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Unlikely saviors
The last thing I remember before darkness took me was the ugly, leering face of one of the three trolls. His clenched fist sent me into a deep, unrestful slumber rife with dreams of evil and fear.

I had been following the three beastly crestures into the cave, hoping they'd lead me to what could be a treasure trove of accumulated goods and gold, but my unfamiliarity with the dark, dungeon-like cave we were in led me to stumble down the wrong path. After a bit of what I thought was backtracking I ended up in front of them with no room to manoeuvre. My trusty bow was of limited use in the tight quarters of the cave and I'm ashamed to say I got nary a shot off before they were on me.

I wouldn't normally be so foolish as to venture into an unknown cave alone. The money I'd been making from hiring myself out as a guide had been sufficient for survival, if not satisfying. It left little for entertainment.

The adventurers I'd met in my travels had planted these dangerous ideas in my head of unimaginable treasure, and my constantly light purse more or less made the decision for me. I'd try my hand at adventuring. While it would be unwise to venture forth without gathering a party, all of the groups I'd encountered were loud, brash, prideful or otherwise annoyingly occupied with living their lives by someone else's standards for good or evil. I would not be able to stomach sharing spoils with those with whom I would not share a table in a tavern. So be it, perhaps I'm not meant for meeting companions.

This group that saved me from the trolls, however, may prove to be different. I've offered my skills as terribly insufficient payment for saving my life and they've accepted. We shall see where I end up.
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Keran Mirwood: Last Will and Testament
I Keran Mirwood being of whole Elvan body, spirit and mind, create this my last will and testament to the distribution of my belongings. In the event of my death and destruction or irrecoverable nature of any part of my body, so that I may not be raised to undeath, resurrected or otherwise wished back to life; I so hereby bequeath the following belongings as dictated in this parchment.

a) All magical items and magical item components are to be donated to the Temple of Wee Jas in Rethmar.
i) Should the temple be destroyed and/or the leaders of the temple be unable through incapacitation or death to take possession of these belongings, I hereby bequeath them to the nearest temple or shrine to Wee Jas.

b) Any and all coin money, hereto by referred to as 'gold', other precious metals and gems on what remains of my belongings I turn over to my dog Rixy.
i) These valuables shall be used to provide for Rixy through a stewardship set up through the Rethmar Academy.
ii) Should Rethmar and/or the Academy no longer exist I ask that you responsible adventurer to take care of Rixy.
iii) Should Rixy also be deceased to where he as well cannot be resurrected (through use of these funds), I direct this money to go to you dear adventurer. Use it in good health.

c) My ceremonial silver dagger should be returned to the Lake of Mox; either by yourself dear adventurer or through hired courier.

d) My non-magical masterwork items should be distributed to my surviving members of my adventuring party; consisting of Sumnus, Felicia and Kaylin.
i) Should members of my adventuring party be deceased; these non-magical masterwork items I bequeath to you dear adventurer. May they serve you well.

e) My painting of Lloth, the Spider Goddess I hereby specify should go to either the Temple of Wee Jas or the Rethmar Academy, whichever place is able to receive it.
i) Should neither place be in existance, I state that it should be sold to provide extra funds to be handled as stated in section 'b'.

f) Deed to Koth's Keep, I hereby leave to the finder of this document to do with as he or she pleases.

f) All other non-magical, non-masterwork items and supplies I hereby also leave to the finder of this document in order for personal use or to sell to pay for carrying out the final wishes I have laid forth in this parchment.

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Meetings, Part 2
Peace. Peace is the worst thing that could happen to a proud order of paladins. And as the old dwarf looked around the yard he saw the unmistakable signs of the softness that only peace can bring. It was a softness that he had almost completely failed to torture out of this batch of squires in five years of training. Then there was ginger nuts.

In the last five years the old dwarf had come to know this old squire as a steady and patient man, even if he was somewhat rock-headed. This one had potential. There would be no ceremonial duty for this paladin. The old dwarf would see to that. This was the last day of squiredom for him. “Oi, Ginger Nuts, c’mere,” the old dwarf barked. The old squire lowered his wooden practice sword and approached his grizzled trainer and mentor leaving a very bruised and relieved looking sparring partner. The old dwarf snorted and blew snot out of one nostril, “Look, you’re done. Get cleaned up and head in to see Prelate Fenris.” The old squire’s face fell and his shoulders slumped as though a heavy load had just been laid upon them. “Get yerself in there. The prelate don’t like to be kept waiting.” The old dwarf turned to walk off a knowing smirk concealed behind his grimy beard.

Face down on the floor before the altar of Pelor was not where the old squire expected to end up after his summons to the office of the Prelate. He had expected to receive what he had always feared, dismissal. After all, he was easily twice as old as most of the other recruits. And he lacked the pedigree and connections it really took to rise in the ranks. So he was surprised when instead of a dismissal, he received permission to hold his vigil and take his vows.

“The Knights of Pelor,” the Prelate said, “are more than simply a ceremonial order. We are the defenders of not only the faithful but order and good. Most of your fellow squires will go on to be made full knights, but they will never defend anything more than a nobleman’s right to look impressive with our knights on ‘guard’ at his parties. You, however, are not meant for such trite duty. Don’t get me wrong, such duty is necessary since those same noblemen pour large amounts of treasure into the coffers of the church.

