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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Dursk Starkfire" data-source="post: 698034" data-attributes="member: 7561">Just an introduction, this is a campaign set in the Forgotten Realms. Not really sure where it's going to lead (I'm not the DM, just a scribe <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f642.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":)" title="Smile    :)"  data-smilie="1"data-shortname=":)" />. Anyway, I've been mulling several pet projects to keep myself entertained, and figured I'd brush off the dust of days gone by and passions almost forgotten. Hope its as entertaining for everyone else as it is for me to remember a forgotten hobby.SIMPLE BEGINNINGS:I am Ishmael, son of Il'kiir - king of the Gypsies, ruler of no land. My people believed throughout the ages that luck shall right the misdeeds of the past, as we cling to this hope that our saga may unfold. And so, we wait for the sign of times to right our short-comings. For it is the myths and legend of my people where my story begins, a time when we were held in the highest regard by the kings of Oerth. But it was not so much our company that the kings of men fancied, but rather the blessings of luck and prophesy that filled their halls. For we were the blessed of Tyche, and where we travelled, her smile gazed. But it would not be forever-so, for our blessing would soon become our bane. Our foresight and ability to seize and bestow luck to those in our favour, to sway the tide of battle, and divine the throes of war, would be taken from us. We were left by our god, like sheep to the wolves, and our barren abilities divided our people, and caused us humiliation from those we served. It was this humility that we were cursed by the priests of men to forever walk the Oerth, with no home, and no welcome in the lands of civilization. Many generations have passed, and legend and lore gathered from our travels have allowed us to understand the peril and humiliation that we suffered. We believe that we are the better for our fate, and know that the Lady still smiles upon our path. Stories we shall tell to our children of the treachery of Moander, and how he corrupted the heart of our god. Of how the love of Selune and Lathander has given us renewed hope through the birth of Tymora. But it is not these stories that lead me to my current fate, it is the dreams, the visions, the prophesy which have returned. As quickly as they were taken from us, we find ourselves waking in a cold sweat, reeling from the mental agony that envelopes us through our sleep. Images of death painted across the land, the black swath from the broad scythe of death sparing no mercy on the souls of men. Our people understand that there shall be no escape from this manic sleep, and must endure. So, they find their reprieve through faith and stories of old that tell of a hero that shall repair the reputation of the gypsy people. They believe that time has come, and they believe that man is me.I am not sure why they selected me for this task, to take the pride of my people to the ends of the Oerth, in an attempt to gain the trust of the civilized world. I will not forsake them of their hopes, for their dreams have been shattered, and sleep does not show them mercy. And so it is, the 17th of Mirtul, that I leave my people and venture forth, in the hope that I can fulfill the fate that was prescribed to me.</blockquote>

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