So where and am I, and what am I doing? This seems like as good a time as any to pick up quill and parchment and capture these fleeting moments in writing. Although the present conditions are not ideal for writing, I do have the light of a full moon and a nearly spent Sunrod that together are providing sufficient light. At this very moment I am high atop the mast of a sturdy galleon, snugly perched in the crow’s-nest. Once again adventuring, I am currently the guest of one Captain Reminger aboard the SeaDog – bound for Brem on the Coast of Ammon. Having drawn the last watch of the night, all is well several hours before dawn. The sea is calm and there are favorable winds – we should reach our destination in just two days – “Obad-Hai willing” as they say – not that I believe that hogs-spittle.
It is too early to tell if it is in fact good fortune or not, but I have found a new band of adventurers with whom to slog the rutty roads and hack through the bloody fields of battle. Of course, I would not be surprised to find myself crawling a dungeon once again, but seeing as I am trying to put my rogue-ing, lock-picking, device-disabling days behind me that is not really my first choice. From here on out I prefer the open road, traveling from village to village, always in search of the next stage, be it within tavern or townhall, ever anxious to practice the performing arts for fun and profit. Back to my new companions though, while they do seem a motley crew, I do discern them to be true of heart and trustworthy, if not somewhat simple-minded as groups go.
I met the first of the bunch on the road to Greyhawk – a rather largish Monk named Percival who, although as strong and smelly as two oxen, does indeed appear to be vastly more stupid than even one of those beasts of burden. I had just finished singing a particularly moving rendition of The Legend of Gautheous, Vampire of the Spires for some passing travelers in hopes of picking up a few pieces of gold. Percy, which is the name he goes by, took a liking to my singing and playing. It was hard to get used to his manner of speaking at first but somehow he stammered out the phrase “which way we go now?” Although I was initially perplexed at his use of the word “we” I replied “onward to Greyhawk – follow me” – we have been traveling together ever since.
Turns out, according to his story, Percy is an orphan, left on the steps of the monastery when only several days old. If his present large stature is indicative of his size at the time of his birth I can’t say as I blame the mother – the initial passage of this beast-child would surely be the beginning of a lifetime of motherly worries, not just the exclamation point at the end of difficult labor and a more so harrowing delivery. I know it sounds cruel, but perhaps it was the better choice ….her “loss” has proven to be our “gain.”
Sad as it sounds this band has apparently been through some hard times. Despite many moons of adventure, treasure-wise they do seem to be a bit poverty stricken and broken in spirit. I have heard tell of several fallen comrades who had grown so weary of the grind that upon their passing they had left specific instructions to not be restored in any way. The fact of this party’s material poverty was amply demonstrated in the way they behaved after a recent conquest in battle. Earlier on this very day we encountered and vanquished a giant octopus. It was a small task for Percy to haul the slithery beast onto the deck. Understandably there wasn’t anything of much value on the outside of this fallen foe, but what, if anything lay within? Our fighter, who I will introduce in due time, deftly rendered the sea-beast with a skilled sweep of his longsword – this action spilt the contents of the gut sloppily across the deck. Right there, partially digested, but still recognizable were the remains of a humanoid who, by now, was profoundly past his prime. This scabrous band then declared in unison “Let’s search the body!” Once I recovered from this novel concept, so originally phrased I might add, I attempted to distance myself, not being personally interested in joining in to stir through the “chime and chunks” for a few acid etched pieces of silver.
As I walked away towards the forecastle though I heard evidence of a find! Squeals of delight, mostly likely originating from the reedy vocal chords of our druid, announced the recovery of a smallish black pouch. I turned in time to see Percy snatch the pouch from the druid and then proceed to loose the drawstring. As soon as he opened it…