returned. It consumed her, she told me, as it consumes everything.
Poor girl! I know she is strong, but loss is never easy, and the heart does not forget what is lost, never entirely. I should know that well enough, having seen the passing of most of my family, as well as of my own lover, in my long life. To lose someone so important at a young age, and then to take to the road because of it... I admire the courage that Lavinia has displayed, and the strength of her spirit.
Do many adventurers take to the road because of loss? Is it sorrow that spurs heroes onto their path? I wonder, dear reader, if this is so; for it seems that tragedy breeds the sort of soul that never wishes tragedy to be thrust upon another. What is that Ilmatari saying? "Let me suffer so that others do not have to?" I believe something similar is afoot here.
But those are just my musings. And I suppose it cannot be entirely true; after all, I am on the road out of simple wanderlust. But then again, I'm not really a hero, myself. I'm just an old fuddy.
Anyway, I hope you have found this chapter enjoyable, dear reader. I hope to catalogue a less sorrowful story when next I sit at the writing desk!
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
A SHORT LECTURE ON SCOUTING
AND A QUARREL WITHIN A QUARRY
Well, dear reader, I can tell you now that I have chosen the destination of our next adventure, should my young friends be willing. Gird yourselves, for what I discovered is at once dreadful and exciting!
I was walking along the road south of Baldur's Gate at night when I noticed a path I had not taken before. A sign there said it led to a quarry, but I have never seen any traffic to or from it, not for all the times I have walked that road when needing a stretch. It seemed curious to me, so I decided to investigate.
The road to the quarry was a quiet one. There was some sparse wildlife in the trees: squirrels, birds and such, but nothing very large was between me and my destination. It surprised me, for given the state of the road the nearer I got to the quarry, I would have expected to see something. The path had long been untouched by human feet; being neither a tracker nor a druid, I cannot tell you whether that measures in months or years, but it was certainly one of the former. The grass had grown over the road in many places, and it became increasing difficult to follow as I approached the quarry in question. And when I did arrive, I found everything abandoned. There were large stones perfectly hewn into cubes and other useful shapes that had been left entirely alone, despite their obviously impressive market value. If I had a team of horses, some carts, and some strong lads, I could have made a small fortune transporting that stone away to be sold at the market! But there it was left.
I approached the wound in the earth that marked the quarry's entrance. Down and down it spiraled, and not a sound rose from there. Its door was in poor shape, and down below I could see the signs of a battle fought some time ago. Skeletal bodies, broken weapons, abandoned wargear and disturbed earth... A fight happened near the entrance of the quarry, and a bloody one at that.
Now, were I a wise gnome, I would surely have abandoned the place myself and made my way back to Baldur's Gate. But you know me better than that, don't you, dear reader? I hefted my shield, loaded my sling, and stepped into the darkness to find out what lied ahead.
The interior of the quarry was incredibly dark. No torchlight was present, as one would expect, and neither was there any magical source of light. My vision did falter, for while my eyes are keen enough to see well in diminished lighting, to see with no light at all is a task for dwarves. I stepped carefully forth, the only sound I could hear that of my own breathing, my own footsteps. That is, that was the only sound I heard until I heard the footsteps of another; heavier footsteps, slow and stumbling.
Zombies were the source of the noise. They came at me in a sort of stupor, arms uplifted as they waded through the darkness to snuff out the warmth of life from their stone tomb. I launched several bullets from my sling at them to no avail; I simply could not loose a strong enough shot to do more than stagger them. I opted to put away my sling and draw forth my sickle, and I darted forth, and rather nimbly I might add! Yet when I struck what I thought was surely a dire blow, the zombie before me seemed entirely unfazed, and answered by slamming its hands into me and biting down upon my shoulder.
I will not lie to you, dear reader: I fled. I did not wish to gamble on my ability to face these zombies alone, especially not knowing what other forces lurked deeper within the quarry. I fled, and I ran all the way back to the road, and quickly found myself out of breath.
