Post/Author/DateTime	Post
The Stray 01-02-04, 04:27 PM	January 7, 174 ACW I still cannot believe that it's been five years since I put a quill to these papers. I've spent the last few hours happily reminicing about my adventurous youth and I must say that, overall, I haven't done too badly since I retired from the road. What better way toend a story than "and he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days"? But let this stand as an epilogue, at least. The old gang deserves that much. Well, where shall I start? With my "severance pay" from Cap'n Craven's hold (he'd call it "bloody robbery" or something like that, I'm sure, but it isn't really stealing if you're taking it from pirates, and anyway him and his crew of murderous buccanears are long past caring thanks to the Coralton Navy. Good riddance, too...but I digress) I built and now operate a tavern, the Three Keys, in Abbeville. Having run this place for half a decade according to Ason's own words has proved (to me, at any rate) that his "three keys of success" do, indeed, lead one to wealth and wellbeing, and my only complaint is that running the tavern day in and day out leave me with precious little time to travel anymore. Audric, too, has come to Abbeville. He's the same as he ever was, only more so since he became the head organizer of the local cell of the White Fox Society. His current "campaigns" include ferreting out a viscious little band of demon-worshiping theives that's set up camp here and being a general thorn in the side of the local Sheriff, a nasty man by the name of Gerrard LeVaine. I assist him when I can, and pass on what information I gather that will aid his endevors, but I'm no longer active with the foxes. I'm retired, and I sincerly doubt Audric ever will (he's as busy as a happy bumblebee, and I do belive that if he stopped he'd keel over and die of boredom). Still, I'm happy to help him out. The White Fox Society does a lot of good, oft behind the scenes and without recognition. And besides that, information brokering is a profitable business, so besides being a good friend Audric is an excellent repeat customer. As for Gaffin, I'm sure that little gnome's doing just fine, though it wouldn't surprise me to find him drunk in a ditch somewhere singing old sea ballads. All tha gold we lifted from Craven's hull would buy a lot of ale, and Gaffy drinks like a fish. Perhaps he's still pickling himself in that tavern in Coralton City (ha ha, or maybe he's drained it, along with two or three others). Darrien, from what I've heard, opened up his own business in Coralton City. He, too, is still running with the Foxes, though what he's been up to recently I couldn't say. Our correspondence got rather spotty when the hobgoblin raids started up, and things have not improved yet. I hope to open up a dialogue with him after the Royal Army takes care of the annoying nuisances. Still, by and large he has done well for himself. I shall have to visit him one of these and reminisce about old times. Sadly, not all of us have fared well. Sasha, dearest Sasha, rejoined the Navy after we parted. I remember her telling me, after our last night together, that she wouldn't rest until she'd hunted down the scaliwags who'd slain her father. She was so full of joy and life, every inch the swashbuckling half-elf...I cried for a week when I received the news. Her ship, the Blazing Star, had gone down with all hands aboard after a skirmish with the infamous pirate lord Hellbeard. I curse his name, and pray to the gods that she at least was able to give them what for before she fell. And Claude? I don't know. We never spoke to each other after that fight, unfortunatly. I know it wasn't what Sasha would have wanted, but he was wounded deeply when she chose me over him, and he would not let me forget it. Truth be told, I did nothing to patch the rift, either. Last I heard, he went north, to Notre Dame and the Magical Academy there. Perhaps he's travelled to Corsasia, as he always planned to do. Perhaps not. I wish I knew. But enough dwelling on past regrets. Life goes on, and this chapter is closed now. I think I shall not write in this journal again, and shall let it stand as a testement to the weaving of fate that brought five strangers together, and to the struggles and adventures they faced. And I can think of no better way to close tan to relate a small tale, much like the one with which I began this journal, fifteen years ago. Last year, I changed my name again. Ever since I became an Asonite, I'd contemplated the meaning behind one of the Utterances of Ason, that collection of sayings and wisdom the God passed on to us when he took mortal form and travelled among the Realms of Erithor mellenia ago. "There are three keys to wealth," he'd told a begger asking for