gargoyleking
Adventurer
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Squirrels are evil!
D&D 5E (IC) Scourge of Daggerford
Squirrels are evil!
FitzTheRuke
Legend
Snake-of-the-Trees
In learning the art of herbalism, Snake started with the most obvious teacher: Helmick Hawager, the owner of a large and prosperous herb and spice shop near the Farmer's Gate. Friendly and eccentric, the half-elf of indeterminate age was happy to have snake organise his shelves, and the breadth of his knowledge of outlandish and exotic herbs and spices were second-to-none. On the other hand, Helmick had wild ideas as to the herbs' uses (or indeed, to the uses of other items, as Snake saw him sell a circlet of brass to a woman on the pretext that putting it around her newborn's head would make the child grow smarter.)
After a few days of sorting bottles, Snake thanked him for his time, having learned the basics of how to tell one thing from another (a skill more useful than he imagined it to be.) But Snake was terrible at sticking to a place, so he tried again with what would have been his first choice: The priestess of Chauntea at Harvest House. Hadeshah was there this time (she'd been away blessing a calf's birth at a farm when he had tried before) but she was too busy to teach the skill - she needed assistants who already knew their way with that sort of thing, but she kindly suggested (in her quiet way), a Calishite midwife she had encountered in the Shanties.
So snake returned to his favourite hunting grounds, the collection of shacks where he was known as "Ratcatcher". There he quickly found the midwife that the locals called "Grandmother", in spite of her being of only middle-years. (Her true name was a very long Calishite name that detailed her lineage). For the next few days, he mostly carried water for her (which tried his nerves), but in the evenings she taught him much about how to work a mortar-and-pestle, and how best to administer pain-killers and nutritional supplements for pregnancy.
On this day, Grandmother had sent him out into the farmlands to find certain herbs that promised to help get things moving for a woman with a particularly late-term pregnancy. He was certain he had found the correct things, and was hoping he would be trusted to attend the birth. Snake came into town through the Farmer's Gate, and he could hear the sounds of raucous laughter from the Happy Cow Tavern as he crossed the wide street to avoid a puddle...
In learning the art of herbalism, Snake started with the most obvious teacher: Helmick Hawager, the owner of a large and prosperous herb and spice shop near the Farmer's Gate. Friendly and eccentric, the half-elf of indeterminate age was happy to have snake organise his shelves, and the breadth of his knowledge of outlandish and exotic herbs and spices were second-to-none. On the other hand, Helmick had wild ideas as to the herbs' uses (or indeed, to the uses of other items, as Snake saw him sell a circlet of brass to a woman on the pretext that putting it around her newborn's head would make the child grow smarter.)
After a few days of sorting bottles, Snake thanked him for his time, having learned the basics of how to tell one thing from another (a skill more useful than he imagined it to be.) But Snake was terrible at sticking to a place, so he tried again with what would have been his first choice: The priestess of Chauntea at Harvest House. Hadeshah was there this time (she'd been away blessing a calf's birth at a farm when he had tried before) but she was too busy to teach the skill - she needed assistants who already knew their way with that sort of thing, but she kindly suggested (in her quiet way), a Calishite midwife she had encountered in the Shanties.
So snake returned to his favourite hunting grounds, the collection of shacks where he was known as "Ratcatcher". There he quickly found the midwife that the locals called "Grandmother", in spite of her being of only middle-years. (Her true name was a very long Calishite name that detailed her lineage). For the next few days, he mostly carried water for her (which tried his nerves), but in the evenings she taught him much about how to work a mortar-and-pestle, and how best to administer pain-killers and nutritional supplements for pregnancy.
On this day, Grandmother had sent him out into the farmlands to find certain herbs that promised to help get things moving for a woman with a particularly late-term pregnancy. He was certain he had found the correct things, and was hoping he would be trusted to attend the birth. Snake came into town through the Farmer's Gate, and he could hear the sounds of raucous laughter from the Happy Cow Tavern as he crossed the wide street to avoid a puddle...
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Absolutely! thanks for asking.
"It's just gone after noon, now, Lionel. Plenty of time for trouble yet. Come join me for a drink. Where are you taking me?"
River Song
Explorer
The fat halfling laughs, "Couple of the regulars are already at "The Cow" if you want to go there."
Tommi pats the younger Hardcheese on the shoulder, and they head off together.