The first thing I learned about scouting is that it's dangerous business. Unless one has magical invisibility or some impressive training in the art of stealth, one should expect to face deadly opposition. The second thing I learned is that an exit strategy is always good to have. This I did have, and this I used. The third thing, though, is that it is ultimately worth it so long as one is careful, for even as I pen this passage, I know I have prepared myself and my companions for the trials to come.
----------
ON GATHERING SUPPLIES
AND THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING PREPARED
As a scholar, I am well versed in the dangers that lurk in the world. Though I am certainly not an experienced adventurer, I do have what some may call "book smarts," an intimate knowledge of the sort of things one should prepare to do when faced with certain threats. For instance, if one is to fight trolls or hydras, one should bring either fire or acid; if one is to fight a vampire (and one shouldn't!), then one would be wise to bring stakes; and if one is deal with a general mass of undead, then it would be wise to bring supplies that can be used to destroy the undead.
The first thing I did was procure some throwing axes for Garth to use. He shall be loathe to wield them, I suspect, but having seen how slowly the zombies shambled forward, I decided it would be wise for him to execute them from far away. It is better not to risk injury when one can eliminate a threat by safer means.
The second thing I did was take stock of my consumable supplies. I had my healing wand, but I had no special equipment for contending with the undead besides a mace to smash skeletons and a sickle to slice zombies. So, I took it upon myself to fix that. I purchased several vials of holy water and alchemist's fire from the local alchemist, as well as a couple potions imbued with holy incantations to bless our group from the temple of Gond, as well as three healing vials for my companions to keep. Then I considered that we might encounter incorporeal undead as well, and thought to try to find a wand of that wonderful spell they call Magic Missiles. My final destination was the Thayan Enclave, and while I have moral disagreements with those slave-keepers, they offered scrolls of that very spell for a bargain price. I considered it pragmatic to take the offer, and bought five such scrolls. After all, would I be a proper friend if I did not equip my friend Bancroft with the means to destroy such creatures? It could spell death for our entire party if I did not.
Knowing what you face, and preparing accordingly for it, is vital to the survival of any adventurer. It is not enough to depend on grit and cunning; no, one must have fallback solutions for unpredictable scenarios. That much I have learned in my short time adventuring, and I pray, dear reader, that if you take no other lesson to heart, that you embrace this one before you begin a life of danger.
----------
RANI OF SILVERYMOON
WHOSE ADVICE I WILL HEED
I was recovering at the Blade and Stars Inn from my fight with the zombie, having just finished my shopping trip, when I met a pink-haired woman by the name of Rani. She was a curious human, but very kind, helping me settle in by the fire and speaking in only the gentlest of tones. She seemed curious about my reason for adventuring, and I answered her as honestly as I could. Then I asked her in turn to tell me a story about her adventures, for she told me she had been in this perilous career for no less than ten years! And I am happy to say that the good woman obliged.
The first story that Rani told me was of a witch. She had, in days long past, heard of a witch that was a wicked necromancer, one who did terrible things and treated her apprentices awfully, twisting them for her own evil designs. Being a goodly adventurer, young Rani decided the best course of action was to go out and slay the witch! Given the information above, I do not think anyone would disagree that at the very least the witch's evil deeds had to be stopped!
But when Rani arrived, she found a different situation entirely. Yes, the witch was a necromancer, but not the sort who raises armies of the undead. Rather, she practiced necromantic spells, but there is a whole school of magic dedicated to that craft, and not all those spells deal in creating undead monsters. Secondly, the witch was harsh to her students, but that was because she was a harsh teacher. It was no more than that, Rani told me. While she did not agree with the witch on every matter, she did not find an evil magus at that hut. She just found an old woman who wanted to practice her craft.
The moral of that story is a simple one: be not quick to judge that which you do not know. Rani ultimately left the witch be, and that is that. I wondered if the witch was still out there, and she admitted she did not know; but perhaps she might go out and find out some day.
