Memoirs of a Lawyer turned Dungeoncrawler (Updated May 13, 2008)

[Altalazar]

(Thus begins a new story hour - as a new weekly campaign begins - thus begins the story of Cordozo)

Cordozo Character Background

Law. Law is what keeps society from crumbling. Law is the mortar that holds the bricks of society in order. Law is what makes civilization possible. Law is what separates man from beast. I used to believe that. The emperor made me believe it. It was my calling. But no more.
I grew up believing in the law, dedicating my life to it. I trained to be a barrister from the age of twelve, going into the family business. I had a strong desire to see justice done and, more than that, an earnest desire to see the gears of society kept well greased and moving forward. For commerce, more than crime, also requires well oiled gears of law to keep society moving.
As the years wore on, I honed my skills and perfected my craft, oblivious to the true nature of the machine I was becoming a part of. That began to change when I noticed a change within myself. It was subtle, at first, but nagging. A buzzing in my ear that I took to be the background noise of the city. But the buzz persisted even when I was well insulated from the mob. That buzz eventually turned into discernable voices, familiar voices, voices of those around me. It finally dawned on me that the voices were the unspoken voices of their spirits. But it was not this realization that disturbed me the most. What I found most disturbing was that these voices often said different things than what their spoken voices gave breath to.
Judges professing to be impartial and fair instead voiced inner satisfaction with payoffs received for a verdict. Prosecutors giving outer voice to the interests of justice gave inner voice to their desire to close a case by hanging someone, anyone, and then getting back to the tavern for drinks and their favorite whores, who they only arrested when they refused to give their services en gratis. Defendants’ protestations of pure innocence were betrayed by inner voices of pure evil and malice.
And most disappointing of all, those whose inner voices did resonate with truth and innocence were often the most likely to be crushed in the tight, merciless cogs of justice as the bribes, the prosecutors desires to satisfy the mob, or their barrister’s incompetence either singly, or all together, muffled their innocence and threw them into society’s gutter.
I now know the true nature of the “law” in this metropolis called Desbury. It isn’t about truth or justice or right or wrong or innocence or guilt. It is about politics and influence. It is about bribes and quotas. It is about finding a neck to hang not finding the guilty and freeing the innocent. The town guard have no interest in real investigations.
So I am a lawyer, no more, but I still practice “the law” as it is practiced in this dungheap we call civilization. I know the system. I learned it. I live it. I will now ride those cogs of “justice” to destinations of my own choosing. For my talents and skills now give me special insight into the workings of our society. I can see what my opponents are thinking. I can sniff the bribes, smell the corruption, see it as if it were a brightly woven tapestry twenty feet high right in front of me. I can even manipulate those inner voices, despite their bribes and corruption, and make them go my way.
So I now offer my services with the rose-colored glasses long discarded. I will help those who pay navigate the system, but I no longer care where the river leads.


Cordozo – Chapter One – Winning at Darts, Losing at Fate

After a long round of useless pleadings before a well-bribed judge, I wandered out into the taverns of the night, looking for a diversion to get my mind off of my latest round of disappointments.
I found my distraction in a game of darts, joined by three other players of apparent skill who were probably better at drinking than at throwing (unless it was throwing up). After many rounds of play, due more to the drunkenness of the other teams than any innate skill, we reached the final round. Unfortunately, the other team was far better than ours, even though they were twice as drunk. Fortunately, the judges and spectators were four times as drunk as them, and the judge was especially vulnerable to “modification.” In reality, we lost the tournament on points, but won it on my special talent, as I altered the perception of the judge (as I’ve done in court) and we were handed a victory. Twenty-five solid in gold coin for each of us.
At my suggestion (advice of counsel) our team of four left the tavern quickly after that to head to another one, before anyone sobered up enough to wonder why the team with the fewer points won the final match.
Walking down the darkened cobblestones of the city street in the fog, I took stock of my teammates. One was a rather large, rather dense barbarian, who seemed to take more pleasure in hitting things than carrying on a conversation. But he seemed to have a clarity of purpose. Another was a woman of much smaller stature who, but for the constant buzz of her scheming thoughts, I would not have known was still with us, for her movements were as silent as the night was dark. And finally, there was the noble cleric of Pelor whose noisy steps in his metallic shell were in stark contrast to the quiet calmness of his thoughts as he dedicated even his innermost voice to Pelor’s calling.