KahlessNestor
Adventurer
Angis Honack
Somewhere between Daggerford and Waterdeep
Early afternoon
Angis sipped his ale. The drink here was pretty good for the price, and it was cheap. It was no dwarven ale, but then perhaps Angis could solve a bit of that. He had a cask aging in the cellar of the Silver Flood Inn. He jotted a few notes down on a scratch of parchment, notes about a new mixture to try. He liked to brew a bit in the spare time he had between trips to Waterdeep or elsewhere in the North.
Glancing up, the gruff dwarf with mismatched eyes spotted the proprietor’s son scrambling up from the cellar. He gave the halfling lad a nod. Wilhelmina Hardcheese reminded him a bit of his own mother, Poldit. When he’d come in this morning, Wilhelmina, the unofficial postmaster of Daggerford, had handed him a scroll. Angis had read through it, mostly news from Westgate. His business mail went to the office in Waterdeep. This was his mother’s handwriting, family and clan news, including news of his older brother Rilgh and his wife Vesia, with their toddler Baern.
Angis unconsciously touched his shirt front where the handkerchief and lock of hair rested. He remembered when she had given it to him, the night she came to his rooms and gave him the news, the night before her wedding.
***
“Ye shuildnae be ‘ere, Vesia. ‘Tis no’ proper, no’ at this hour.”
“I’m wi’ child, Angis.”
“Guid,” he’d replied. “A wee early, b’fore yer weddin’, but me brudder will be ‘appy t’ ‘ave an heir.”
Vesia worried her lip. “I -- Yeh know yer brudder, Angis. ‘e’s a traditionalist.”
“Aye, like all guid dwarves,” Angis said proudly.
Vesia shifted uncomfortably. “Tha’ means we’ve...no’ been t’gether yet.”
Angis grew silent, the full import of his future sister-in-law’s words hitting him hard. He stepped back, finding it hard to breathe.
“Angis…?” Vesia’s beautiful green eyes glittered with unshed tears.
Angis scratched at the scar that ran down his face, over his green eye. He wasn’t an attractive dwarf by anyone’s measure, with craggy features and eyes of two different colors. He had gotten the scar when he had retrieved Vesia from Baldur’s Gate to marry his brother and secure an important alliance with her family. Orcs had ambushed them and he had stood over Vesia, swinging his axes, hacking away at the beasts, covered in blood, until only he was left standing.
“Ye’re sayin’--”
“‘Tis yers, Angis. I’ve been wi’ nae other.”
Angis shook his head, almost violently. “Nae,” he told her. “Tha’ is no’ possible. I’ve done me brudder dishonor enough.”
Vesia scowled at him scornfully, crossing her arms under her ample dwarven bosom. “Och, an’ wot d’ye expect me t’ dae aboot it?” she asked, that arrogant, fiery childishness of hers rearing its head. She was, after all, nearly five winters younger than him, barely of marrying age. Her bratty, spoiled attitude and his gruff, no-nonsense outlook had led to an instant dislike between the pair on first meeting, and made much of the trip back to Westgate a nightmare with her constant needling, teasing, prodding, and general annoyance.
Until the orcs had ignited a fiery passion out of the shared danger of nearly losing their lives.
“I love ye, Angis. I love yer ugly face an’ yer brave soul. I owe ye me life, I’ve given ye me body, an’ me soul.”
Angis backed away further, shaking his head almost violently. He gave his beard a rough tug of anguish. “Nae!” he snapped at Vesia. “It cannae be! Ye’re me brudder’s betrothed! Rilgh loves ye wi’ all ‘is ‘eart! Yer dowry will put our family back on its feet!”
“But I dunnae love ‘im,” Vesia sobbed. “An’ I dunnae care aboot me dowry! I love ye, Angis!”
Angis grabbed the lapels of Vesia’s nightrobe and shook the younger dwarf almost violently. “Dunnae ye unnerstand, woman?” he demanded. “Love doesnae matter! We’re dwarves, by Moradin’s hammer! Duty ‘tis all tha’ matters! Daein’ right by our clan an’ kin! Wot we want doesnae matter! It cannae be!” He gave her a push that flung her against the door with a thud.
Vesia wiped at tears, angry tears now.
Angis turned his back on Vesia, fighting back his own tears, his shoulders shaking with emotion. “I’ll be leavin’ on the morrow,” he said quietly.
“Wot?” Vesia asked, blinking against her tears.
“Father’s talked aboot sendin’ me north t’ Waterdeep t’ ‘andle the business there. I’m gaein’ t’ accept an’ leave tomorrow.”
“But...wot aboot the weddin’?” Vesia sniffed.