The second thing I was told was of an encounter with a lich! This story gave me a terrible fright, I'll tell you, dear reader! Rani was once adventuring out in some forest ruins with a friend when they came upon an old skeleton. It suddenly attacked them with a flurry of spells, turning Rani's friend to stone! What could Rani do but try to fight back to rescue her friend? And fight back she did, and nearly died for it, but weathered the storm until the lich ran out of spells to cast, and even then it took ten or so minutes to down the creature! Horribly wounded, she recovered her friend and fled the woods as quickly as she could. But she never destroyed the lich's phylactery, never saw it again, and most importantly... Those ruins were in the Cloakwood!
Reader, I am terrified of this prospect. There is a lich that could still be lurking somewhere out in the Cloakwood, lingering in some old ruins that my dear friends and I intend to explore. We are ill-equipped to face such a powerful threat! Whatever shall we do if we find it? I can only pray that either we never do, or that we are much more experienced and better prepared by such a time.
Oh, and the moral of that story? Don't go angering skeletons in old ruins! And, as always, have an escape plan prepared!
AND A QUARREL WITHIN A QUARRY
Well, dear reader, I can tell you now that I have chosen the destination of our next adventure, should my young friends be willing. Gird yourselves, for what I discovered is at once dreadful and exciting!
I was walking along the road south of Baldur's Gate at night when I noticed a path I had not taken before. A sign there said it led to a quarry, but I have never seen any traffic to or from it, not for all the times I have walked that road when needing a stretch. It seemed curious to me, so I decided to investigate.
The road to the quarry was a quiet one. There was some sparse wildlife in the trees: squirrels, birds and such, but nothing very large was between me and my destination. It surprised me, for given the state of the road the nearer I got to the quarry, I would have expected to see something. The path had long been untouched by human feet; being neither a tracker nor a druid, I cannot tell you whether that measures in months or years, but it was certainly one of the former. The grass had grown over the road in many places, and it became increasing difficult to follow as I approached the quarry in question. And when I did arrive, I found everything abandoned. There were large stones perfectly hewn into cubes and other useful shapes that had been left entirely alone, despite their obviously impressive market value. If I had a team of horses, some carts, and some strong lads, I could have made a small fortune transporting that stone away to be sold at the market! But there it was left.
I approached the wound in the earth that marked the quarry's entrance. Down and down it spiraled, and not a sound rose from there. Its door was in poor shape, and down below I could see the signs of a battle fought some time ago. Skeletal bodies, broken weapons, abandoned wargear and disturbed earth... A fight happened near the entrance of the quarry, and a bloody one at that.
Now, were I a wise gnome, I would surely have abandoned the place myself and made my way back to Baldur's Gate. But you know me better than that, don't you, dear reader? I hefted my shield, loaded my sling, and stepped into the darkness to find out what lied ahead.
The interior of the quarry was incredibly dark. No torchlight was present, as one would expect, and neither was there any magical source of light. My vision did falter, for while my eyes are keen enough to see well in diminished lighting, to see with no light at all is a task for dwarves. I stepped carefully forth, the only sound I could hear that of my own breathing, my own footsteps. That is, that was the only sound I heard until I heard the footsteps of another; heavier footsteps, slow and stumbling.
Zombies were the source of the noise. They came at me in a sort of stupor, arms uplifted as they waded through the darkness to snuff out the warmth of life from their stone tomb. I launched several bullets from my sling at them to no avail; I simply could not loose a strong enough shot to do more than stagger them. I opted to put away my sling and draw forth my sickle, and I darted forth, and rather nimbly I might add! Yet when I struck what I thought was surely a dire blow, the zombie before me seemed entirely unfazed, and answered by slamming its hands into me and biting down upon my shoulder.
I will not lie to you, dear reader: I fled. I did not wish to gamble on my ability to face these zombies alone, especially not knowing what other forces lurked deeper within the quarry. I fled, and I ran all the way back to the road, and quickly found myself out of breath.