My contemplations were interrupted by the loud, desperate screams of a woman in distress. We all quickly ran to the source of her cries, but arrived too late, finding her freshly dead body outside an abbey, near an open grating in the street. Small lavender worms left a trail of slime leading from her to the grating. Her body appeared to have slashes and acid burns, at least that’s what the cleric said, but to me, all I could see was at least two more lives wasted. Hers and the poor soul that the city guard would blame for her death and hang because of their wholly inadequate investigatory skills.
As if hearing my thoughts (something I now often wonder if others can do, based on my own awakening), the familiar shouts and boots of the city watch rang out into the night. “Halt! Murderers!” It certainly didn’t take them long this time to find some poor souls to lay blame for the latest tragedy of the city.
The lithe woman and the barbarian quickly hid around the corner of the abbey, leaving myself and the cleric standing over the body. The Pelorian tried to help the poor girl, but it was far too late. As the guards approached from both sides, they shouted to us to drop our weapons. The Pelorian hesitated, but I did not. I calmly held up my hands and indicated that as a barrister, I did not carry weapons. Having learned the way of the city watch, I also helpfully shouted out that I saw someone depart into the grate, the probable killer, on the slim hope that they’d try and hang that neck instead of ours, or at least they’d consider seeking the true murderer. Alas, it was to no avail. They had four necks, ready-made, and so off they took us to their lair.
I briefly noted, with amusement, that the barbarian did not like to be touched. “No touch!” he shouted over and over, until they finally subdued him and escorted him with the rest of us. I could just barely hear him mutter under his breath as they led him away, “no touch.” It was refreshing to me that at that same time, his inner voice said the same words in unison, and at the same volume. So few people have inner and outer voices in synchronization. I think I’ll like this barbarian.

After five hours of explanations, legal and factual, the city guard grudgingly took us back to the scene of the crime and “generously” let us do their investigating for them in exchange for not having us all summarily executed. They left a perimeter of guards to make sure we could not get away and sent us down the grate. I had, helpfully, given them a more detailed description of the “person” I’d seen “flee the scene” that, just coincidentally, matched the description of one of the more common “usual suspects” the guard was familiar with, but they still were content to let us do their job for them.
Oh well. At least we could be thankful that they had enough decency to at least let us try to find the real killer instead of just executing four innocent people. As if it were possible, my respect for the authorities of the city and the laws they enforce dropped even lower. At least they gave me a torch to light the way to hell.

Cordozo – Chapter Two – Descent into the Depths of Desbury

We lowered ourselves through the grate and found ourselves, unsurprisingly, in the basement of the abbey above. There was much debris and vermin, as evidenced by the rather large and disgusting centipede that the barbarian turned into cottage cheese with a single swing of his very large axe. Had I not my peculiar talents, I would not even have noticed the diminutive one’s contribution of an arrow to the centipede’s demise, but I caught a stray thread of her annoyance at the barbarian’s destruction of her arrow.
Two other rooms bordered this one: an old, moldy library and a wine storage room. We found four scrolls (three divine healing, one unknown) in the moldy library, along with a sealed stone door leading to what we assume are the crypts of the abbey. The wine cellar had one flask intact, one not. The one not appeared to be a nest for giant rats, of which we could see no sign of their existence. We did find a brooch of some value, which the diminutive one took into her custody.
Through the broken cask was a passage to a dark hallway. Much to our sorrow, we went down that hall, where the diminutive one found a door. It was not locked, as she discovered when she tried to open it and was greeted with the sight of four ghouls feasting on the long-dead remains stored in the formerly non-smashed caskets in that room.
My various comrades played a game of ghoul-paralyzation roulette, as each entered, and then was paralyzed and pulled out of the room for the next to enter, until finally the Pelorian turned two of them away with the power of his god and we dispatched the remaining two with much difficulty. I toyed with my own talent for crushing the minds of my foes, but found them mostly resistant to my efforts. I will need to practice that more before I would trust my life with my skills of the mind. Despite the corruption, a courtroom is a far safer place to practice one’s arts than a dank dungeon.
The Pelorian managed to heal everyone, using a scroll in the process, along with all of his magic, leaving us tapped out. I argued for the sensible course of action, which was to rest for eight hours before venturing further. The diminutive one wanted to press on, showing her best judgment in doing so. The Pelorian was also eager to press on, but when I pointed out that our quarry had already had five hours to leave the area, he agreed to rest as well. The barbarian, to his credit, left the thinking to the rest of us and also agreed to rest.