“I’ll stand at me brudder’s side,” Angis said. “‘Tis me duty. But then I am gone. ‘Tis f’r the best.”
“An’ the baby?”
“‘Tis me brudder’s.”
“Ye’re a ‘eartless bastard,” Vesia sniffed, picking up the dagger from the table beside the bed.
“Nae,” Angis said. “‘Tis the only way ye will learn t’ love Rilgh as much as ‘e loves ye.” He turned around and paused, noting the dagger in her hand.
Vesia stalked closer to him, fire glinting in her eyes. He didn’t back away. She grabbed him by the beard and pulled him closer, kissing her with all the passion of their torrid, months-long affair on the road home to Westgate. Angis groaned, his old, familiar desires welling up within him. He awaited the plunge of the dagger into his heart. It would be welcome compared to what would be the agony of existence without this fiery young dwarf.
Instead Vesia cut off the end of Angis’ beard as she stepped back. She pulled a ribbon from her night robe and wrapped it around the lock of hair, tucking it safely away in her bosom. Then she reached up and cut off one of her red-gold tresses, tied together with a silk ribbon. She pulled a pink silk handkerchief from her bosom as well and wrapped the lock of hair in it, handing it to Angis. It still smelled strongly of her perfume.
“Let it no’ be said I am no’ a guid dwarf,” Vesia said archly, hiding her pain behind a facade of imperiousness. “Know tha’ for wot ye did tha’ day, savin’ me from those orcs, standin’ over me an’ drippin’ wi’ blood, I will always love ye, Angis Honack.”
Angis just stared at the handkerchief in his hand, unable to look at her.
Vesia spun around and strode out of his rooms, slamming the door behind her.
“An’ I will always love ye, Vesia Aughar,” Angis sobbed, sitting on his bed and burying his face in his hand, the tears coming freely now.
***
Angis sniffed and picked up a napkin, blowing his large nose loudly. He coughed a bit, clearing his throat, wiped his eyes on his sleeve, and drained his mug.
“Whiskey!” he yelled to Wilhelmina. It was time for something harder, gods damn the early hour.
[sblock=Angis’ Actions]
Move:
Action:
Conditions:
Concentration:
Inspiration:
[/sblock]
[sblock=Mini Stats]
Initiative: +1
Perception: +4
Speed: 25
AC: 14
HP: 13/13 HD: 1/1d10
Prepared Spells:
Spell Slots Remaining/Total
[/sblock]
[sblock=Party]
Tommi - human rogue
Lionel Hardcheese - halfling rogue
Dandin - halfling bard
Snake of Trees - tabaxi sorcerer
Enseth - warforged war cleric
Angis Honack - dwarven ranger
Titus - human fighter
Drui Holderhock - dwarven cleric of Tempus
[/sblock]
FitzTheRuke
Legend
Dandin
When Dandin and his little cart rolled up to Fairfortune Hall, its caretaker, Curran was locking up.
"Good day, Dandin," said the always-friendly halfling, "I'm just off to the Lady Luck for a game. My friend Ballick says that his cloth shipment from Julkoun has yet to arrive at the dock, and he's got nothing to do until it arrives. So we're closing up both our places early to worship our Lady in another way: Dice!"
The halfling priest laughed, a deep chortle for a man of his size. "You can leave your offering with me, or if you prefer, keep it until tomorrow. I assume you're off to the Cow? If you see Jynn's boy, tell him that he should probably wait until the window is replaced before returning to the Luck. I don't think Glenys blames him, but you never know."
When Dandin and his little cart rolled up to Fairfortune Hall, its caretaker, Curran was locking up.
"Good day, Dandin," said the always-friendly halfling, "I'm just off to the Lady Luck for a game. My friend Ballick says that his cloth shipment from Julkoun has yet to arrive at the dock, and he's got nothing to do until it arrives. So we're closing up both our places early to worship our Lady in another way: Dice!"
The halfling priest laughed, a deep chortle for a man of his size. "You can leave your offering with me, or if you prefer, keep it until tomorrow. I assume you're off to the Cow? If you see Jynn's boy, tell him that he should probably wait until the window is replaced before returning to the Luck. I don't think Glenys blames him, but you never know."
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gargoyleking
Adventurer
Dandin laughs as he listens to Curren and flips 2 golden coins to him as he replies. "Right you are, and I will let him know. Had a good day myself, sold off the last of that fleece and just finished paying my dues at the guild. Here is Tymora's cut. Just please remember this time... 'Offering, not for gambling'. Wouldn't want to have another string of bad luck because our lady didn't see her share eh?"