The first thing I learned about scouting is that it's dangerous business. Unless one has magical invisibility or some impressive training in the art of stealth, one should expect to face deadly opposition. The second thing I learned is that an exit strategy is always good to have. This I did have, and this I used. The third thing, though, is that it is ultimately worth it so long as one is careful, for even as I pen this passage, I know I have prepared myself and my companions for the trials to come.
----------
ON GATHERING SUPPLIES
AND THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING PREPARED
As a scholar, I am well versed in the dangers that lurk in the world. Though I am certainly not an experienced adventurer, I do have what some may call "book smarts," an intimate knowledge of the sort of things one should prepare to do when faced with certain threats. For instance, if one is to fight trolls or hydras, one should bring either fire or acid; if one is to fight a vampire (and one shouldn't!), then one would be wise to bring stakes; and if one is deal with a general mass of undead, then it would be wise to bring supplies that can be used to destroy the undead.
The first thing I did was procure some throwing axes for Garth to use. He shall be loathe to wield them, I suspect, but having seen how slowly the zombies shambled forward, I decided it would be wise for him to execute them from far away. It is better not to risk injury when one can eliminate a threat by safer means.
The second thing I did was take stock of my consumable supplies. I had my healing wand, but I had no special equipment for contending with the undead besides a mace to smash skeletons and a sickle to slice zombies. So, I took it upon myself to fix that. I purchased several vials of holy water and alchemist's fire from the local alchemist, as well as a couple potions imbued with holy incantations to bless our group from the temple of Gond, as well as three healing vials for my companions to keep. Then I considered that we might encounter incorporeal undead as well, and thought to try to find a wand of that wonderful spell they call Magic Missiles. My final destination was the Thayan Enclave, and while I have moral disagreements with those slave-keepers, they offered scrolls of that very spell for a bargain price. I considered it pragmatic to take the offer, and bought five such scrolls. After all, would I be a proper friend if I did not equip my friend Bancroft with the means to destroy such creatures? It could spell death for our entire party if I did not.
Knowing what you face, and preparing accordingly for it, is vital to the survival of any adventurer. It is not enough to depend on grit and cunning; no, one must have fallback solutions for unpredictable scenarios. That much I have learned in my short time adventuring, and I pray, dear reader, that if you take no other lesson to heart, that you embrace this one before you begin a life of danger.
----------
RANI OF SILVERYMOON
WHOSE ADVICE I WILL HEED
I was recovering at the Blade and Stars Inn from my fight with the zombie, having just finished my shopping trip, when I met a pink-haired woman by the name of Rani. She was a curious human, but very kind, helping me settle in by the fire and speaking in only the gentlest of tones. She seemed curious about my reason for adventuring, and I answered her as honestly as I could. Then I asked her in turn to tell me a story about her adventures, for she told me she had been in this perilous career for no less than ten years! And I am happy to say that the good woman obliged.
The first story that Rani told me was of a witch. She had, in days long past, heard of a witch that was a wicked necromancer, one who did terrible things and treated her apprentices awfully, twisting them for her own evil designs. Being a goodly adventurer, young Rani decided the best course of action was to go out and slay the witch! Given the information above, I do not think anyone would disagree that at the very least the witch's evil deeds had to be stopped!
But when Rani arrived, she found a different situation entirely. Yes, the witch was a necromancer, but not the sort who raises armies of the undead. Rather, she practiced necromantic spells, but there is a whole school of magic dedicated to that craft, and not all those spells deal in creating undead monsters. Secondly, the witch was harsh to her students, but that was because she was a harsh teacher. It was no more than that, Rani told me. While she did not agree with the witch on every matter, she did not find an evil magus at that hut. She just found an old woman who wanted to practice her craft.
The moral of that story is a simple one: be not quick to judge that which you do not know. Rani ultimately left the witch be, and that is that. I wondered if the witch was still out there, and she admitted she did not know; but perhaps she might go out and find out some day.