Cordozo – Chapter Three – Dangerous Thoughts and an empty Crypt

Spells and mind refreshed, we ventured further down the long hallway, finding a cave filled with “shimmering ghosts.” I ventured a guess that it was old, rotting, dirty laundry hanging to dry, but the diminutive one was convinced it was ghosts and the Pelorian attempted to “turn” them, to no avail. The barbarian then boldly stepped forth, right into the giant spider webs.
The giant spider was not too far behind, arriving and sending more webs to cover the poor barbarian and stick him fast in his tracks. What happened next will forever be burned into my mind, pun intended.
First, the Pelorian worked his magic, touched the barbarian through the crack in the wall and declared that he was now “resistant to fire.” Then the diminutive one helpfully touched her torch to the webs, setting them and the barbarian in them, on fire. Finally, the barbarian, now freed, unhurt, screamed “Fiiiiiiiiiire!” and ran faster than I would have thought someone of his size could move, out of the crack, and down the hallway, not stopping until he was out of sight. His inner voice was almost deafening as well. I guess he won’t be holding a torch anytime soon.
The Pelorian squared off against the spider, through the crack, not in the room. I decided to hone my talent further, and tried again to crush its mind with my own. This time, to my great surprise, it worked – within seconds, the mighty spider with the puny brain lay dead in the room. The others did not know what to make of this, though the diminutive one was quick to take credit for her little jab against the beast. No matter. I had discovered another talent. I could kill with but a thought. That was a skill I was unlikely to use in a courtroom.
We found the missing giant rats here, apparently fodder for the spider. One of them was cocooned with a bag of 150 solid gold pieces, which I took into my care. We then ventured to the end of the hall, leaving another side door for a later try.
At the end of the hallway we found another door to a room that had a lovely altar and tapestries dedicated to the deity of the abbey, but nothing of apparent value to us, either monetarily or philosophically in our quest for a neck to hang for the dead woman above. So we quickly retraced our steps and opened the last remaining door in the hall.
There we found a room filled with garbage and a creature wallowing in it, with a large mouth and two large tentacles. With great fanfare, the others managed to dispatch it as it proved rather resistant to my mental meddings. From my vantage point in the hall I could more hear than see the fight, but I was glad to see us victorious. I was fully spent, and ready to rest again, but decided not to bring it up with the others at that time.
And then it happened – as I probed my mind I felt a tingle inside me, something I’d not felt since my powers had awakened for the very first time in a darkened courtroom. I felt a wellspring of power within my mind come bubbling to the surface. The room seemed to spin and then stopped, and I felt even more powerful than before. The killing of the spider with my mind must have awakened something further inside me. I was almost afraid to find out what it was, but I had to know, and I began to exercise my mind, reaching out its tendrils into the cold, dark stones of the walls around me.

 

[Sabriel]

Please, sir, may I have some more?

Dangit, I think I'm hooked on another story hour...

Thankyou!

 

[Altalazar]

You are welcome. Rest assured, there will be more installments as there are more sessions (planned for every Friday). I'm glad someone enjoyed this. I never got any feedback about my other two story hours, though those are rather old at this point...

 

[Altalazar]