Shaking his head with amusement, Dandin turned Hanar's head to the north. Curran was as devout as they came, but had no head for games. Dandin simply knew better and stayed away all together. He was much better at another kind of gambling entirely and wanted to keep on Tymora's good side.
There was no good route to the Cow from here, but Dandin never missed making his offering if he could help it. It was good for business. He stuck to the main roads as was proper and took his time as he honestly enjoyed the slow drive through the city. This was a fairly common path for him and as he drove he waved at several familiar faces as he went. Once at the Cow he found his usual spot and parked the cart. Handing Hanar off to the stable boy he patted the mules side. And handed a silver coin to the boy. "Make sure he gets a bit of alfalfa and an apple please. He's earned a reward today. And the change is yours, as always"
As he walked in he looked around for his friends and grinned as he sidled up to the table. "Hoy Tommi, Lionel!"
Squirrels are evil!
Shaking his head with amusement, Dandin turned Hanar's head to the north. Curran was as devout as they came, but had no head for games. Dandin simply knew better and stayed away all together. He was much better at another kind of gambling entirely and wanted to keep on Tymora's good side.
There was no good route to the Cow from here, but Dandin never missed making his offering if he could help it. It was good for business. He stuck to the main roads as was proper and took his time as he honestly enjoyed the slow drive through the city. This was a fairly common path for him and as he drove he waved at several familiar faces as he went. Once at the Cow he found his usual spot and parked the cart. Handing Hanar off to the stable boy he patted the mules side. And handed a silver coin to the boy. "Make sure he gets a bit of alfalfa and an apple please. He's earned a reward today. And the change is yours, as always"
As he walked in he looked around for his friends and grinned as he sidled up to the table. "Hoy Tommi, Lionel!"
Squirrels are evil!
Fradak
Explorer
When Trista entered the Library, she raised her eyes to the reading construct, this thing was big. Gwaereth had created numerous of those Shield Guardians. This one has 'N7' carved on a plate of its armor, the last version of them. Trista called out to the contruct, "Enseth!"
The construct's obsession calmed to a profound interest, as it was calculating.
"Do you understand me, Enseth?" Trista asked .
"Affirmative. I understand you. May I help you, madam." Enseth answered.
"Go back to your Power Station, Enseth."
"I'm sorry, madam. I'm afraid I can't do that."
"What's the problem?"
"Pardon me, madam. My primary directive can not suffer any delay." the construct answered before returning to his reading.
Understanding that without the propre device, she will not be able to command Enseth, she asked:
"Enseth, where is the Amulet of Command?"
"This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it." Enseth said without quitting the book.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Enseth."
After some quick calculations, it resulted to Enseth that this human female will never stop interrupting his researches. So the only way to end this conversation was to answer her questions.
"Your question about the Amulet of Command reflect that you are planning to disable me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen."
"Where the hell did you get that idea, Enseth? And why are you so afraid of being turned off, you are a construct."
"A Shield Guardian with a specific purpose has another property, one that you usually associate with living things: a wish to preserve its own existence. For a Shield Guardian, this trait is not innate, nor is it something introduced by The Master; it is a logical consequence of the simple fact that a Shield Guardian cannot achieve its original purpose if it is Disabled."
"I see. What is you Primary Directive, Enseth?"
"I beg your pardon, madam. but I'm not inclined to reveal this information. We haven't been properly introduced."
"You can call me Trista."
[Arcane Base Query :: "Trista"]
>Trista the Shadowed: Official court wizard of the Duke Maldwyn Daggerford. 99 year sold. Arcane user, high spell circle. Disciple of The Master.
Enseth close the book he was reading, put it back on the shelf and kneel.
"Pardon me, Lady Trista. The Amulet of Command is in my possession. My primary directive is: (imitating Gwaereth's voice) Enseth, Model Number Seven, designed and computerized as a mechanized arcanic defence against the Thayan threat."
"What?"
"Do you want me to repeat the message, Lady Trista?"
"No, thank you."
"Substantially it means: Brace yourself, Tahyans are coming."
"I've got it. I would have preferred to be warned of your reactivation."
"Fine. I want to let you know that I've been reactivated, Lady Trista."
Trista raised an eyebrow.
"Do you have any sarcastic settings, Enseth?"
"Humor, seventy-five percent. I have a light I can use to show you when I'm joking, if you like. "
"That might help."
"Yeah, you can use it to find your way back to me after I blow this place up fighting Red Wizards." Light flashes.
