Gerbo

Glim Gimble and Gorla Gimble were close with, but always confounded by, the behavior of their only son Gerbo Gimble. All the other Rock Gnomes of the Garrick clan were curious and impulsive adventurers, but not Gerbo.

While other members of the Garrick clan were out exploring for gems and treasure, Gerbo would spend his time tinkering with less-obvious treasures that the clan may have brought back to their underground sugar caves. He would investigate and dissect these inventions to learn about lands far away. While they may have explored the world in different ways, Gerbo and the rest of the Garrick clan were full of love for each other and always jovial and joyful.

One day like many other days, Gerbo was busy probing an ornate glass orb from lands unknown and hastily said farewell to the rest of the clan as they embarked on another adventure. This time was different though, the clan did not return that day, or week, or month. A concerned Gerbo packed up a bag and went on an adventure of his own to find his clan.

Gerbo found the unimaginable. The Garrick clan had been caught in the middle of a battle between the Mountain Dwarves and the Hill Dwarves. The Garrick clan had been slaughtered, and not just the Garrick men, but the Garrick women and the Garrick children too.

The next years were spent mourning the loss of his clan and searching for a reason to continue on. While predisposed to a life of glee and celebration, this little Rock Gnome could find no cause for it.

Luckily Gerbo still had his treasures. He mournfully continued his tinkering. Gerbo discarded the precious gems and drwarven gold for more unusual oddities. As he pushed aside a decorative chest of coins, he heard a sound behind him, a tiny sound beckoning him. He turned to the other side of the room and saw a small box with intricate clock-like mechanisms designed by artisans of civilizations long passed. He thought "what color is this box?", but could not answer, it was neither gold nor silver, but some perverse metal not meant for this plane.

Gerbo approached the box and picked it up, although he has no recollection of willingly doing so. He was unable to move as the white, thin, hairless human materialized in front of him. He spoke calmly. "I am Neifion, Lord of the Bats. I am showing you this form to offer you assistance, and require assistance of you as well. We must bring peace to the Dwarves, as their war threatens my plane. Do so, and I will help you see your clan again ".

Gerbo found himself once again able to move and speak, but was now at a loss for words. What choice did he have? What did he have to lose? A chance to see his family again? To be happy again?

"Of course, tell me what I need to do. I, Gerbo, am at your service", said Gerbo.

"Gerbo was your Rock Gnome name, but you are now my servant, my Warlock, and your name is Jephora. You must abandon your past and dedicate yourself to our goal. When our mission is complete, you may know your past name again, said Neifion.

"I am yours Neifion, I am not afraid."

"You will be.", said Neifion ominously, "You will be."

Barbarus

Barbarus the Berzerker is like all members of Clan Sionne, but more so. The Sionne come into the world, travel, and fight for their livelihood.

While little is know of the youth of Barbarus, his combat exploits are remembered by all who study the berzerkers life. He first came into prominence by attempting to unseat the great war hawks of the mountains of the stars. When he was unable to do so singlehandedly, he enlisted the help of his fellow mountain dwarf Lord Rawyag. Still, the two were unable to defeat the great birds of prey, a failure which has lead to Barbarus' lasting fear of heights. But in his failure came great renown which would serve him well.

Barbarus is not a natural leader but will fight when provoked or when the opportunity arises. One man who saw that he could lead Barbarus was the master of the Ragesman's Guild, the sorcerer Heenalf. Since their first encounter, Heenalf will use Barbarus to defeat challengers as needed often by the side of his Rageman's family; the great giant Rouss, the Tamu Tongu of the orc island cannibals, and the human of no imperfections Samuel Lexnarciss. The guild is known to call on each other's skills and rage when needed. It is with Heenalf that Barbarus has engaged in some of his most controversial actions including the destruction of the southern magistrates of Trayloria and the execution of their women.

Feasting is great love of Barbarus. It was during a feast that Barbarus challenged for leadership of the southern dwarf tribe but was unable to unseat their king Simmo. This defeat has proved a recent stain on Barbarus, seen by some as a pawn and not a champion. A great quest may yet prove Barbarus' true worth...