The second thing I was told was of an encounter with a lich! This story gave me a terrible fright, I'll tell you, dear reader! Rani was once adventuring out in some forest ruins with a friend when they came upon an old skeleton. It suddenly attacked them with a flurry of spells, turning Rani's friend to stone! What could Rani do but try to fight back to rescue her friend? And fight back she did, and nearly died for it, but weathered the storm until the lich ran out of spells to cast, and even then it took ten or so minutes to down the creature! Horribly wounded, she recovered her friend and fled the woods as quickly as she could. But she never destroyed the lich's phylactery, never saw it again, and most importantly... Those ruins were in the Cloakwood!
Reader, I am terrified of this prospect. There is a lich that could still be lurking somewhere out in the Cloakwood, lingering in some old ruins that my dear friends and I intend to explore. We are ill-equipped to face such a powerful threat! Whatever shall we do if we find it? I can only pray that either we never do, or that we are much more experienced and better prepared by such a time.
Oh, and the moral of that story? Don't go angering skeletons in old ruins! And, as always, have an escape plan prepared!
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
OF A YOUNG WOMAN'S GRIEF
AND THE MATTER OF LOSS
I spoke at length with young Reiha once again today, the young woman from Kara-Tur. We spoke of several topics, but our conversation eventually turned toward the matter of a friend that is missing. I now believe the poor girl is possessed with a deep grief.
There was a man named Begor that Reiha knows, a half-elvish bard, and by all accounts a wonderful performer. His plays seem quite playful and entertaining, though I think I take slight umbrage with his play titled 'A Gnome's Life.' The man was described as kind, as passionate about his work, and as handsome and dashing. When Reiha described to me her first meeting with the man, I understood entirely well why she would fall for him. A charming, handsome man with exotically colored hair, musical talent, smiling and riding a white horse... Yes, I do understand why she would fancy him!
There was hope in Reiha's voice as she told me about Begor's disappearance. She hoped he was still alive, for the manwas merely missing; no body had been found. But I could tell she feared the possibility that he is dead could be true. And so I told her: "If he is to alive, then I shall rejoice with you. If he is dead, then I shall mourn with you." That is when she began to speak with great sorrow in her voice.
There is nothing so painful as not knowing the truth of a loved one's fate. When tragedy occurs and one knows it has happened, in time the heart can heal, and the wound can close, though stitches shall ever remain. But when a loved one is missing, or when their fate is uncertain for a very long time, the question of their passing looms over your thoughts. It can be months or years that the question remains, and still shall it loom. Still shall you wonder what fate has in store, and dread what is to come.
Perhaps it is a morbid topic to dwell on. But such topics as these have been in my mind for years. It comes with old age, I think; it comes with the passing of those dearest to you.
There is a phrase my father once said to me. He was on his deathbed, and I remember standing beside him, holding his cold hand in mine. My tears were flowing, and I was ashamed. But he said to me: "My son, I shall never say to you, 'Do not grieve.' There is no weakness in weeping." Those words remain with me to this day. He was a much wiser man than I shall ever be.
My dear reader, be you man, woman, or child, remember my father's words. There is no weakness in weeping. We all must experience loss in our lives, and to mourn is a true expression of strength and love. It took me far too many years to realize this, for I long thought strength came from logic, from reason, and from force of personality, from being calm in the face of sorrow. But strength comes from the heart. I pray you shall be quicker on the uptake than this old gnome!
But I have rambled too long and should finish this story. Reiha and I sat together in the inn, and we spoke of happier things. She had started telling me of how Begor was missing and how she feared for him, but I turned the conversation toward her memories of him. That is how we came to the topic of her first meeting with him, you know! And she told me of his plays, and his talent, and moments she shared with him. Those memories brought some warm light to her eyes. So though we began the conversation with fear and sadness, it ended with a retelling of the best moments shared with this lovely man. Whatever else should happen, Reiha shall always have those fond thoughts of young master Begor; and that, I think, is a gift to be cherished.