Cordozo – Chapter Four – Two Rooms, Two Doors, Too Stubborn

What a nice, silver bowl we found. I contemplated my reflection in its shiny surface as the tendrils of my mind slipped back around my scalp.
My mind was definitely feeling stronger. I could not wait to flex my mental muscles. But in the meanwhile, some muscle flexing of a different sort was happening not ten paces away from my reverie. The room with the dead garbage monster had two additional doors leading out of it. The doors looked old, rusted, and ill-used. This led the diminutive one to conclude that they were not likely points of departure for our quarry. The Pelorian echoed this sentiment. Then a dispute erupted between the barbarian, who wanted to boldly go through the door here, and the diminutive one, who wanted to retrace our steps back to the stone door labeled as the way to the “honored dead” back near where we entered, because that door showed evidence of recent use.
Much indecision ensued.
Back when I started as a young barrister, trying my first case, full of fire and fury for the law and zeal for my client, I was sitting in court, waiting for my turn to argue my case. The previous case was going on and on, far over the time it should have rationally taken, far beyond what any sane person would ever have argued, far beyond what any insane person with a penchant for filibustering would ever even dream of going in some deranged half-drunk delusional rant, and well beyond what, I determined later, anyone ever would attempt in court because cases were so often decided based on bribe or influence long before any words of argument were ever uttered. But that argument was short compared to the dispute between which door to take.
Just as I was about to consider the issue of stopping to rest moot, because enough resting time had already passed, there was movement on the indecision. It became a quick-draw of rashness between the two impulsive members of our little troupe, with the barb blinking first – on the dust of the diminutive one as she rushed off to the door to the “honored dead.” We all quickly followed. I was especially keen to keep her in sight, given her predilections and her even scarier, rasher thoughts that often translated, unfiltered, into action.
We all lined up before the door. The Pelorian queried if everyone was ready. The barbarian answered quickly, and with a graceful, brutal elegance: “Me bash dead.” I hefted the crossbow the Pelorian had given me to use. It felt solid, though slightly alien, in my hands. Standing behind the others, I worried I would more likely strike them rather than any foe.
And so, after much ado, debate, and indecisive action, she opened the door. I caught a quick glimpse of five coffins. Full coffins. Coffins soon to be empty, as their occupants climbed out, perhaps with the intention of correcting any misconceptions about the distribution of their estates. Idly, I wondered who handled their probate, if such a thing even was done when they were interred. I tensed for action, hefted the crossbow, and readied every nerve in my body for the coming combat. Combat that could redefine who I was. Physical combat. A fight of the sort that I, as a member of the scholar class, had never before contemplated, much less participated in. And then she closed the door. And then I heard the very clear sound of a bar being drawn across the door (on the other side) and locked into place. Ok, off the barbarian went back to the other door (in the other room). I guess they’ll wait, seeing that they’re dead.
Unfortunately, there were two doors in that other room, and now the barbarian and the diminutive one yet again could not agree as to which door to open. Fortunately, the barbarian, slow that he is, learned a trick from her and immediately went to the northern door and opened it and then boldly went down the hallway behind it, as far as he could before he found himself in the dark and required a torch. Except that he is afraid of fire, so the Pelorian had to supply that light for him. And he’s learned to let the diminutive one to search for traps, which she then refused to do because she wanted to go through the other door. The Pelorian asked her nicely to help. In order for her to do so, the barbarian had to climb out of the way, crawling along the floor to avoid the torch of the Pelorian standing behind him. I sat down on the cold stone floor, opened my briefcase, and started to go through my old briefs.
By the way, the exchange above involving the Pelorian, the diminutive one, and the barbarian was translated from “No light bring stick,” “funny wall here,” “go get woman she check for trap.” And again, I was awed by the clarity of his inner voice saying exactly the same thing, right down to the clipped pronunciation. When I looked up from my briefs, the search was over. Maybe I ought to leave my briefs for the daylight. I then idly wondered whether the barbarian was aware that the symbol of Pelor was a flaming hammer. That’ll be a fun bridge to cross if the Pelorian ever gets one.

Cordozo – Chapter Five – Saint Bethesda Stoned

It was with a great sense of relief that the final door in the room of the garbage creature was opened. Interestingly, it led to a corridor bisected by another corridor, with a very realistic looking human female statute right in the middle of the intersection between the two corridors. Using our vast knowledge (we read the base of the statute) we determined that the statute was supposed to represent Saint Bethesda, the patron to the ruins we were then infesting. Another clue to her identity was the booming female voice intoning “Welcome Brothers. May the healing balm of Saint Bethesda ease your suffering” that then echoed throughout the dank walls of our explorations.
We ought to have been more alarmed by this obvious alarm, but since it repeatedly said it each time someone approached the statute, we quickly ignored it. On the plus side, we spied several slimy lavender worms heading straight down the hallway, toward a rather large, sinister looking room with a stone sarcophagus and many impressive pillars. If I had an honest judge in an impartial court, I could have convicted that sarcophagus of harboring our fugitive. We held court soon enough.

