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LowNote's story: Beginning at the End
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<blockquote data-quote="LowNote" data-source="post: 2169074" data-attributes="member: 14088"><p>DM Note: Thank you, I’m happy you like it. My five players and I spent over a year in this campaign, always meaning to post the log but never actually getting around to it. Now that we have finished, we’ve agreed to write the story before starting a new campaign. Hopefully structuring it as a flashback from the final act will let me spice up any slow parts with high level combat. Working from both ends toward the middle will nicely hide Something Important™ that happened there for dramatic effect. Here is the next installment.</p><p></p><p>THE PAST: (Loren Brackson)</p><p></p><p>The story began, as the bards say they often do, with the death of a great many kobolds. Thankfully Loren wasn’t the one who had to go through the tedium of killing them. Instead he’d stood in the courtyard of White Sand’s new church of Bol with fifteen other “independent contractors” hoping for a job cleaning up the aftermath. Once confined to dwarven holds, the church of Bol in the last decade had aggressively expanded into human territories by peddling life insurance. Simply put, if you could afford it (and the church of Bol offered innumerable payment plans), and died, the priests would bring you back, no questions asked. Sometimes that meant digging corpses out of some gods forsaken ruin idiots and <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" />s poked around in for fun. That’s where Loren hoped to come in.</p><p></p><p>One of the two dwarves standing atop the temple steps cleared his throat. <em> Brackson, Loren, please approach the podium. Driftwood, Snoz, please approach the podium. No surname, Simon, please approach the podium. That will be all for today, the rest of you may return tomorrow.</em></p><p></p><p>A Halfling and a Human respectively mounted the steps beside Loren. They looked and smelled like wharf-rats. Simon gave Loren the hairy eyeball. Gutter trash. Loren returned a sneer. The human looked about to make something of it when the dwarves started to speak. <em>The Greenhand, Laserous Greenhand, Patriarch of the Greenhand family has asked the church of Bol to fulfill its contractual agreement to safeguard the life of his family and restore his daughter Sara, who has been divined dead in Morning Mist, to extance. We offer you three gentlemen a provisional class C license to aid in the recovery of her remains within ten days.</em> Morning Mist were old elf ruins two days north of the city state that were popular among adventurers seeking… adventure. <em>Payment upon success shall be fifty gold coins and one hundred celestial credits.</em> The dwarf meant Bol Bucks, church currency toward an employee’s resurrection, liquefiable for one quarter value.</p><p></p><p>Loren gave the pair a closer look. Bright eyes sat above brushed beards which covered beer bellies. Both had the scales with gold symbol of Bol on their tunics. They looked the type of dwarves that would happily inform you of your ineligibility due to illegibility of the third triplicate copy of your seventh reference on your second place of residence and happily give you a mouth full of hairy knuckles if you complained. </p><p></p><p><em>We will lead the expedition,</em> the first dwarf finished. <em>I am Eryk and this is my sister Mydia, of clan Mankiller, pleasure to make your acquaintance.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="LowNote, post: 2169074, member: 14088"] DM Note: Thank you, I’m happy you like it. My five players and I spent over a year in this campaign, always meaning to post the log but never actually getting around to it. Now that we have finished, we’ve agreed to write the story before starting a new campaign. Hopefully structuring it as a flashback from the final act will let me spice up any slow parts with high level combat. Working from both ends toward the middle will nicely hide Something Important™ that happened there for dramatic effect. Here is the next installment. THE PAST: (Loren Brackson) The story began, as the bards say they often do, with the death of a great many kobolds. Thankfully Loren wasn’t the one who had to go through the tedium of killing them. Instead he’d stood in the courtyard of White Sand’s new church of Bol with fifteen other “independent contractors” hoping for a job cleaning up the aftermath. Once confined to dwarven holds, the church of Bol in the last decade had aggressively expanded into human territories by peddling life insurance. Simply put, if you could afford it (and the church of Bol offered innumerable payment plans), and died, the priests would bring you back, no questions asked. Sometimes that meant digging corpses out of some gods forsaken ruin idiots and :):):):):):):)s poked around in for fun. That’s where Loren hoped to come in. One of the two dwarves standing atop the temple steps cleared his throat. [I] Brackson, Loren, please approach the podium. Driftwood, Snoz, please approach the podium. No surname, Simon, please approach the podium. That will be all for today, the rest of you may return tomorrow.[/I] A Halfling and a Human respectively mounted the steps beside Loren. They looked and smelled like wharf-rats. Simon gave Loren the hairy eyeball. Gutter trash. Loren returned a sneer. The human looked about to make something of it when the dwarves started to speak. [I]The Greenhand, Laserous Greenhand, Patriarch of the Greenhand family has asked the church of Bol to fulfill its contractual agreement to safeguard the life of his family and restore his daughter Sara, who has been divined dead in Morning Mist, to extance. We offer you three gentlemen a provisional class C license to aid in the recovery of her remains within ten days.[/I] Morning Mist were old elf ruins two days north of the city state that were popular among adventurers seeking… adventure. [I]Payment upon success shall be fifty gold coins and one hundred celestial credits.[/I] The dwarf meant Bol Bucks, church currency toward an employee’s resurrection, liquefiable for one quarter value. Loren gave the pair a closer look. Bright eyes sat above brushed beards which covered beer bellies. Both had the scales with gold symbol of Bol on their tunics. They looked the type of dwarves that would happily inform you of your ineligibility due to illegibility of the third triplicate copy of your seventh reference on your second place of residence and happily give you a mouth full of hairy knuckles if you complained. [I]We will lead the expedition,[/I] the first dwarf finished. [I]I am Eryk and this is my sister Mydia, of clan Mankiller, pleasure to make your acquaintance.[/I] [/QUOTE]
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