Tales By The Fire

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  Letter left at every inn
  • destinysdesire1

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  looks to the man as he speaks * Ah great, when can we meet to discuss the details of the tattoo?? (( im on EST monday - sunday, generally available anytime ))
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  A Haggard old dwarf returns
  • genetic-av

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  To find Jerrick...A trip made by Eilonna Moonshadow.
  • destinysdesire1

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  Many months had passed since I headed for Praka, too long and too cold it has been. The cold wracking my body on my endless search for Jerrick and the answers needed. I have lost a lot of my original weight and even some baby fat to toning and sheer exhaustion and many times I was called a fool and sometimes worse for pushing on so hard. I found myself often questioning this trip and wondering if I would make any progress to even find Jerrick or if he even had the answers I sought for. Yet what more could I do but try and find him and those answers. Those many months are behind me now as I sail back from Damara. I am worn out heart and soul and I have been seriously ill for all my hard work. In a few days I will redock in Peltarch and I can't wait to see Elessar again, to be in his embrace once more to finally shake the cold that refuses to leave my bones, to see my sister again and be reminded that I still have family out there that misses me, and to see Elder Raryldor. I find myself missing his wisdom and ideas and wonder how much he has accomplished since I left. Well….may as well nap now and wait till we dock.
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  A tale for a cold night
  • MCPlay

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  sigh Ok folks, I'll just tell the whole thing. Feel free to jump in at any time though. Peter's sword clashed against the metal of the bandit's front dagger, as the other went straight toward the boy's neck. In a split second reaction, Peter pulled himself backwards, something the bandit wasn't expecting, because he lost balance and went spiraling towards the sandy floor. From there, it would be easy for Peter to strike the killing blow, but instead, he observed the circle of men around them, their faces awaiting the outcome of the battle, and just waltzed past them, leaving them dumbstruck as he went along his merry way. "Get him!" - The leader said as he pulled himself up from the ground - "Do not let him get away with this!" As he saw the over twenty thieves rushing toward him, Peter ran as fast as he could, because he knew he couldn't defeat so many people at once. The bulk of his armor was taking its toll, but he kept going, never looking back as the bandits got closer and closer. After a few minutes of running, Peter was panting and gasping for air, his vision blurry and greyed out, so he unwittingly let himself tumble to the ground. Oddly enough, once his sight returned to him, it seemed that the bandits had given up on the chase and were retreating. Peter figured if they were running, either he was saved or doomed to an even worse fate. Looking to where he was going, he saw the walls and the archers already stringing their bows to help the poor man who had fallen close to the gates get rid of his pursuers. "Welcome to Waterdeep" - One of the watchmen told him. - "You seem like you could use some rest. Head for the Yawning Portal, and tell Durnan Ivo Goode sent you. He'll take good care of you." "Thank you sir" - Peter replied, and gave the guard five gold pieces for the information, which were immediately turned down. "Only doing my job Sir. Have a good day." - Ivo said with a smile as he sent Peter on his way. For those of you who don't know Waterdeep, The Yawning Portal Inn was the best in town with the owner, Durnan The Wanderer, being a former adventurer himself, known around the entire Sword Coast for being one of the few men to enter Undermountain, the dangerous, riddled with traps, monsters and wild magic portals, maze realm of the mad mage Halaster, and returning safely to tell the tale. So Peter went to the inn… yawns And I think I'll go too. I've really gotten tired suddenly. I'll continue the tale tomorrow. he says with a smile as he wanders back to the Grapevine
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  Kessmiah's Chronicle
  • Mooncandies

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  Anger, passion, channeled rage, destruction. The desire to see all those in your path who cross you consumed in burning flame. I am completely livid. But focused… the goal will continue, through the tragic events of today, I have found new resolve. There will be no peace for me. I have accepted this. No peace for me should I free my people. I am truly beginning to understand Kossuth's teachings through the Order of the Salamander. As a slave, I merely made a friend of their faithful, and practiced exercises that offered distraction from the rigors of servitude. Something to distract my mind from the pain and sorrow I felt. I was taught to empty my cup before I can learn the truth as I perceive it. My problem is I have left my cup empty for so long, only to let things trickle in since I have been freed. Now I am beginning to see. Now, after being broken for so long, I am beginning to feel, to truly feel. Love for the Seldarine, my fallen family, my people... love for my sister, even love for Hen. And love even for baby Vladmir, the child of the kursks who had so much potential; who I cared for as a slave, who I fed, took care of, and even allowed to use me as an outlet for his frustration... I could take it. Unbridled hated for demons, for the drow, for those who would do my loved ones harm. Anger... rage, towards the ignorant, towards those who cannot learn from their mistakes. One who I should revere and respect for the services he has done for our people, but the fact he shows no remorse for mistakes made, the fact that he will not be able to admit faults and blame others, and the fact that he is willing to blind himself to the fact that we committed a horrible atrocity by accident, that we sacrificed a soul of my people to resurrect a demon as an experiment, and has shown denial and tried to make justifications and hypothesis that it could not have happened leaves me in bitter disgust. I will continue working with him as he means well to a certain extent, but should his pride and volatile nature cost me any more of my loved ones, I do not know what I'll do... I stand at a crossroads now. Could I make the sacrifice to truly become a devout to the Order of the Salamander and watch those who stand before me, defiant, burn by my fist. Sacrifice my mind, body and soul to living flame and rise from the ashes like the phoenix. Do I continue walking this path, and continue trying to be one with my people, to continue to uphold my oaths, and continue remaining calm, patient whimpering omega pup who will always feed last and remain submissive. To just stand back and fire my bow, knowing. My vision... My vision is to see that my people can live in peace, no matter what the cost is to myself. I will not barter with demons, devils, for power to do so. I will continue to show mercy to the weak, should they ask upon it, though should what they ask is false, they will find me shepherding them to the afterlife with my bow or my fist. I will continue to improve myself, and transcend limits that others can only break with the use of petty magics.
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  Ghosts of the Willows
  • Iathouz