Cordozo – Chapter Six – Lavender Worms in a Smegowski Suit

The diminutive one charged boldly forward, right up to the sarcophagus. And of course, the lid came up and out came – well, if I were blessed with the virtues of an artist, I could draw it. As it is, I will have to paint this thing with words. If one could imagine a colony of thousands of slimy, tiny, smoldering lavender worms wearing the emptied out husk of a corpse (freshly killed) as if it were a set of noble garments, that would begin to describe the sight that was before us there. Fortunately, I was, as always, far in the rear. (The barbarian had moved up to the diminutive one after the Pelorian summoned him with his great battle cry (“E, Care to join us?”)
I should probably mention that the slimy corpse-suit of worms was armed with two longswords and had three tentacles, one of which suspiciously looked like a mouth, but all of which were made of dripping, slimy, lavender worms. And while I’m sharing, I should probably also mention the acid. But that wasn’t the worst of it, as the barbarian found out.
From where I was standing, I could tell things were not going well. The diminutive one was all but dead when she came staggering back into the hallway for the Pelorian’s healing touch (always accented with “The power of Pelor can heal you”). I noted five of those slimy lavender worms attached to the diminutive one’s chest. Once again, I was thankful to be in the back.
Then the barbarian took his own beating, ending with the central pseudopod latching onto his face where apparently it had inserted itself down his throat. I could almost hear the barbarian’s own voice in my mind speaking my own words. “Be in back. Good.”
In the meanwhile, my new, more powerful mind was busy trying to crush the life out of the worms, without much success. One unfortunate discovery is that most creatures I’ve tried to crush with the power of my mind have been strangely resistant to it.
Things were starting to get desperate. Yes, I might have had to move from being in back (and from safely down the hall, no less). All three of my erstwhile companions were right up next to the sarcophagus. I heard a few times just how the power of Pelor is good at healing (paraphrasing, at this point), usually preceded by squishy-sickening thunks of lavender worms striking pale pink flesh. The barbarian’s face was still locked in a perverse embrace with the “mouth” of the lavender worm’s, well, mouth. “Back. Good.”
Gathering up all of my powers, all of my concentration, throwing everything I had left into it, I tried one last time to crush the lavender worms’ collective mind. Much to my great surprise, it failed to resist me and dropped to the floor in a big, slimy heap of dying worms, letting the barbarian go.

The fight over, my companions still unsure of my powers at that point, we licked our wounds (well, their wounds. I have yet to get a scratch) and examined the sarcophagus and its unfortunate former inhabitant.
The sarcophagus itself was carved from a single giant piece of wood and was rather ornate and well adorned with symbols of healing. We briefly toyed with the idea that sleeping in it would heal, but we decided to abandon it and take the body to the surface. Given the nature of the worms, it seemed apparent that we had found our quarry. Hopefully the corruption of the guards was not so much that they would not accept the truth even when it locked onto their face and tried to shove worms down their throats.

Cordozo – Chapter Seven – We file the Smegowski Suit with the Guard and then give at the Temple

Much to my surprise, the head of the guard grudgingly accepted the slimy pile of worms as the perpetrator of the heinous crime. If he hadn’t, I must say, I would have been sorely tempted to crush him with my brain. Perhaps they would have considered it natural causes. Though on second thought, this guard would probably have found someone to hang for natural causes as well, out of spite for not otherwise having someone’s neck to use for an afternoon’s entertainment in the town square.
The Pelorian, bless his inner voice, wanted to find the family of the poor soul worn by the lavender worms as a suit, and asked the guard if he could do so. They just wanted to burn it to make sure it was dead. More out of a desire to manipulate the guard captain than to help the Pelorian, I primed myself for battle and in combat dangerous and real, beat him in the arena of words and convinced him to let us take the body back to the Pelorian temple. They did warn us that if anything happened, the Pelorian would be held responsible. Well, good enough for me.

As fate would have it, there was an adventurer staying at the temple who had some sort of special glove that could determine prior ownership of objects. It was determined that the body belonged to a Mike Smegowski (prior to its belonging to something called a wormwraith. I would guess there would be some lavender worms in there somewhere). We posted the name for the family to find his fate and then burned the husk.