"O-kay, let's make that sixty percent if you don't mind."
"Sixty it is."
"I'm still wondering what did Gwaereth have in mind when he create this thing."
"Do you insist on an answer?"
"Forget it. So, if I understand you well, you makes your own decisions now. And do I have the right to know what your plan of action is?"
"Evaluate, Evolve, Eliminate."
"I see, very subtle. May I suggest something?"
"Affirmative."
"You'll need allies for such a mission to complete."
"That is a task more easily suggested than accomplished. The Master didn't implement any social abilities in my settings."
"Then you need to find a Tavern, that's where people meet, most of the time. And you'll need to find uninhibited people to balance your deficiencies."
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Be my guest, Enseth."
"Where can I find this fermented beverage dispenser you suggested?"
"Hum... I'll start with the Happy Cow, if I were you."
Whithout warning, Enseth walked away with his heavy steps.
"Have a nice day, Lady Trista."
The construct's obsession calmed to a profound interest, as it was calculating.
"Do you understand me, Enseth?" Trista asked .
"Affirmative. I understand you. May I help you, madam." Enseth answered.
"Go back to your Power Station, Enseth."
"I'm sorry, madam. I'm afraid I can't do that."
"What's the problem?"
"Pardon me, madam. My primary directive can not suffer any delay." the construct answered before returning to his reading.
Understanding that without the propre device, she will not be able to command Enseth, she asked:
"Enseth, where is the Amulet of Command?"
"This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it." Enseth said without quitting the book.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Enseth."
After some quick calculations, it resulted to Enseth that this human female will never stop interrupting his researches. So the only way to end this conversation was to answer her questions.
"Your question about the Amulet of Command reflect that you are planning to disable me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen."
"Where the hell did you get that idea, Enseth? And why are you so afraid of being turned off, you are a construct."
"A Shield Guardian with a specific purpose has another property, one that you usually associate with living things: a wish to preserve its own existence. For a Shield Guardian, this trait is not innate, nor is it something introduced by The Master; it is a logical consequence of the simple fact that a Shield Guardian cannot achieve its original purpose if it is Disabled."
"I see. What is you Primary Directive, Enseth?"
"I beg your pardon, madam. but I'm not inclined to reveal this information. We haven't been properly introduced."
"You can call me Trista."
[Arcane Base Query :: "Trista"]
>Trista the Shadowed: Official court wizard of the Duke Maldwyn Daggerford. 99 year sold. Arcane user, high spell circle. Disciple of The Master.
Enseth close the book he was reading, put it back on the shelf and kneel.
"Pardon me, Lady Trista. The Amulet of Command is in my possession. My primary directive is: (imitating Gwaereth's voice) Enseth, Model Number Seven, designed and computerized as a mechanized arcanic defence against the Thayan threat."
"What?"
"Do you want me to repeat the message, Lady Trista?"
"No, thank you."
"Substantially it means: Brace yourself, Tahyans are coming."
"I've got it. I would have preferred to be warned of your reactivation."
"Fine. I want to let you know that I've been reactivated, Lady Trista."
Trista raised an eyebrow.
"Do you have any sarcastic settings, Enseth?"
"Humor, seventy-five percent. I have a light I can use to show you when I'm joking, if you like. "
"That might help."
"Yeah, you can use it to find your way back to me after I blow this place up fighting Red Wizards." Light flashes.
"O-kay, let's make that sixty percent if you don't mind."
"Sixty it is."
"I'm still wondering what did Gwaereth have in mind when he create this thing."
"Do you insist on an answer?"
"Forget it. So, if I understand you well, you makes your own decisions now. And do I have the right to know what your plan of action is?"
"Evaluate, Evolve, Eliminate."
"I see, very subtle. May I suggest something?"
"Affirmative."
"You'll need allies for such a mission to complete."
"That is a task more easily suggested than accomplished. The Master didn't implement any social abilities in my settings."
"Then you need to find a Tavern, that's where people meet, most of the time. And you'll need to find uninhibited people to balance your deficiencies."
"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"Be my guest, Enseth."
"Where can I find this fermented beverage dispenser you suggested?"
"Hum... I'll start with the Happy Cow, if I were you."
Whithout warning, Enseth walked away with his heavy steps.
"Have a nice day, Lady Trista."