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  “Do you need me to fence anything?” The dark wizard sits in a chair beside the fireplace in the Coppers. The flames reflect from his eyes matching the blood red of his robes. “No, the mine pass must have cost you.” Kyan makes me jumpy. I know he’s a murderous bastard, but he’s also one of the most honest people I know. In a lot of ways he reminds me of my old mentor Higgins. Vicious but generous. I sometimes think he enjoys a little company. I work alone a lot. I know the feeling. “I need to return to my reading.” He gets up and walks away, leaving me in sole possession of a fair amount of gold. It’s enough to cover my expenses with a little profit left over. I’m grateful. The bodies form piles at the south gate again. It’s a common enough occurrence. Between waves I watch the good and stalwart defenders stripping valuables off the dead. I don’t engage in it myself. I’m out on point so we can have some warning when the next group approaches. There will be time to divide treasures later. The last wave goes down, and a few minutes later the group makes a few excuses to leave and parts ways, taking any and all loot off with them. I can’t help but laugh. I’ve been a lot of places. In some, the gold flows like cheap wine at a guild hall. Others, like the lands of Narfell, are a hard scrabble existence. No matter where I go, I find the same thing. The wicked account for every coin in an equitable manner, perhaps because they can ill afford to lose alliances over petty squabbles. The virtuous however, will swipe every last coin laying around if they think you aren’t watching. I see it all the time. A few coins skimmed here, a potion stuffed in a pack there, a quality blade that gets “forgotten about.” It adds up. The old saying goes there is no honor among thieves, but I tend to believe there are plenty of thieves among honor. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by greed or hypocrisy anymore. It is, after all, that kind of world.
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  The Truth, Confessions and Regrets of a Bear
  • Davidnwn

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  ((A few spelling corrections and grammatical errors sorted as per request…))
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  A letter sent to Evermeet
  • destinysdesire1

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  Journal of Locrian Dalharess Continued...
  • destinysdesire1

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  The writing is clearly more strained as if in contemplation and confusion, the writing is quick and not as neat as before How strange is it to speak to a half elf, to have them speak to you in the native tongue and not understand a damn word of it. In assessing my wounds as the medic did on the ship she wasn't pleased with my condition and told me to take it easy. I find myself perplexed when people speak a strange tongue and I can understand it, but my own language I cannot? What is with that? Is it part of the amnesia? It seems I will have to take the time to study the language as not only is it an insult to my heritage, but entirely disgraceful that a half elf speaks it, and I cannot. I was warned against trusting Raryldor, yet he has seemed kind to me. A bit distant admittedly but kind. They say that he uses us to achieve his own goals then casts us aside. I hope that is not true of a kindred. I will see for myself, I don't like rumors.
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  The Squire and the Wolf or The Hungry Hin.
  • omnihero

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  Sitting in the commons Vega pens down the tale after telling others about it. Not wanting to leave the hero's name out of the tale but not knowing it shes asks around eventually looking back to andrew describing the hin as best she can. "So do you know who it was? Andrew suggests in may be Raul but adds that so many hin look alike that you can hardly tell. She frowns but gets an idea all the same. Adding these simple words to the start of the manuscript. "To the unknown hin hero that saved a squire's life and taught her the value of humility."
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  Shesarai's Journal
  • AubreyMaturin

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  To train a Squire - Fern
  • destinysdesire1

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  ohh… I've met Sir Theaon before... He show Fern the Silver Valley where everything is right sized. Fern find him!
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  Journal of Jason Selious
  • destinysdesire1

