…I had never seen skin so pale, or eyes so lifeless. The evil in the air was palpable. I locked eyes with the mysterious figure, and I was nearly helpless. As a devilish smirk came over his face, I felt drawn to him, my thoughts became clouded. I heard a loud bark from Dorian, which was enough to help settle my composure. I glanced over at the fire and saw Greyson lying next to the fire with blood running down his face and neck. Dorian charged at the figure, and at that moment, without hesitation…it was like a reflex, I drew my bow and fired and arrow. (I suppose those hundreds of shots before breakfast did have a purpose.) As Dorian jump toward the figure, he was slapped away like an insect. Yet the man, the creature…the “whatever” did not expect the arrow that was aimed at his chest. He was surprised when his chest was punctured by my arrow. The look of hate in his face was something I would never forget. He pulled the arrow out, and broke it. Then with the same smirk that I had seen moments before, he evaporated in to a mist. I heard his parting words…he simply said, “Later my boy…”
I ran to Greyson to see if I could help him, but it was too late. I closed his eyes and clinched his lifeless body. I knew that the sadness I was feeling was not what the Shalm would want of me, so I composed myself and moved his body to the fire. I walked over to Dorian, who was injured, and said my goodbye before I put him out of his misery. With Greyson gone, Dorian would not want to live, they were one. They shared everything, including their sight. I gathered what supplies I felt necessary for my travels, and left.
I made a living as a hunter for a short time, but found that my true passion and skill lied in tracking. Not to mention, it was a much more profitable business. Many people would look at me as a 16 year old boy and underestimate my prowess; I always found that to be advantageous. As the money got better, I could not help but be drawn back to that face that haunted me. Why was Greyson killed? Was it random? Was it a vendetta?
I made my way back to Greyhawk. The city that was basically my “home” now was disgusting to me. I tried to stay away from my old stomping grounds, but I couldn’t help but stop by to see my old “friend” Mosenrat. He was all grown up now. He invited me in and was very curious about where I had been and my life. I told him a little, but something felt wrong…he was different. He excused himself for a moment, and as expected, I began to browse through his collection of books and other assorted arcane trinkets. Suddenly something caught my eye. It was a book, the same color as the robe of the man that killed Gresyon. It was the exact same color, not to mention that it had a faded symbol of a dragon on the spine that matched a symbol I recalled on the same man’s robe. I reached for the book, and flipped through it quickly. At a glance, it referenced an old, long dead dragon cult. Mosenrat re-entered the room. He had a curious look on his face, and asked me to put the book down. I was confused, and tried to explain that I was just interested in the cover. He insisted that I put the book down. I did as he asked. Suddenly he had matters to attend to, and ushered me to leave. Fortunately for me, while rusty, my ability to pocket small objects was not completely gone. I managed to pocket a note that was folded and tucked inside the book.
The next stop on my list was to see Nooly Hoppertoss. He was nowhere to be found, and nobody had seen him for quite some time. However, I was able to track him down to a safe little cottage in the woods outside of town. As a matter of fact, I was waiting for him inside his home when he returned from a stroll in the woods. While he was surprised, he was very happy to see me. I asked him if there was any work to be done. He explained that he was retired, but a friend of his told him about a man claiming to be a noble and offering a reward for finding something or other. I thanked him and began to leave. He stopped me and asked why I really came back. I never responded.
I returned to town to meet this Vealfor Montego and accept his offer to find what he was looking for. The problem was that he had pretty much no leads to go on. I however did have a lead. The not I “borrowed” evidently was important. I was just a crude map with the words citadel written in Draconic. This was an artifact that was valuable enough for Mosenrat to hire a couple of thugs to come and find me to retrieve it. Sadly for them, I was able to spot them right off the bat. I waited until dark, and I lost them before I hit the city gates.
My ravels took me to a canyon with a temple way down at the bottom. I would assume that it had been long forgotten, but there were fresh dead bodies sprawled about the different levels. Blood that had not yet dried. I spent two days investigating the ruins, trying to retrace the steps of the tornado that had blown through this place. At the bottom of the temple I came to an opening with a broken tree. Scattered about were the twigs of creatures not unlike the ones that had attacked me a year or so prior. Suddenly I could hear a shuffling near by. An unholy, unnatural had risen from the dead, and was seeking to make me the next meal. I made sure that did not happen. After what I felt was a thorough search and documentation of potential clues I headed to the nearest settlement.
The villagers of the town told me about a band of travelers who had come through and helped them with a rather unusual problem. They relayed the story, and said that the band was led by a particularly calm dwarf, which at this point I could only assume is Gyrr. Without much to go on, my travels sent me following the trail of this party hoping to connect some of my own dots. However, I managed to always be a step behind them. I arrived at the next town after they had brought dozens of orc scalps to the mayor for payment. However, this same mayor had an unusual collection of weapons. They all possessed a distinct symbol, the mark of some dwarven craftsman. When I discovered that this craftsman was survived by an old woman in Brindonford, I headed there. I enlisted the help of this lady and the anvil that your group had as a means to possibly catch up with your party. I had this bow and kukri made, and in the mean time, I tried to find some answers for my own questions.