alms, "Freedom, flexibility, and knowledge. With these keys, you can open the best path to true success." For many years I strove to live by this principle, and I got by, but it wasn't until I settled down and actually started trying to apply these principles in a practical manner that I realized what they truely ment. The Three Keys to true wealth are the freedom to follow your dreams, the flexibility to adapt to new situations, and the knowledge of how to best make use of opportunities that come your way. I've found that I am wealthy not only in coin, but in spirit as well. My tavern is known throughout the southern province of the Republic, and people from as far away as Pionsat have complimented the establishment and the fine things that I have aquired, simply because I am able to offer so much to so many. Almost any draw that any single tavern can boast of has found a small place here. There are games, fine dining, private plotting areas, fine women, a grand meeting hall, and even more hidden meeting areas. There are high quality rooms and Elven wines mixed with cheap beer and local color. There's a shrine here to Ason, Delilah, and Sylvia, for those who feel the need to offer prayer, and I'm even thinking of starting up a small lending library. I've gone from a penniless cabin boy to the owner of one of the greatest inns in the Republic. Life here is so rich! I truely have discovered the three keys, and so I've outgrown my old name. All the Wayfarers in town got to gether last February and we had a party to celebrate the naming. I am Martain Threekeys no longer. Now I am known as Tenbones, from anonther Utterance of Ason: "Life is more like a game of Tenbones". I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to ponder the name I've chosen for myself in the years ahead. Until I outgrow it, I will remain MARTIN TENBONES (formerly Threekeys) Proprietor of the Three Keys Tavern, and still a wandering rogue.
The Stray 01-02-04, 04:50 PM	January 9th, 174 ACW The chapter is over, but, apparently, the book is far from done. I should have known. Nothing ends. Nothing ever ends. I truely never intended to write in this journal again (let alone twice in one week) but that's life. Random as Tenbones. I've had quite a start and that's no mistake. I feel the need to mark down what has just occured, else I'll simply burst, and this journal has seen more than it's share of strange events. It would seem heartless to record this anywhere else, like selling out an old friend. So again I open this tome and write, and perhaps work out this whole queer experiance! Tonight, as I was preparing the common room for the nightly crowd of carousers looking for a place to spend the evening, I noticed an old beggarman sitting all alone by the fire. This isn't unusual--destitute beggars are often grateful to sit for a few hours in front of a warm fire before being turned out into the night. Some even manage to scare up enough coin for a single night's berth in the commons. But this man (if man he truely be, and not some spirit) sat quietly, as if he were expecting visitors. Why he would be expecting people so late is beyond me, but wait he did. I politely asked him if he was planning to spend the night in the commons, and, if he were, would he kindly present his payment for a night's bed? He looked at me. I will never, ever forget that face, should I live to be a hundred and fifty. He had a worn, haggard face with skin that I first thought to have been browned by a life in the sun before I realized that he in fact was in fact one of those strange dark-skinned people from the far southern continent. His curly hair and trim beard were snow white, but his eyes...I have seen emeralds darker and more clouded than those green eyes that he fixed on me. I felt as if he were staring past my flesh and bone, down to my very soul. It was not a pleasant sensation. Then he spoke. "Sadly, Martain Le'Varro, I shall not require a hearth. Those persons I had hoped to meet this day shall not arrive until tommorrow." he sighed. "Prepare yourself. Interesting times are upon us all, and I could not warn them." Then he vanished. Into thin air. One moment, he sat in his chair, eyeing my soul as if he were deciding weather or not to rip it from my heart and maybe eat it, and the next it was if he'd never existed! I'm not a foolsih person. Nor am I ignorant. I've heard tales of these sorts of visitations, and I have a hunch deep within my bones that something huge is decending on us all. And I haven't gome by the name "Le'Varro" since I ran away from home. How did he know it? This journal has been a constant companion and an ever-present source of deep reflection over the years. It seems a shame not to fill up the remaining pages. Interesting times are coming. I have a bad feeling about this.