----------
ON TACTICAL WITHDRAWL
AND THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
I wish to take a moment to discuss another short adventure, one I shared with Garth. The young dwarf and I were on our way to delivering goods to Gullykin, and as we did I began to discuss with him the dangers of the road. He seemed quite surprised to learn that gnolls prey upon travelers along that road. The dear lad raised his shield immediately, and openly declared his readiness to face any such challenges! Oh, I only hope his bravery shall be tempered with experienced, lest he ever find himself in some dire spot due to it!
No gnolls attacked us on our way to Gullykin. However, as we left Gullykin, I heard the distant cackles and bays of those creatures, and I witnessed them poking their heads over the top of a hill, gathering to strike. So, I told Garth it was a good time to get some exercise, and we sprinted down the road and away from danger!
Now, I know this might seem a cowardly decision to make. However, there's a strength in knowing what you can face and what you cannot. I assessed the situation and decided that fighting off a pack of gnolls was not in the cards (such a quaint phrase!), for though we might have slain them if we tried, the cost could have been too high.
If you're of a more cynical or self-centered disposition, dear reader, it may be prudent to keep a heavily-armored, short-legged friend with you in the event that you have to run away. For instance, you could take an elderly gnomish gentleman clad in ringmail with you! After all, your pursuers are more likely to catch such a sorry soul than yourself!
Self-deprecating jokes aside, though, just remember to always know when to fall back. It could save the lives of yourself and your compatriots! If something seems like it could kill you, then it's wise to assume that's a possibility, and to have an exit strategy for your team. Potions of invisibility do exist, and once I have obtained sufficient funds, I intend to supply my young friends with some. Goodness knows I hope to never have to use them, of course!
Hmm... I believe I shall pen a phrase for this circumstance: "When in doubt, get out!" It has a nice ring, doesn't it?
Anyway, I do believe it's time I prepare for my next adventure. Knowing that I'll chiefly be dealing with zombies, and having prepared amply to face them, I am certain our next expedition shall go swimmingly. I've had trouble finding Bancroft and Lavinia, but I think that so long as Garth, Reiha and I are cautious, we should be quite safe!
AND THE MATTER OF LOSS
I spoke at length with young Reiha once again today, the young woman from Kara-Tur. We spoke of several topics, but our conversation eventually turned toward the matter of a friend that is missing. I now believe the poor girl is possessed with a deep grief.
There was a man named Begor that Reiha knows, a half-elvish bard, and by all accounts a wonderful performer. His plays seem quite playful and entertaining, though I think I take slight umbrage with his play titled 'A Gnome's Life.' The man was described as kind, as passionate about his work, and as handsome and dashing. When Reiha described to me her first meeting with the man, I understood entirely well why she would fall for him. A charming, handsome man with exotically colored hair, musical talent, smiling and riding a white horse... Yes, I do understand why she would fancy him!
There was hope in Reiha's voice as she told me about Begor's disappearance. She hoped he was still alive, for the manwas merely missing; no body had been found. But I could tell she feared the possibility that he is dead could be true. And so I told her: "If he is to alive, then I shall rejoice with you. If he is dead, then I shall mourn with you." That is when she began to speak with great sorrow in her voice.
There is nothing so painful as not knowing the truth of a loved one's fate. When tragedy occurs and one knows it has happened, in time the heart can heal, and the wound can close, though stitches shall ever remain. But when a loved one is missing, or when their fate is uncertain for a very long time, the question of their passing looms over your thoughts. It can be months or years that the question remains, and still shall it loom. Still shall you wonder what fate has in store, and dread what is to come.
Perhaps it is a morbid topic to dwell on. But such topics as these have been in my mind for years. It comes with old age, I think; it comes with the passing of those dearest to you.
There is a phrase my father once said to me. He was on his deathbed, and I remember standing beside him, holding his cold hand in mine. My tears were flowing, and I was ashamed. But he said to me: "My son, I shall never say to you, 'Do not grieve.' There is no weakness in weeping." Those words remain with me to this day. He was a much wiser man than I shall ever be.