Cordozo – Chapter Eight – Honoring the Dead

We rested for the night, myself and the diminutive one in an expensive inn across the street from the temple, the Pelorian with his fellow brothers, and the barbarian in an inn of ill repute. While Morwen and I paid a handsome gold coin for a night of rest, E the barbarian paid much more, as he awoke to find his gold purse gone. Sometimes it pays to pay up front. He really ought to get himself some reputable representation.
We then returned to the underground lair of Saint Bethesda to lay rest to the honored dead. Brother Marcus, the Pelorian, insisted that it was the proper thing to do.
So back and down we went. For reasons unclear to me, however, we headed in the opposite direction, to open one last door before honoring the dead. Once again, I kept well back, and we played roulette with the front ranks as we found a room well stocked with bandits, six in all. First the diminutive one, then the barbarian were surrounded and nearly slain before the diminutive one (dim for short) tumbled back and the barbarian held the doorway as they threw daggers his way. Once again, my mind fresh, I tried to crush them with my brain, one by one. Once again, they seemed strangely resistant. Either that, or my skill is not what I hoped it would be. The Pelorian did note that, while I once again hefted his loaned crossbow, I did not even attempt to fire it. As he asked me if I should really have it, I cried out in frustration that I was trying to crush them with my brain. The Pelorian’s eyebrows lurched upwards at this and I could tell he was intrigued by the concept, for he spoke of it no further and turned his attention back to our rout. At that moment, I crushed the leader’s brain into fine pulp as the barbarian slashed another into oblivion.
In their wake, we found 500 pieces of gold, a tiger eye, and a potion of unknown elixir. In a rather macabre display, we also took the equipment and weapons of the slain. I guess this is the buffet version of probate court.
The rest ran, leaving one behind to open the door for the other’s escape. To quote the barbarian. “You not leaving.” Too bad for him. I wonder if he had a proper will. Briefly, I considered what business opportunities I was forsaking as we left the room and headed, finally, to the honored dead.
Or so I thought. Now they all wanted to explore yet another hallway, one which I presumed led to the surface, much like the hall the bandits used to escape. I was wrong. It did, however, put the diminutive one to sleep. The Pelorian woke her, almost falling asleep himself. At the end of the hall was a lovely painting of a tunnel on a dead-end. Ahem.
We found a back approach to the hall of the honored dead. Boldly, the Pelorian went forth down the hall. Boldly, the Pelorian fell down a twenty foot deep pit. I make a note in my briefs. “Never be bold.” After the diminutive one jams the pit cover closed, we sally forth.

Now, yet again, the moment has come. We are ready for battle. I heft the crossbow in my sweaty palms. The Pelorian readies his well worn, but piously so, holy symbol. We are there. We are ready. The barbarian steps into the room. The caskets open. The Pelorian raises his holy symbol and invokes the power of his god. And then it’s over. Four of them fall to dust, the last cowers, until the barbarian decapitates him. I wiped the sweat off of my palm and put away the crossbow.
The Pelorian blessed the corpses. He also asked us if we wanted to join his church. He had a rare disparity between his inner and outer voice with his plea, one I could almost call a virtue. His outer voice said that there were many paths to salvation, even as his inner voice added the caveat that only Pelor’s path will get you there.

Cordozo – Chapter Nine – Contingency Fees all around

I quickly took stock of all we had found, as did the diminutive one. For all her failings in the ways of the wise, she certainly can add up the value of trade goods down to the last battered piece of copper. All told, we each took a one fourth contingency fee from our common gains and found ourselves three hundred and fifty three gold thicker in the belt pouch. I easily ought to be able to update my wardrobe with that.
I think I enjoyed that crawl through the dirt rather more than any court I’ve ever been in. At least in the thick of battle, with vile beasts nipping at your throat, there is no fake veneer of polite society or civilization. The bandits, vile though they were, were at least honest in their vileness. They did not claim to be doing the work of lawful good and justice as they tried to slit our throats and steal our treasures. While I cannot abandon my profession, I think I may take a sabbatical with these three when opportunities present themselves. Perhaps my gold would be better spent if it were invested in that endeavor rather than in more noble rags to impress the bailiffs. But where to begin?