Kenfire

Say hello to Kenfire Swordhand, a half-elf monk from the frozen north. The bastard son of a noble elf and and a baseborn human.

Kenfire's father provided for as much as a noble ever would for a bastard child. He lived with his human mother Susan, but always felt something was missing, like he was meant for more. When Susan passed away from an unknown illness, Kenfire decided it was time for a change. He would never inherit any of his father’s wealth or lands so he left home in search of adventure and glory. His travels endued in him a greater appreciation of nature and the basic good in people Before long his road led him to a small monastery in the foothills of a mountain. He was welcomed into the monastery by a half-orc master who’s paternal nature attracted the young half-elf. He found peace and purpose here, so here he stayed. He studied under master Nordak for 10 years, honing his skills. Through his master's teachings, he learned to master the control of his body and use the force, err I mean “ki”, to dominate his opponents. He thought he initially joined the monastery to prove his worth to his noble father, but through meditation and introspection he found that he was more interested in personal glory. He knew his best shot at glory was if he left the monastery to join an adventuring band of equally brave souls.

During his training at the monastery Kenfire heard many a tale from master Nordak of the atrocities against innocent orcs by marauding bands of dwarves. Many of his early achievements in battle involve him defending nearby villages from greedy dwarven raiding parties. The teachings of his half-orc master, and his experiences in battle have left him mistrusting of all dwarves. That being said, Kenfire is still a monk and his intentions are mostly altruistic. He walks a straight path and honors the code of ethics instilled in him by Master Nordak. He will treat all he meets with respect and is not known to strike out in anger. He is not the holiest of monks though and is not averse to partaking in celebration, and libations.

Kenfire has honed his body to adapt to cold weather to the point where he needs no shirt even in the winter. He also likes to keep his body clean shaven to differentiate himself as much as possible from the hairy dwarves. Including his balls.

Waesmayr

Waesmayr has heard the bard's tales of greats adventures from great adventurers. Rescuing damsels, drinking poisoned ale more than once, getting sucked into parallel dimensions, clubbing police officers to death.

Waesmyar knew not of such adventures. From his first memories, Waesmyar's only adventure was survival. Foraging and hunting and hiding. He remembered not how he came to be alone in the forest, befriending its majestic inhabitants, it's the way it's always been.

There were only two things he knew for absolute certainty, that he was the only one of his kind and that Chewbacca was real.

One day while bathing in a stream, he saw something that changed his world. A pack of creatures that looked similar to him, with arms and legs and faces, making strange sounds to each other. He hid behind a bush and followed the humanoid creatures.

He followed them for days, weeks, and months while they scavenged gems and herbs in the forest. He began to understand that the different sounds had different meanings, just like the birds and squirrels of the forest.

After many months of following the explorers, he could truly understand them. It was time to introduce himself to these adventurers. He gave himself a name and practiced for days.

He took a step out of the clearing, waved to get their attention, and said for the first time "Me Waesmayr". As they reigned blows upon him, he understood for the first time the cruelty of the world outside the forest.

The next years were spent as a sideshow freak prisoner in all the terrible places that would display a travelling freak show. Come see Waesmayr, the freak feral elf that can barely speak. Survival in the forest was always dangerous, but the world of men and elves and dwarves was cruel, and their beings were cruel.

These cruel creatures had used Waesmayr long enough though. For a skilled survivalist, his escape was easy once his mind was made up.

Where to go now though? Back to the forest? How could he now after everything he'd learned. How could he be content eating fungus and berries after seeing the bright lights and oddities of Waterdeep.

One thing he knew for sure though, he would not let this cruel man's world penetrate into the beauty of the forest. He would defend the purity of the forest with his life, and always think whistfuly upon a time when life was simple for naive Waesmayr.

Eraxan The Red Reaver of Clan Firxan

Eraxan may be reddish in appearance but he is of the Golden Dragon lineage (which of course means he can breathe fire and is fire resistant *eggplant*).

