This blog is a narrative outline (a literary embelishemnt if you will) of a campaign and setting that I created for 2E when I was in college. I adapted to 4E and am currently playing out with my son, who has followed in his father's love of the game.
II.I - Occam's Razor
Posted 28th January 2009 at 05:39 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 8th February 2009 at 02:29 PM by H.M.Gimlord (Changing the title numbers to fit the chronology of the story)
Updated 8th February 2009 at 02:29 PM by H.M.Gimlord (Changing the title numbers to fit the chronology of the story)
The unpredictable spring weather had been kind this day with a brief blessing of warmth. The sun shown down through cotton-like clouds, causing shadows to come on abruptly, darkening the sky, only to yield to the light once more without warning. Lars whistled as his boots scraped the cobbles on the city road, his blonde, shoulder-length hair catching the breeze from the wharf. The ringing of hammers sounded out from within the forge as he passed by the corner where Bard Mast and his son Hankel had their shop. The old dwarves had been the premiere blacksmiths of Rioc Alair since before Lars was born. Voices joined in with the clanging of metal, and Lars began to catch the conversation being shared between the two artisans as they pounded away at the anvils.
“…So old Havar says to me, ‘I’m wantn’ these locks an’ hinges made good as ya can make’m. ya hear me? I don’ want no catchin’ or scrapin’ noises comin’ out o’em.’ The old fool has no idea what he is asking for.” Bard shook his head as his hammer fell on the cherry hot metal, “He must know that he is doubling his cost of the inn’s room doors.” He shrugged, and the hammer fell again, “But he is the one placing the order. Anyway, I will not charge him for the – Oh hello Lars.” Bard plunged his tongs into the quenching trough. The water hissed and bubbled as if in pain. Bard wiped the sweat from his forehead and smoothed his singed beard with sooty hands. Hankel continued to pound away. “How are the studies going?”
“Father won’t let me rest. If it’s not chores, it’s letters.”
“Oh come now.” Hankel called out, without turning from his work to look, “Tell me you would have it any other way. You are in that moldy library from sun-up to sun-down. Do you think I do not notice?” Hankel’s hammer fell several times, making it hard to hear. “I would be willing to wager that you are the smartest youth in all of Rioc Alair.”
Lars gave Hankel an annoyed look behind his back that made Bard snicker. “Scrolls and scraps of vellum naming kings, countries, and the price of dry goods are not exactly the best use of a sunny afternoon.”
“So tell me boy.” Bard pulled his apron over his head and draped it over the anvil. “What brings you to the forge on a sunny afternoon?”
“Father wanted me to see if you’ve got the hearth façade finished.” Lars looked around as if he might find it lying propped up against the walls of the forge.
“Tell your father that his decoration will be finished on time.” Bard plunged his hands into a bucket of water standing by the coal bin and cupped water onto his face. Grabbing the sides of the bucket, he shook his long hair and beard dry.
Lars guarded his eyes from the flying drops of water. “Can I see it?”
“Of course.” Bard dried his hands on his hose and reached for his tunic as he strode over to the shop motioning for Lars to follow. “Mind you, it is not finished yet, so do not be alarmed by its appearance.” He pulled back the door to the shop and stepped inside. Compared with the forge just outside, the shop posed a nearly unbelievable contrast. Here, the sweaty dwarf looked almost out of place as he passed through an elegant array of metalwork. Shining steel tools and decorations hung from the walls and the ceiling so thickly, that they gave one the feeling that a false move would bring it all crashing down.
Standing in a corner, as promised, was the work piece, half finished, of ornately embossed metal depicting various maritime and academic symbols and scenes of the Hallmaster family history. The surfaces were still dented and dull, but the condition of the other items in the shop put to rest any fear that this was its completed condition.
“Look as much as you want. I must rescue Artur from my other, less well-to-do customers.” Bard disappeared amid much clanking and shimmering of steel into an invisible sea of commerce.
Lars looked at the hearth façade, but quickly lost interest. His eyes drifted from item to item in the shop until they landed on a small hunting knife. The handle was of hard, solid steel, but it looked as though it had been carved from wood. The blade joined with the handle seamlessly, and the hilt bore dwarven runes that Lars did not recognize. Interesting. They won’t know it’s gone until they take inventory tonight. And so they didn’t.
“…So old Havar says to me, ‘I’m wantn’ these locks an’ hinges made good as ya can make’m. ya hear me? I don’ want no catchin’ or scrapin’ noises comin’ out o’em.’ The old fool has no idea what he is asking for.” Bard shook his head as his hammer fell on the cherry hot metal, “He must know that he is doubling his cost of the inn’s room doors.” He shrugged, and the hammer fell again, “But he is the one placing the order. Anyway, I will not charge him for the – Oh hello Lars.” Bard plunged his tongs into the quenching trough. The water hissed and bubbled as if in pain. Bard wiped the sweat from his forehead and smoothed his singed beard with sooty hands. Hankel continued to pound away. “How are the studies going?”
“Father won’t let me rest. If it’s not chores, it’s letters.”
“Oh come now.” Hankel called out, without turning from his work to look, “Tell me you would have it any other way. You are in that moldy library from sun-up to sun-down. Do you think I do not notice?” Hankel’s hammer fell several times, making it hard to hear. “I would be willing to wager that you are the smartest youth in all of Rioc Alair.”
Lars gave Hankel an annoyed look behind his back that made Bard snicker. “Scrolls and scraps of vellum naming kings, countries, and the price of dry goods are not exactly the best use of a sunny afternoon.”
“So tell me boy.” Bard pulled his apron over his head and draped it over the anvil. “What brings you to the forge on a sunny afternoon?”
“Father wanted me to see if you’ve got the hearth façade finished.” Lars looked around as if he might find it lying propped up against the walls of the forge.
“Tell your father that his decoration will be finished on time.” Bard plunged his hands into a bucket of water standing by the coal bin and cupped water onto his face. Grabbing the sides of the bucket, he shook his long hair and beard dry.
Lars guarded his eyes from the flying drops of water. “Can I see it?”
“Of course.” Bard dried his hands on his hose and reached for his tunic as he strode over to the shop motioning for Lars to follow. “Mind you, it is not finished yet, so do not be alarmed by its appearance.” He pulled back the door to the shop and stepped inside. Compared with the forge just outside, the shop posed a nearly unbelievable contrast. Here, the sweaty dwarf looked almost out of place as he passed through an elegant array of metalwork. Shining steel tools and decorations hung from the walls and the ceiling so thickly, that they gave one the feeling that a false move would bring it all crashing down.
Standing in a corner, as promised, was the work piece, half finished, of ornately embossed metal depicting various maritime and academic symbols and scenes of the Hallmaster family history. The surfaces were still dented and dull, but the condition of the other items in the shop put to rest any fear that this was its completed condition.
“Look as much as you want. I must rescue Artur from my other, less well-to-do customers.” Bard disappeared amid much clanking and shimmering of steel into an invisible sea of commerce.
Lars looked at the hearth façade, but quickly lost interest. His eyes drifted from item to item in the shop until they landed on a small hunting knife. The handle was of hard, solid steel, but it looked as though it had been carved from wood. The blade joined with the handle seamlessly, and the hilt bore dwarven runes that Lars did not recognize. Interesting. They won’t know it’s gone until they take inventory tonight. And so they didn’t.
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