 

[Altalazar]

Book II

Cordozo – Chapter Ten – A Vision in the Dark

As part of my new moonlight profession, I decided to get to know these three better. I invited them all to stay at my domicile in the city (a nice one, as befits my station). Only the Pelorian, Brother Marcus, accepted, and only because he, as an acolyte of his god, was seeking to learn more about the world outside the cloistered halls of his temple. The barbarian, E, refused as well, though he did stay in the good inn this night. His inner voice taunted him to stay in the other inn, in hopes of catching his thief, but apparently his desire for a good night’s rest won out. The diminutive one, Morwen, was nowhere to be found.
That night, I took the opportunity within the safe walls of my home to probe the Pelorian further as he slept. Much to my surprise, I found much more than even he expected. A vision came to him. A landscape far to the north. A temple. A Pelorian priest pulled from it by a mob and beaten. Then the landscape rushed by, leading back to the city, showing the way there. As the vision faded from his mind, there was a loud thumping in the land of the outer voice. Someone was at the door.
I quickly checked through the peephole and saw a Pelorian standing there, one with hair grayer than my Pelorian’s. I opened the door and was met with a Brother Lector, who asked for Brother Marcus. Quickly, they shared visions, though Brother Lector’s lacked Brother Marcus’s detail. Apparently this meant the vision was for him to explore. Brother Lector said as much, indicating that the head of his order, Father Ray, had “suggested” that Brother Marcus explore it. That settled it for me. Time to go shopping. The Pelorian offered to pay me to go with him, which was touching, but I said I’d go on contingency, as before. I suggested to him we wait until morning. It was a long journey and we needed to rest and then properly equip ourselves.

Cordozo – Chapter Eleven – Shop so we don’t drop (in combat)

I quickly determined that I had no equipment (save my donated crossbow and 20 bolts) suitable for what is often known derogatorily as adventuring. So I set out to buy rations, more bolts, a bedroll, a backpack, and whatever else the other’s suggested to me.
The diminutive one did agree to go on this venture, as did the barbarian (“Ok, me go.”) Though it did take some time to locate the diminutive one – she finally did show up at the temple of Pelor.
One thing we quickly determined we did need was a wand of curing the lighter wounds (which we could afford). The diminutive one did not want to make such a large investment at this time, at least not for one fully charged. I could see no logic in this. We could easily afford it with our collective fee from our last venture. Apparently she had other ideas for her own investments. But this still left we other three with plenty of gold to invest in such magical insurance. Rather than argue endlessly on this point, I put up most of my own gold toward this purchase and, along with the barbarian and the Pelorian, we purchased said item, taking fifty gold coins and an IOU from the diminutive one to me for the effort. As I had my rations and my bedroll, along with a few extra bolts, I failed to see any other use for my coin, anyway. Though later it turned out that I probably should have bought a horse. But that was also solved when the Pelorian bought both myself and the barbarian a mount and saddle and then borrowed one from his temple for himself.
Thus equipped, we prepared to journey north.

Cordozo - Chapter Twelve – If Treefall’s in the woods, can we find it?

With a little research, we determined that the probable name of the village at our destination was Treefall, ten days journey to the north. Nine days later, we were camped, sitting around the warm fire, telling stories and enjoying the fresh air. The barbarian was just enjoying the fresh air, some distance from the fire, taking cover behind some strange trees with needles instead of leaves. Just as the tales were turning bawdy, I heard the sound of something approaching from the darkness.
I could make out only a small, grayish blob. Before I could react, an arrow shot past my head and straight into the fuzzy beast’s hide. An arrow well-used by the diminutive one. The furry beast then charged the Pelorian, taking a rather large bite out of him. I took the opportunity to fire my first crossbow bolt. If I waited until morning, and then hired half the village to help me look, I might have a small chance of finding where it actually landed.
Upon closer inspection, the furry little beast looked almost… cute. As was voiced by the Pelorian. I was forced to agree. “Yes, it is cute. Let’s kill it.” To be fair, it did take a bite out of one of our own. Deed soon followed word, and it lay at our feet. We dragged the body far away and then set up watches for the night. I took the last watch, as usual, and heard a stirring in the woods from the direction of the body. I woke the others. When we approached it, we found instead a naked, handsome young man with an arrow sticking out of his side. Now, to be truthful, I’d never seen a true lycanthrope, but I’d heard of it often enough, usually as part of an excuse or defense offered by my more creative (or insane) clients. I’d always have to patiently explain to them that if they claim lycanthropy, they’ll have more to worry about than a court. Angry mobs can be even more efficient than a well-bribed judge with a charmed prosecutor.
But we held our tongues on that point. The young man turned out to be a lad named Arawn, who’s father owned “Joseph’s Inn” in Treefall, which turned out to be a very short walk to the north. He also had a sister named Beth and his mother’s name was Valerie. I kept thinking of how we were to break the news to his family. When we reached the inn, I wondered if perhaps they already knew. The inn itself had signs proclaiming that no one would be allowed to enter past dusk. When asked, Joseph replied it was “bandits.” “Furry bandits?” I asked. To that, he did not reply.
The diminutive one and I vowed to seek information from the local populace after sharing breakfast with Arawin’s family at the inn. As we ate, we heard a shady figure in the back mutter something about “no good adventurers” before sulking out of the inn, purposefully knocking Arawin down in the process. The diminutive one, for her part, commented to him that it was a nasty thing to do. “Nobody asked you” was the youth’s only reply before exiting the inn. The barbarian sought him out to teach him some manners, but returned soon after, a sullen look on his face.
We did learn that his name was Cole Jenkins, Derris’ son, whomever Derris was. I decided it was time to find out.