My dear reader, be you man, woman, or child, remember my father's words. There is no weakness in weeping. We all must experience loss in our lives, and to mourn is a true expression of strength and love. It took me far too many years to realize this, for I long thought strength came from logic, from reason, and from force of personality, from being calm in the face of sorrow. But strength comes from the heart. I pray you shall be quicker on the uptake than this old gnome!
But I have rambled too long and should finish this story. Reiha and I sat together in the inn, and we spoke of happier things. She had started telling me of how Begor was missing and how she feared for him, but I turned the conversation toward her memories of him. That is how we came to the topic of her first meeting with him, you know! And she told me of his plays, and his talent, and moments she shared with him. Those memories brought some warm light to her eyes. So though we began the conversation with fear and sadness, it ended with a retelling of the best moments shared with this lovely man. Whatever else should happen, Reiha shall always have those fond thoughts of young master Begor; and that, I think, is a gift to be cherished.
----------
ON TACTICAL WITHDRAWL
AND THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
I wish to take a moment to discuss another short adventure, one I shared with Garth. The young dwarf and I were on our way to delivering goods to Gullykin, and as we did I began to discuss with him the dangers of the road. He seemed quite surprised to learn that gnolls prey upon travelers along that road. The dear lad raised his shield immediately, and openly declared his readiness to face any such challenges! Oh, I only hope his bravery shall be tempered with experienced, lest he ever find himself in some dire spot due to it!
No gnolls attacked us on our way to Gullykin. However, as we left Gullykin, I heard the distant cackles and bays of those creatures, and I witnessed them poking their heads over the top of a hill, gathering to strike. So, I told Garth it was a good time to get some exercise, and we sprinted down the road and away from danger!
Now, I know this might seem a cowardly decision to make. However, there's a strength in knowing what you can face and what you cannot. I assessed the situation and decided that fighting off a pack of gnolls was not in the cards (such a quaint phrase!), for though we might have slain them if we tried, the cost could have been too high.
If you're of a more cynical or self-centered disposition, dear reader, it may be prudent to keep a heavily-armored, short-legged friend with you in the event that you have to run away. For instance, you could take an elderly gnomish gentleman clad in ringmail with you! After all, your pursuers are more likely to catch such a sorry soul than yourself!
Self-deprecating jokes aside, though, just remember to always know when to fall back. It could save the lives of yourself and your compatriots! If something seems like it could kill you, then it's wise to assume that's a possibility, and to have an exit strategy for your team. Potions of invisibility do exist, and once I have obtained sufficient funds, I intend to supply my young friends with some. Goodness knows I hope to never have to use them, of course!
Hmm... I believe I shall pen a phrase for this circumstance: "When in doubt, get out!" It has a nice ring, doesn't it?
Anyway, I do believe it's time I prepare for my next adventure. Knowing that I'll chiefly be dealing with zombies, and having prepared amply to face them, I am certain our next expedition shall go swimmingly. I've had trouble finding Bancroft and Lavinia, but I think that so long as Garth, Reiha and I are cautious, we should be quite safe!
-
Awesomesocks1999
- Goblin Scout
- Posts: 8
- Joined: Thu Sep 12, 2019 6:51 pm
Re: The Travels of Gladeroc Glindle
THE UNKNOWN MONSTER AND THE UNCOVERED HERO
Dear reader, Gladeroc is dead and I killed him. This is my regret. My sorrow. My confession.