“You will have a different sort of duty. You will not live in the comfort of the temple nor will you enjoy the attention of fine noble ladies and eat fine noble food.” Looking the old squire up and down in the same way one might inspect a cut of meat. “Not that you’re the type for many noble ladies. You’re most definitely on a different path. So, go hold your vigil. Pray. Fast. Listen. Perhaps Pelor will reveal your path.”

So there he was, prostrate on the floor, arms spread out to either side, cold marble drawing all his warmth straight through the white linen robe. It had been nearly 72 hours of fasting with only minimal sips of water as a relief. Pelor was silent.

* * *

Corpse breath’s nose exploded in a spray of blood as Felicia clumsily but effectively reversed her swing and the flat of her ridiculous sword smashed into his face. Taking a five foot step away from the advancing goons and towards the tavern door, she held the fullblade out in front of her like a shield hoping to discourage any onslaught they might be considering. Corpse breath was holding his nose, doubled forward cursing and spitting out a creamy mixture of mucus, saliva and blood.

Still blinded by their over confidence, girl hitter and hair lip moved into flanking positions on either side of Felicia, laughing and grinning as though they’d just pulled off a feat of tactical martial brilliance. But hair lip misjudged the reach of her blade and as she spun around the very tip caught hair lip right under the knee opening a gash and popping tendons like lute strings. Hair lip hit the floor holding his spasmming leg with both hands and trying unsuccessfully to put weight on the now useless limb.

Girl hitter was not idle during all of this. At the same time walking was being removed as one of hair lip’s options for getting himself from pub A to pub B, Girl hitter raised the broken-off piece of table leg and brought it down on the back of Felicia’s head. Brilliant white blobs of pain exploded over Felicia’s field of vision as she rolled over in time to see girl hitter raise his rusty hatchet for a stroke that would most certainly kill her. Felicia closed her eyes and waited.

* * *

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Roadblock This!
The people of the region are scurrying their way to Rethmar as I write this. My group has put a small chink in the armor of the aggressors, but we seek to open that hole wider to run a blade deep inside to the heart.

We are on our way to Saarvith's keep as we feel he holds the key to aid us in this fight; a phylacltry, a container for a lich's soul, belonging to a being known as the Ghost Lord. Whoever is behind this seems to fear him gaining control of it again. The enemy of my enemy is my friend as they say.

On the way to Saarvith's we stopped off in Rethmar. I visited a history professor at the university in town, a man who I had made a deal with when we first arrived. He was supposed to find me more information on this Mr. Blue who stuck us with this clean up job. The professor seemed to be having some sort of conference when I arrived; I can't figure out why a history professor is so damned busy these days. Nevertheless it was a wasted trip, he had found no information on Mr. Blue, just that there are several known spells that could have transported us here. At least if worse comes to worse, we know we can get out of this region. I told the professor as I left to keep his eyes and ears open for any further information regarding Mr. Blue. I hope I'm wrong, but my senses tell me not to trust him.

After everyone had gotten together again, we set off up north. We reached some hayseed little town at a crossroads and were warned about a hobgoblin roadblock further up the road. The damnable creatures are everywhere it seems.

Once we made our way there, we decided to burn it down. No sense letting the foul creatures live, or block traffic in the region. We figured the 20foot high structure would produce a nice bonfire. Kaylin and Sumnus went around the back of it and started setting it alight. Meanwhile Felicia and myself assaulted the front.

I called forth my dire raven babies to peck out the eyes of the hobgoblin archers on the roof and fired some arrows of my own; while Felicia swung her Sword of Overcompensation at the door, making a nice array of firewood.

Once the goblin archers fell and Felicia was inside, I quickly followed, going out the back of the roadblock to find Kaylin and Sumnus. I have no idea what these fools were doing this whole time. I had seen the smoke rising from the front and heard a scuffle. But when I got back there, it looks as if they tried to set fire to an outhouse and it exploded. The roadblock wasn't on fire and there were ogres covered in excrement. No sooner had I started to ask when Sumnus threw Kaylin into the wall. At that point I decided not to get too close as they had obviously gone mad... there was also the smell.

I gathered my babies to attack the remaining archers; while again Sumnus tossed Kaylin toward the roadblock. Poor thing, luckily this time Sumnus aimed a bit higher and made it up to the roof where he could attack. I stepped back to allow Sumnus entrance into the building so he could follow Felicia up the ladder to the roof. But by the time he scrambled up there, my babies had finished off the last of the troubling archers.

While the others were busy patting themselves on the back up on the roof. I took the opportunity to create a zombie out of the more clean of the two ogres. Never know when one may come in handy, especially if there are any more obstructions in our way.
Session: Game Session - Monday, Mar 28 2011 from 6:00 PM to 9:00 PM
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O' Mr. Blue, Mr. Blue, wherefore art thou, Mr. Blue?
As if events in this world were not already chaotic enough; some layabout flouncy wizard decides to whisk me and my companions to lands unknown without telling us a clue about what's to be done here.

While his powers are impressive, his motives are suspect to say the least. We were already investigating devilish blood red hail and other monstrosities when we ran across him. Has it all been a ruse to lure us away from the real danger? Is the world we are inhabiting now all an illusion created whole cloth of figments and nightmares twisted deep within the roots of Mr. Blue's psyche?!

It's not that I don't enjoy the combat, and I can certainly handle my own in any situation thrown at me. But I detest being toyed with if this is Mr. Blue's intentions. I intend to root out his motives once me and my companions dig our way out of this muck he's put us in!
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