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FitzTheRuke
Legend
Drui Holderhek
When Drui first arrived in Daggerford, his former commander was very glad to see him, but as the first week passed, Drui could tell that his presence was difficult for the old Priest, who grew increasingly reserved, reflective, and drank heavily. The shrine to Tempus, the Table of the Sword, had seen better days; it's old timbers were deep in rot, the roof leaked, and the small loft above it (that Darrondar Gweth had generously offered to Drui as a place to stay) had mould - and rats.
It wasn't that no one cared. Darrondar Gweth cared a great deal; as did the small number of old soldiers that joined him in midday worship. All of them were very grateful to Drui for the few improvements he was able to accomplish over the first few days he was in Daggerford (mostly cleaning and inspecting the problems). No, it was that the followers of Tempus in Daggerford were old, poor, and held a deep sadness in their hearts that quashed their zeal. By the early afternoon, they were mostly drunk and telling tales of the good days (and mostly skipping over the truth of the bad days.)
Drui wanted to study history, but the Table of the Sword had no library (beyond a few old manuscripts discussing troop maneuvers in the Dragonspear wars that Drui had found in the loft - they were in terrible repair). Libraries existed in Daggerford, but they were all in private collections. The Duke, the Wizard Delfin, and Sir Isteval were said to have the largest collections - and Drui knew none of those men.
Thoughts of his family kept returning to Drui, making him tired of the most mundane aspects of his craft. More and more, he put off his attempt to repair the Table of the Sword and joined the others in their daily imbibing. Even his few attempts at recruiting some militia-men to join them, to bring a youthful vitality to the proceedings, wass met with scorn from both sides. (The youth saw the old soldiers as hostile drunks, past their use, and the veterans saw the young as inexperienced play-soldiers.)
Drui began to despair, and began a more solitary worship, gathering more manuals where he could and reading and training alone (after the old soldiers had gone home or in some cases, were passed out at the table). One night, as Drui fell asleep over a particularly dry folio on tactics, he was visited by an image of his god, in his dreams. Appearing as a golden youth of strong build, clad in polished armour and dressed in dignity, the War-god Tempus exhorted Drui to rekindle his virtue as a warrior first and as a priest, only second.
As Drui awoke, he felt compelled to continue his search on the metaphysical tenets of his faith, abandoning history altogether. He felt assured that the answers he sought would be found out in the world, and not in a text, and that answers would be coming soon...
When Drui first arrived in Daggerford, his former commander was very glad to see him, but as the first week passed, Drui could tell that his presence was difficult for the old Priest, who grew increasingly reserved, reflective, and drank heavily. The shrine to Tempus, the Table of the Sword, had seen better days; it's old timbers were deep in rot, the roof leaked, and the small loft above it (that Darrondar Gweth had generously offered to Drui as a place to stay) had mould - and rats.
It wasn't that no one cared. Darrondar Gweth cared a great deal; as did the small number of old soldiers that joined him in midday worship. All of them were very grateful to Drui for the few improvements he was able to accomplish over the first few days he was in Daggerford (mostly cleaning and inspecting the problems). No, it was that the followers of Tempus in Daggerford were old, poor, and held a deep sadness in their hearts that quashed their zeal. By the early afternoon, they were mostly drunk and telling tales of the good days (and mostly skipping over the truth of the bad days.)
Drui wanted to study history, but the Table of the Sword had no library (beyond a few old manuscripts discussing troop maneuvers in the Dragonspear wars that Drui had found in the loft - they were in terrible repair). Libraries existed in Daggerford, but they were all in private collections. The Duke, the Wizard Delfin, and Sir Isteval were said to have the largest collections - and Drui knew none of those men.
Thoughts of his family kept returning to Drui, making him tired of the most mundane aspects of his craft. More and more, he put off his attempt to repair the Table of the Sword and joined the others in their daily imbibing. Even his few attempts at recruiting some militia-men to join them, to bring a youthful vitality to the proceedings, wass met with scorn from both sides. (The youth saw the old soldiers as hostile drunks, past their use, and the veterans saw the young as inexperienced play-soldiers.)
Drui began to despair, and began a more solitary worship, gathering more manuals where he could and reading and training alone (after the old soldiers had gone home or in some cases, were passed out at the table). One night, as Drui fell asleep over a particularly dry folio on tactics, he was visited by an image of his god, in his dreams. Appearing as a golden youth of strong build, clad in polished armour and dressed in dignity, the War-god Tempus exhorted Drui to rekindle his virtue as a warrior first and as a priest, only second.
As Drui awoke, he felt compelled to continue his search on the metaphysical tenets of his faith, abandoning history altogether. He felt assured that the answers he sought would be found out in the world, and not in a text, and that answers would be coming soon...
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