As we entered into the dreaded quarry all we met in terms of resistance was a much larger than average ant. Gladeroc, Reiha, and I were able to dispatch it easily. So naturally of course we kept going deeper into the cave. With grandiose confidence, I led the pack moving further and further into the belly of the abandoned mining operation, inching closer and closer to my good friend's demise. We walked for a few minutes seeing nothing in the place. It seemed empty. It wasn't. There was a monster lurking in that cave. Ready to claim a life. We kept moving in. And then we saw something. Something in the distance in a large cavern in the quarry. A bug much larger than the wagons that run from Baulder's Gate all the way down to Nashkel. It had over 100 limbs but it was minding its business, completely unaware of our presence. Gladeroc suggested leaving but I, being stubborn and disastrously overconfident decided we could take it. While Reiha and Gladeroc saw the hulking beast as the threat. In reality, the real monster in that cave was standing only a few feet in front of them. The monster was me. Because only a monster would do what came next. Armed with my new throwing axes and helmet to protect my thick skull. I started the assault. It was strong. Stronger than anything I have ever seen. It threw me against the wall and knocked me to the ground. It was at this moment that I realized what I had done. I had doomed us all and only a miracle could prevent it now, a hero. If it weren't for Reiha and Gladeroc healing me with their magic wands, I wouldn't be writing this. But alas here I am while Gladeroc is not. It was doing a number on me but It also took its fair share of hits and we nearly had it bested. However, when I couldn't continue fighting it overwhelmed Reiha and Gladeroc. Once Reiha was down Gladeroc did the most selfless thing I've ever seen. He gave Reiha and I a chance to live. He healed us one last time and then lured the beast away. I watched as they disappeared into the darkness. Unable to do anything, I could only hope he would make it out. He didn't. All that I can say next is that the remaining two recovered, slew the beast, and took Gladeroc home.
All that Gladeroc wanted to do was help others become great. He wanted to witness us succeed and become the heroes that he knew we were and in turn, he wanted to write about the journey of proper heroes. He was happy and cheerful all the time and I think I know why now. He got his wish. Because every day he woke up and wrote in that journal, he was writing about a hero. And every time he saw the reflection in a mirror or the puddles commonly found in the Baulder's Gate he saw his dream too. He was writing about a hero. He was writing about himself. Now, who wouldn't be happy about that?
-G
Dear reader, Gladeroc is dead and I killed him. This is my regret. My sorrow. My confession.
As we entered into the dreaded quarry all we met in terms of resistance was a much larger than average ant. Gladeroc, Reiha, and I were able to dispatch it easily. So naturally of course we kept going deeper into the cave. With grandiose confidence, I led the pack moving further and further into the belly of the abandoned mining operation, inching closer and closer to my good friend's demise. We walked for a few minutes seeing nothing in the place. It seemed empty. It wasn't. There was a monster lurking in that cave. Ready to claim a life. We kept moving in. And then we saw something. Something in the distance in a large cavern in the quarry. A bug much larger than the wagons that run from Baulder's Gate all the way down to Nashkel. It had over 100 limbs but it was minding its business, completely unaware of our presence. Gladeroc suggested leaving but I, being stubborn and disastrously overconfident decided we could take it. While Reiha and Gladeroc saw the hulking beast as the threat. In reality, the real monster in that cave was standing only a few feet in front of them. The monster was me. Because only a monster would do what came next. Armed with my new throwing axes and helmet to protect my thick skull. I started the assault. It was strong. Stronger than anything I have ever seen. It threw me against the wall and knocked me to the ground. It was at this moment that I realized what I had done. I had doomed us all and only a miracle could prevent it now, a hero. If it weren't for Reiha and Gladeroc healing me with their magic wands, I wouldn't be writing this. But alas here I am while Gladeroc is not. It was doing a number on me but It also took its fair share of hits and we nearly had it bested. However, when I couldn't continue fighting it overwhelmed Reiha and Gladeroc. Once Reiha was down Gladeroc did the most selfless thing I've ever seen. He gave Reiha and I a chance to live. He healed us one last time and then lured the beast away. I watched as they disappeared into the darkness. Unable to do anything, I could only hope he would make it out. He didn't. All that I can say next is that the remaining two recovered, slew the beast, and took Gladeroc home.
All that Gladeroc wanted to do was help others become great. He wanted to witness us succeed and become the heroes that he knew we were and in turn, he wanted to write about the journey of proper heroes. He was happy and cheerful all the time and I think I know why now. He got his wish. Because every day he woke up and wrote in that journal, he was writing about a hero. And every time he saw the reflection in a mirror or the puddles commonly found in the Baulder's Gate he saw his dream too. He was writing about a hero. He was writing about himself. Now, who wouldn't be happy about that?
-G