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  The writing comes in a fine silver ink, well written with a calm hand It has been a long time since I wrote in this journal, looking back it puts me to just before completing the holy staff that now stays by my side constantly. I have published a book on the staff so that it will never again be forgotten if anything happens to it. I am now ninety eight, a very old man yet I feel younger then ever. I have three Squires at current being brought into the Forsworn and may possibly yet have a fourth. Gnarl will not be a Squire long if he accepts, I already know he has all the potentials of a Knight and having him in the Forsworn will really aid us. Andrew is the one I worry about these days. He has gotten himself in a load of trouble and is being conscripted to the guards. I of course have asked the Lieutenant to ensure this was the Magistrates orders, if not then to consider abuse of authority. Ramus grows well and strong. He is also ready to be Knighted. An oracle and Monk of Ilmater, I am truly proud of him. I need to write more often it seems as I miss so much in the time passed. Soon I will have to rewrite out the Code of the Forsworn, if Gnarl joins he will likely be my General after Knighthood. I need someone younger then me helping to train the Squires and guide them on the proper path. It wont take much to get things going then. After that we can look to having our own building put up. A true base for the Forsworn as greatful as I am to the Kelemvorites, I know this is only supposed to be until I can get my own place set up. I am truly greatful to them for everything.
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  Finding the Middle Ground
  • tpickles

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  Words of an Eloquent Failure.
  • AnayaSilverfox

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  I skimmed over text and it says 'it's beautiful'. I will read.
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  The demon in the cave
  • Herrold

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  _Foilir had never felt better about himself. He had come up with the perfect solution. His planning had been meticulous and the persons he selected to carry it out was trustworthy. It wasn't ideal, that he knew, but the girl would live and maybe after enough time had passed, she could return to her family. The plan? He kidnapped the girl and had her kept in a farmhouse on the other side of the mountain. She was heavily guarded, and her custodians had strict instructions to tend to her every whim and make sure she needed nothing or wanted for nothing. Other than her family. That last request could not be satisfied, not without time passing. Kidnapping her had been fairly simple. The mere thought of how he carried it out brought a smile to his lips. Poison. His expertise in less than lethal poisons made selecting the appropriate one easy. A simple poison that would cause no harm other than a "temporary" blackout. A sudden nap. All he had to do to get the older elf to visit his stand was to send word to him that someone had visited his stand asking about his daughter. That brought him the very next day. Foilir, disguised as the old man, was very demonstrative as he spoke, showing how agitated and upset he was about the whole business. An "honest" merchant, he was! This was "bad for business"! He was truly worries about the girl, that part was honest! So he started gifting and handing out weapons to the girl's father and his posse. If they were wearing gloves, he told them to take them off and asked them to hold the weapon, while he found them better ones. Those who wouldn't cooperate, he pretended to be dizzy from his agitated talking and grabbed their arm for stability, a ring piercing leather and scratching skin, delivering toxins quickly and stealthily. One by one they started to fall, dizzy and a bit confused. Complaining about the sun and asking for water. All but the girl. He couldn't do it to her. She was too light, too young. He didn't want her harmed, so he just looked right at her as she got more frightened. He feigned fear as well, muttering in gutteral dwarven, approaching her. They were the last two standing. She never saw the undead approach her from behind and grab her from behind. Foilir struggled with the undead, freeing the girl and telling her to run and get help as more undead rose from around the cart._ "RUN LASS! GITS HELP!" _The undead allowed himself to me moved by Foilir in a mummer's choreography, being moved about like a marionette. The girl ran, just as Foilir commanded, right towards his employees camped down the road waiting to take her to her new, safe haven. Once she was out of sight, he ordered the undead to hit him over the head with his staff. It did so faithfully, leaving a nice bump and drawing the slightest amount of blood. He muttered once again, ordering the undead to overturn the cart and carry as much as they could, while wandering away. Then he just allowed himself to fall backwards on the ground, where he stared at the sky until the poison wore off and he was roused by her father, who slapped him a few times until he blinked and "came to". He sat outside his cave, pondering how it had all gone according to plan, drinking and signing, wondering if the inner bard in him had been awakened. For what is a thief and one who hid in the shadows, but a bard. Assuming new names and lives, with details and facts taken from all those he had encountered while wandering through mountains, towns, cities and tribes. He had found a solution that made him feel at peace and he sang and frank heartily with the undead that he summoned to celebrate with him._ "March we happy, off we go Heel for heel and toe for toe, Swinging axe to and fro, All for Mairi's wedding…" _Deep into the night he sang and drank and danced. His mind happy at escaping the dark deed and end that seemed inevitable. How many days ago was it? A fortnight? If they had not found her by now, she was safe. So he sang stronger, louder… then stopped. The sight of one of his hires stumbling up the mountain, holding a wound with a blade still sticking out of it stopping him mid word and freezing his soul._
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  The Vow
  • Hahn

