Eccles
Ragged idiot in a trilby.
SPOILER WARNING: As if being called an “Age of Worms” Story Hour wasn’t obvious enough, this is likely to give away a few bits of the ‘Age of Worms’ campaign. I don’t know what those bits are yet. I’m just playing in the campaign…
The Campaign makes its start in Diamond Lake, a two-bit mining town filled with lowlife scum, competing mining overseers, corrupt officials and guardsmen, pollution and scummy taverns. I think we fit into the ‘lowlife scum’ category at the moment. We’re a group of likely lads from the town out for ourselves, and looking to get out of the town itself.
I’m Evan the Raconteur (Brd1). I’ve lived in Diamond Lake for as long as I can remember, and there’s little to say about that. I’ve traded stories with all the passers-by and traders who’ve come through the town, and now make a living by touring the bars, living off my tales and my wits. The rapier’s really just an affectation – people think twice about attacking an armed man.
People think twice about attacking Morgan Sevestarian (Wiz1 – Necromancy Specialist). Not because he’s armed, but because he’s spooky. You remember the creepy kid that you hung out with because you were always a bit scared of his parents? That’s Morgan. He’s taken after his mother now and is working towards being a really weird piece of work. He carries a crossbow; every time I’ve ever seen him use it in the past he’s managed to hit his target, which is strange, as I’ve never ever seen him practice. He must just be lucky. Or it could be magic, I suppose.
My other magical companion is Torvig (Clr1 - Fharlanghn). Besides being a Dwarf, he’s one of the town’s few healers, prepared to heal anybody who comes to him, which is more than you can say for other clerics in town, who only heal their own followers. He came to town a few years ago in the company of another dwarf, and since then the two have left their armour to rust – Torvig’s armour through lack of use, and his mate's has been pawned to raise ale money.
Then there’s Flynn the Elf (Rog1). What can you say about Flynn? He’s quite the stereotype of what you know about elves in some respects – he’s tall, quick and nimble, and a superb shot with the bow. What you don’t often get to say about elves is that he doesn’t hang out in a forest, and really likes gold. A lot. Though we’ve argued about this in the past, we stick together, mostly ‘cause he’s inquisitive, and his instincts have gotten us out of nearly as many scrapes as his impulses have gotten us into.
Finally, there’s the most recent addition to our little drinking group; Niccoli the warrior (Ftr1), strong and athletic, skilled with the bastard sword and bow. A handy guy to have by your side in a fight, which I guess is why Niccoli was hired some time ago by the Diamond Lake garrison to help do whatever it is they do right the way out of town.
Our story starts, in the way of so many tales before it, in the tavern. In our case, this was the Dog – we try to meet up every week to hang out and down a few jars. I tell a few tales and earn a couple of pennies, the others play darts, and we all talk about what we’re going to do when we get out of town and head for the big city.
This week, we had something else to talk about. Adventure! Or rather, the trio of honest to Gods adventurers who’d come to town, asking about the Cairn, clearly seeking to do some adventuring there, and go treasure hunting. The place they were asking about was close to town, and we all figured they meant the Whispering Cairn, across the lake which we all visited as kids – never daring to go beyond the entrance.
The bar was packed with beery miners, and my few tales netted me a few coppers and a beer. Whilst I had my back turned, Flynn managed to insult one of the visiting adventurers and challenged her in the same sentence to a knife-throwing match for money he didn’t even have.
He did well, to be honest. Managed to hold his own until the last blade went off-target and earned back a little grudging respect from the warrior-woman. She then started asking questions about the Cairn. Morgan and I did our best to warn them of the series of “hidden doors” lying around what we knew well to be an empty and long-abandoned mine-shaft, then we all left the bar, a little the worse for wear, and hugely entertained by our story to the adventurer in the bar.
It was about then that Torvig made the suggestion that would change everything.
“Why don’t we do it? We know where we’re going, it’s just out of town”.
“Do what?” Morgan was still finishing his beer and wasn’t completely paying attention.
“Raid the Whispering Cairn. We’ve even been there a few years ago. To the door, anyway”.
“Yeah,” agreed Flynn. “And any loot that those guys would be looking for should stay with Diamond Lake folk. Like us”.
It didn’t take long for 5 young men after a few cups to become the greatest adventuring party that ever lived – at least in our own minds.