To bring the story full circle, after picking up my new weapons, which are of amazing quality, my search for answers led me to that “lovely” bookstore that you so graciously helped me escape. At this point I owe each of you a life debt, which is the standard that I live by. You have a trustworthy and capable comrade, and while I am slow to trust, and very coarse at times, hopefully, perhaps you will call me a friend at some point. Only time will tell.
Now, enough about me…shut up…be quiet…and stay back, I am going to try and keep you all from getting killed…
I ran to Greyson to see if I could help him, but it was too late. I closed his eyes and clinched his lifeless body. I knew that the sadness I was feeling was not what the Shalm would want of me, so I composed myself and moved his body to the fire. I walked over to Dorian, who was injured, and said my goodbye before I put him out of his misery. With Greyson gone, Dorian would not want to live, they were one. They shared everything, including their sight. I gathered what supplies I felt necessary for my travels, and left.
I made a living as a hunter for a short time, but found that my true passion and skill lied in tracking. Not to mention, it was a much more profitable business. Many people would look at me as a 16 year old boy and underestimate my prowess; I always found that to be advantageous. As the money got better, I could not help but be drawn back to that face that haunted me. Why was Greyson killed? Was it random? Was it a vendetta?
I made my way back to Greyhawk. The city that was basically my “home” now was disgusting to me. I tried to stay away from my old stomping grounds, but I couldn’t help but stop by to see my old “friend” Mosenrat. He was all grown up now. He invited me in and was very curious about where I had been and my life. I told him a little, but something felt wrong…he was different. He excused himself for a moment, and as expected, I began to browse through his collection of books and other assorted arcane trinkets. Suddenly something caught my eye. It was a book, the same color as the robe of the man that killed Gresyon. It was the exact same color, not to mention that it had a faded symbol of a dragon on the spine that matched a symbol I recalled on the same man’s robe. I reached for the book, and flipped through it quickly. At a glance, it referenced an old, long dead dragon cult. Mosenrat re-entered the room. He had a curious look on his face, and asked me to put the book down. I was confused, and tried to explain that I was just interested in the cover. He insisted that I put the book down. I did as he asked. Suddenly he had matters to attend to, and ushered me to leave. Fortunately for me, while rusty, my ability to pocket small objects was not completely gone. I managed to pocket a note that was folded and tucked inside the book.
The next stop on my list was to see Nooly Hoppertoss. He was nowhere to be found, and nobody had seen him for quite some time. However, I was able to track him down to a safe little cottage in the woods outside of town. As a matter of fact, I was waiting for him inside his home when he returned from a stroll in the woods. While he was surprised, he was very happy to see me. I asked him if there was any work to be done. He explained that he was retired, but a friend of his told him about a man claiming to be a noble and offering a reward for finding something or other. I thanked him and began to leave. He stopped me and asked why I really came back. I never responded.
I returned to town to meet this Vealfor Montego and accept his offer to find what he was looking for. The problem was that he had pretty much no leads to go on. I however did have a lead. The not I “borrowed” evidently was important. I was just a crude map with the words citadel written in Draconic. This was an artifact that was valuable enough for Mosenrat to hire a couple of thugs to come and find me to retrieve it. Sadly for them, I was able to spot them right off the bat. I waited until dark, and I lost them before I hit the city gates.
My ravels took me to a canyon with a temple way down at the bottom. I would assume that it had been long forgotten, but there were fresh dead bodies sprawled about the different levels. Blood that had not yet dried. I spent two days investigating the ruins, trying to retrace the steps of the tornado that had blown through this place. At the bottom of the temple I came to an opening with a broken tree. Scattered about were the twigs of creatures not unlike the ones that had attacked me a year or so prior. Suddenly I could hear a shuffling near by. An unholy, unnatural had risen from the dead, and was seeking to make me the next meal. I made sure that did not happen. After what I felt was a thorough search and documentation of potential clues I headed to the nearest settlement.
The villagers of the town told me about a band of travelers who had come through and helped them with a rather unusual problem. They relayed the story, and said that the band was led by a particularly calm dwarf, which at this point I could only assume is Gyrr. Without much to go on, my travels sent me following the trail of this party hoping to connect some of my own dots. However, I managed to always be a step behind them. I arrived at the next town after they had brought dozens of orc scalps to the mayor for payment. However, this same mayor had an unusual collection of weapons. They all possessed a distinct symbol, the mark of some dwarven craftsman. When I discovered that this craftsman was survived by an old woman in Brindonford, I headed there. I enlisted the help of this lady and the anvil that your group had as a means to possibly catch up with your party. I had this bow and kukri made, and in the mean time, I tried to find some answers for my own questions.
To bring the story full circle, after picking up my new weapons, which are of amazing quality, my search for answers led me to that “lovely” bookstore that you so graciously helped me escape. At this point I owe each of you a life debt, which is the standard that I live by. You have a trustworthy and capable comrade, and while I am slow to trust, and very coarse at times, hopefully, perhaps you will call me a friend at some point. Only time will tell.
Now, enough about me…shut up…be quiet…and stay back, I am going to try and keep you all from getting killed…
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