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  It was an unexpected request, but one I could not ignore. The Masters back at the Citadel of the White Worm had called me back home. I had to comply. Home… For many years I had called the Citadel my Home. But it was not until I left Narfell that I really felt home sick. I had come a long ways in Narfell and had met many friends along the way. Friends who I would die for and who would die for me in turn. With all of its dangers and enemies, it is not hard for one like me to feel the need to help the land of Narfell. From maurauding orcs to the un-nameable foes that lurk in the Underdark, Narfell is a place that has been ravaged from all sides well before I had arrived. It was easy to get caught up in the struggle for good over evil. That is why I have now returned. Home... To a place where I can help those in need and put the skills that I have learned to use against the merciless foes that seek to destroy and pillage this harsh region of the world. Home... To where my friends are. Home... To Narfell.
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  Dragon
  • Robyn

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  Queen I am Rika. I have claimed myself Firstborn of the North, Daughter of the Winds, and now Queen of Narfell. I will rule my subjects well. I will gather a hoard befitting my station. The gold, gems and magic will sing to me, and I will be content. Were it that simple! I was visited by an envoy from the human city of Peltarch who made a good argument for my protection of it. I have agreed for now because it suits me. The human made sense. If the city were to fall, my tribute would cease. Surely a ruler must protect her people. Which people? Which people are mine? That is the burning question. Narfell is very large. If I am to gather a hoard worthy of my station, I must make it known throughout this land that I am now queen. My people will not fight each other, for such leads to destruction of the kingdom. If they wish to fight, let them expand the borders of my kingdom so that it grows, along with my tribute. Yes, that’s what must happen. All this petty fighting must stop. The people of my kingdom will work to be prosperous, provide me with tribute, and expand its borders. The people will grow mighty under my rule. Slihr has spoken of many races. Humans, Gnolls, Orcs, Kuo Toa and all the Goblin races. There are other human cities she said. Norwick which I know well of and Oscura underground. The kobolds have been subjugated. The humans of Peltarch pay me tribute, but only because they have no other choice. Soon however they will see that I not only bring peace to this land but prosperity. Namely mine, but theirs as a reflection of my rule. I must make myself known. Those who fail to give tribute will be wiped clean from my kingdom. Those who do will prosper under it. Which people should I subjugate next? I stare up into the sky when suddenly, it begins to rain. The torrent of water washes over me from the north yet south, the sun still shines. The water reflects off my scales and floods the swamp around me with rainbow of colors. The symbolism is not lost on me. My wings spread in jubilation, and I close my eyes in ecstasy. For a while, I am lost in the moment but something troubles me. The rain. It’s important to me. Why?
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  Leathertail's Log, Vol. 2
  • HalflingRogue

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  Entry 2 I always loved Tymora, in an abstract way. I prayed to her, but I prayed to her for good luck, that I never had to be involved in. I loved her, but I never wanted to feel her real touch. Many have labeled me a ladies' man…I never thought of myself that way, but...I have hurt Yana. I hate myself for that...But I couldn't help it. And I'm starting to do the same thing to another woman...though I think Frosty knows that I'm just fooling around. I only make friends with women, and I end up hurting them. That makes sense then, with my latest encounter...I was fighting to save the world, against my will, once again, and...I fell. Dead, at peace, en requiem... I was floating...in an infinite void...Nothing to touch me, but infinite blackness...but then I felt a pressures on my lips...the softest of kisses...and I felt her. HER. My goddess was with me...she wanted ME to live... I rose, I fought, nothing hurt me...blades turned aside when they should have struck me. Spells slammed into walls that should have scorched my hide. It ended...in time...but she wanted me to live. It's a terrifying feeling, to have a higher being take a personal interest in you, as well as an exhilarating one. And I'm not sure left me alone after that, as I survived a death defying adventure I should not've. But it leaves me unsettled... I never wanted to be special. I want to be left alone. Don't let me be a hero for the ages...let no one tell my tale. Let me live. Let me LIVE. And live quietly with the woman I love. Leave me alone to be happy...I want no history books to record my tales, I want only to live my days to my own enjoyment. Please...Tymora, just let me be with her. For as long as I can. Let me be with her. Good Day.
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  Tabula Rasa
  • Vasht

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  The typically broken penmanship had been gravely exacerbated by what appeared to be some emergent anxiety… but it was His writing. No doubt about it. The message upon the only note now tacked to the board was clear enough: "Jerrick. El. Ras. Any. Vash't. Don't know when. Help." By appearances, he'd left the Den. Black-ink smudged and hand-printed upon the ground and walls, unintentionally, judging from their noncommital smearing. A tattered pile of crumpled messages lay drowning in an oily puddle, the source of all this mess, beneath the bulletin. He'll be stalking, searching for familiarity. And answers.