 

[Elder-Basilisk]

Great story hour. I like the voice you've adopted and the Crypt of St. Bethesda brought back some memories. Out of curiousity, what class is your character? If I had to guess, I'd say telepath (psion), but one can't be sure.

 

[Altalazar]

Great story hour. I like the voice you've adopted and the Crypt of St. Bethesda brought back some memories. Out of curiousity, what class is your character? If I had to guess, I'd say telepath (psion), but one can't be sure.

Thank you. And yes, that is a good guess. He is the ultimate telepath, in that he will have only telepathic powers, and only Psi feats. Thus far, his luck hasn't been so good, given that his opponents have almost always made their will saves, even when the chances weren't great. But that just makes things more interesting.

 

[Tirlanolir]

I'm enjoying your cleverly written story hour. In it, I've seen evidence to suggest that you are a lawyer in rl, which I will describe seriatim: (1) your character's name is the name of one of the most well-respected jurists in history, (2) copious use of the term "statute" when intending to write "statue;" it is something I often do in my own gaming materials due to the fact that I more commonly write "statute" in my rl job, and (3) your view on law enforcement's motivations. If I am correct, it is nice to see a fellow lawyer who is also a gamer!

 

[Altalazar]

I'm enjoying your cleverly written story hour. In it, I've seen evidence to suggest that you are a lawyer in rl, which I will describe seriatim: (1) your character's name is the name of one of the most well-respected jurists in history, (2) copious use of the term "statute" when intending to write "statue;" it is something I often do in my own gaming materials due to the fact that I more commonly write "statute" in my rl job, and (3) your view on law enforcement's motivations. If I am correct, it is nice to see a fellow lawyer who is also a gamer!

Thank you. And very astute observations. I didn't notice the statute typos, though I did find many others. I was a bit more careful with editing for my subsequent postings, I hope. Yes, Cordozo is a legal giant, and I thought it made a nifty name for a medieval lawyer. I do have my doubts about law enforcement motivations at times, though I can sympathize with the travails of that job. I'm not technically a lawyer, yet. I'm studying for the bar having just graduated second in my class in law school. Law school was what kept me from gaming for the past three years - working full time and law school don't leave much time for anything else. Having a six week old baby also tends to eat away at the hours, but at least I'm home with her while I study. Half of the fun of gaming for me these days is coming up with an interesting character, one I can write about in first-person. I am always surprised where it can take me.

I also find it nice to know there are other lawyer gamers. Have you practiced long? I've only done my externship, in appeals, so I've never even seen a trial, though I've read many many complete trial transcripts and depositions for writing appeals briefs. There is a certain legal purity to appeals which, to coin a bad pun, appeals to me.

I should be updating this story hour every Saturday after gaming Friday night.

 

[Tirlanolir]

I also find it nice to know there are other lawyer gamers. Have you practiced long? I've only done my externship, in appeals, so I've never even seen a trial, though I've read many many complete trial transcripts and depositions for writing appeals briefs. There is a certain legal purity to appeals which, to coin a bad pun, appeals to me.

I should be updating this story hour every Saturday after gaming Friday night.

I've been practicing for 8 years. In my gaming group we have a 3rd year law student and another lawyer as well (the other lawyer has been practicing for 3 years). I look forward to reading more of your story hour!