The Stray 01-02-04, 06:37 PM	January 10th, 174 ACW (Midday) Interesting times indeed. A party of adventurers who've recently gained quite a lot of attention in the area have arrived in town and have booked rooms here at the Three Keys. This group, the Fiendslayers, promise to provide enough noteriety and attention to bring me plenty of business in the next week, which is the length of time they have so far indicated that they wish to stay. I've heard much about this grou in the last few months. Their main claim to fame is that they were the group able to claim the bounty on a monsterous Bone Devil that was plauging the area. Other rumors have followed them. Like they were the first to explore that strange whispering mist that formed out in the woods near St. Clarice. That they uncovered and wiped out a cult dedicated to Samhain, the Reaper. That their leader carries the legendary Spirit Blade, the sword Rogar the Barbarian Prince used to slay the Witch Lord. And other tales, equally as fanciful. I've found that adventurers often travel with overinflated tales of their might and prowess, so I'm still waiting to be impressed. Impressive or not, the company is a strange one. It consists of Lord and Lady Zifer Cwellen of House Montaire, Lady Topaz (an Elven cleric of Minora, Goddess of Nature, and apparently an advisor) and two orcish bodyguards, Dahk and Damien. These were the names they gave the guards, at any rate. Lord Cwellen and Lady Topaz bear writs that proclaim them to be "special advisors" of some sort, and grant them permissions that include the right to freely carry and bear arms in a town under direct martial law. That strikes me as suspicious. I suppose that someone will eventually want me to find out wether they're legitimate or not. Damn. That means I have to deal with LeVaine.
The Stray 01-04-04, 04:24 AM	This was a writing exercise I started to get into the character of one of the important NPCs of the game I run. It was ment as a way for me to look at the character's actions by another resident of their wolrd, a sort of "how do we look through his eyes?" sort of thing, and it was also a way for me to look at what one of the main NPCs of the campaign is doing when he isn't "on-stage" with the other characters. Is anyone out there interested in seeing the story continue to develop? Please, feel free to comment.
Devlin_StormWeave 01-07-04, 10:49 AM	I also enjoy reading what other roleplayers are upto. It also gives me ideas when writing up my campaign journal for the adventure i am in at the moment. I am posting on Monte Cook's web site in the BAneWarren section.
The Stray 01-08-04, 02:56 PM	Hey! Someone out there besides me is reading this! :D I was beginning to worry... anyway, back to the story! Jan 10, 174 ACW (Afternoon) Well, the Fiendslayers certainly wasted no time getting settled in! They've spent much of the day gathering gossip from the local rumor mill. One of the first things they learned, naturally, is that I know just about everything that goes on in this town. And that I'm willing to share...if the price is right. Good. This means I can keep an eye on them while letting them come to me. I'm curious as to why such a high profile band of adventurers, from House Montaire no less, would choose to come to Abbeville at such a convinient time. I say "convenient," because the town is currently facing the sort of crisis that draws other adventuring bands like flies to honey. For years we've had trouble with Hobgoblin raiders, but during the last few months they've been particularly agressive. It's as if the whole tribe has declared war on the Southern Provence, and didn't bother to tell the rest of us. Many of their assaults have targeted the areas in and around our town, which sits at a major crossroads. Almost all the villages in the area have a road leading here. So taking Abbeville would potentially give the hobgoblins the power to dictate how trade is done. And since the Southern Provence has the highest population of the entire Republic, and since most of the crops and lumber are produced here, this provence is extreamly important to the economy of the entire region. Lately they've ben quiet, which means they might be massing for a full-scale assault. The Coralton Royal Army is on the march, or so I've heard. A perfect time for adventurers to begin appearing, looking to grab some glory. And, coincidentally, a group of avdenturers, with ties to a noble house, have arrived. I don't buy it. There's no such thing as coincidence. They certainly dont act like any group of nobles I've ever seen. They behave more like equal comrades than two nobles, a retainer, and two bodyguards. It's possible that "Lord" Cwellen is illegitimate, and only recently retraced his family tree to high-born roots and decided to help his friends out on their adventures by leaning on his family name, a dangerous ploy unless he could prove his lineage. But it's too convinient. The Montaires have a very well-known and tragic hsitory with Abbeville. In fact, the Montaire name is the one Noble name almost gaurenteed to get attention in town. Two conclusions: One, that House Montaire sent them, and that they are posing as wandering adventuers to cover some sort of political shenannigans or shady deals the house would like to make and still keep their hands l. The other is that they are out right fakes, using a name that they knew would be recognized as being associated with the town to move about more freely than your average commoners. What could the Montaires want with Abbeville? Especially now, with LeVaine tightening his grip and the Hobgoblins girding for war? Why would adventurers pose as nobles to gain access to the city? What could they want to do that would require such a dangerous ploy to ensure their freedom of movement?