We separated for a while, returning to meet once we’d gathered as much kit as possible. I managed to belt on a sword and grab the small bow I used when I was younger; but I was thoroughly outclassed by Torvig’s heavy armour, Flynn’s masses of kit, and Niccoli’s full military kit including scale armour. I’m sure I would’ve got nervous but for the ale still running through my system. It seems like the same could be said for the others, as we ran, grinning, towards the docks and the promise of riches beyond…
The Campaign makes its start in Diamond Lake, a two-bit mining town filled with lowlife scum, competing mining overseers, corrupt officials and guardsmen, pollution and scummy taverns. I think we fit into the ‘lowlife scum’ category at the moment. We’re a group of likely lads from the town out for ourselves, and looking to get out of the town itself.
I’m Evan the Raconteur (Brd1). I’ve lived in Diamond Lake for as long as I can remember, and there’s little to say about that. I’ve traded stories with all the passers-by and traders who’ve come through the town, and now make a living by touring the bars, living off my tales and my wits. The rapier’s really just an affectation – people think twice about attacking an armed man.
People think twice about attacking Morgan Sevestarian (Wiz1 – Necromancy Specialist). Not because he’s armed, but because he’s spooky. You remember the creepy kid that you hung out with because you were always a bit scared of his parents? That’s Morgan. He’s taken after his mother now and is working towards being a really weird piece of work. He carries a crossbow; every time I’ve ever seen him use it in the past he’s managed to hit his target, which is strange, as I’ve never ever seen him practice. He must just be lucky. Or it could be magic, I suppose.
My other magical companion is Torvig (Clr1 - Fharlanghn). Besides being a Dwarf, he’s one of the town’s few healers, prepared to heal anybody who comes to him, which is more than you can say for other clerics in town, who only heal their own followers. He came to town a few years ago in the company of another dwarf, and since then the two have left their armour to rust – Torvig’s armour through lack of use, and his mate's has been pawned to raise ale money.
Then there’s Flynn the Elf (Rog1). What can you say about Flynn? He’s quite the stereotype of what you know about elves in some respects – he’s tall, quick and nimble, and a superb shot with the bow. What you don’t often get to say about elves is that he doesn’t hang out in a forest, and really likes gold. A lot. Though we’ve argued about this in the past, we stick together, mostly ‘cause he’s inquisitive, and his instincts have gotten us out of nearly as many scrapes as his impulses have gotten us into.
Finally, there’s the most recent addition to our little drinking group; Niccoli the warrior (Ftr1), strong and athletic, skilled with the bastard sword and bow. A handy guy to have by your side in a fight, which I guess is why Niccoli was hired some time ago by the Diamond Lake garrison to help do whatever it is they do right the way out of town.
Our story starts, in the way of so many tales before it, in the tavern. In our case, this was the Dog – we try to meet up every week to hang out and down a few jars. I tell a few tales and earn a couple of pennies, the others play darts, and we all talk about what we’re going to do when we get out of town and head for the big city.
This week, we had something else to talk about. Adventure! Or rather, the trio of honest to Gods adventurers who’d come to town, asking about the Cairn, clearly seeking to do some adventuring there, and go treasure hunting. The place they were asking about was close to town, and we all figured they meant the Whispering Cairn, across the lake which we all visited as kids – never daring to go beyond the entrance.
The bar was packed with beery miners, and my few tales netted me a few coppers and a beer. Whilst I had my back turned, Flynn managed to insult one of the visiting adventurers and challenged her in the same sentence to a knife-throwing match for money he didn’t even have.
He did well, to be honest. Managed to hold his own until the last blade went off-target and earned back a little grudging respect from the warrior-woman. She then started asking questions about the Cairn. Morgan and I did our best to warn them of the series of “hidden doors” lying around what we knew well to be an empty and long-abandoned mine-shaft, then we all left the bar, a little the worse for wear, and hugely entertained by our story to the adventurer in the bar.
It was about then that Torvig made the suggestion that would change everything.
“Why don’t we do it? We know where we’re going, it’s just out of town”.
“Do what?” Morgan was still finishing his beer and wasn’t completely paying attention.
“Raid the Whispering Cairn. We’ve even been there a few years ago. To the door, anyway”.
“Yeah,” agreed Flynn. “And any loot that those guys would be looking for should stay with Diamond Lake folk. Like us”.
It didn’t take long for 5 young men after a few cups to become the greatest adventuring party that ever lived – at least in our own minds.
We separated for a while, returning to meet once we’d gathered as much kit as possible. I managed to belt on a sword and grab the small bow I used when I was younger; but I was thoroughly outclassed by Torvig’s heavy armour, Flynn’s masses of kit, and Niccoli’s full military kit including scale armour. I’m sure I would’ve got nervous but for the ale still running through my system. It seems like the same could be said for the others, as we ran, grinning, towards the docks and the promise of riches beyond…
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