Eraxan is a loyal member of Clan Firxan whom are descendants of the Golden Dragon Meraxes of Dragonstone. Because of his large and imposing size and his natural fighting ability, at the age of 12 he was ordered to undergo special combat training where he was paired with the elite prospects from other nearby clans. At the age of 15 he was ordered by Meraxes to end his training and serve his clan as a bounty hunter. His journeys took him throughout the realm of Erebor where he collected bounties on some of the realms most dangerous criminals. Because of his proficiency he was able to provide much wealth to his clan and had a high standing for someone of his age.

During his time in Erebor doing Meraxes bidding he worked tirelessly on piping big long flutes. The instrument. Like most Dragon born he is on a never-ending quest to master a craft, and his craft is the most loved phallic instrument of all, the flute. Eraxan also enjoys beating to a pulp, any fool who makes fun of his flute.... playing. No one would ever make fun of his skin flute, because it is ginormous and has two heads. Just like a snakedick. Yes ladies, he can have sex with two of you at one time. Anyway... after 15 years of faithful servitude to Meraxes, he was allowed to leave and seek out his own path. Eraxan saw many a grim sight in his time as a bounty hunter and he now seeks to cleanse the realm of evil, where and when he chooses.

He recently returned from his home after saying farewell to his clan and informing them that he was ready to find a group of equally ambitious servants of the light. Dragonborn are fiercely loyal to their clans and honor self-sufficiency above all else. Clan Firxan is currently fixated on continuing their own enrichment via bounty hunting but Eraxan has grown weary of this trade and longs to serve a higher purpose, to the great disapproval of his clan. Because of this, he can find no clan members to join him. His finding of his new compatriots seems to have come at the perfect time. Eraxan is unmarried and his one true love his is battle axe Patricia. At the end of the day when he is not piping a flute, you will likely find him sitting alone in the dark furiously polishing his giant axe.

Personality Traits: Quiet and reserved to strangers, but creates very strong bonds with friends. He will erupt in a rage if his friends are in danger
Ideals: Former Bounty Hunter looking to make a difference in the world. He wants to save people from the pain and suffering he's seen.
Bonds: Bonded to Meraxes the dragon. Finds El Onzo puny and foolish, but amusing. Thinks Waesmyar's ways are strange and confusing.
Flaws: Gets bored easily. Distrusts humans.

Elestar Onzo

Born into a family of little renown, the young Elestar Onzo was gifted from a young age.

As he grew he knew he needed to apply his genius to help those most in need. He joined a band of paladins to serve as their master of medicine; healing those who would risk their lives to serve Torm, the god of courage and self-sacrifice.

But it was the soldiers of Bane, god of Tyranny, who ultimately bested Elestar's comrades.

As he sank into depression and drink he knew he had to do more to best evil. And that is how he found himself at Wong Wiesel's school of divination. It is how he became the wizard warrior El'Onzo.

Now armed with spells and magic in addition to his intelligence and devotion to good. El'Onzo seeks new compatriots to defeat evil. Adventure awaits...

Randall Amplerod

Randal Amplerod was the seventh born of nine human children, his father a carpenter and his mother a homemaker to him and his eight brothers and sisters.

Chapter 1

As his father’s stories told, an Amplerod had owned the same sprawling homestead for five generations. You could say he was raised in a loving home, but between maintaining a home and raising so many children, it was difficult for his parents to spend enough time with him to say they were “close” to Randal. Children in the Amplerod home raised each other.

Living in an environment like that, there wasn’t much Randal and his siblings couldn’t do. They were a tough and well rounded lot. Randal loved his brothers and sisters. Even as his older brothers moved off to far away places in search of adventure, or his older sisters were married into other families, he would travel long ways to see them. By the time Randal had turned 16, he had grown into a capable, handsome, strapping young man, the oldest of the three Amplerod children still living at home.

The young ladies in town always came by to watch Randal work on the homestead. They’d hide behind trees and run away giggling if Randal spotted them. Randal would court the most comely of the group, but his intentions were never very permanent.

Randal became close with his parents in their final years, and had taken on the patriarchal role himself, even taking on a trade similar to his father’s as a stonemason. His father passed away only a few weeks after old age forced retirement, and his mother a few weeks after that. He had lived for his work, and she had lived for him. It gave Randal great comfort to know that he was there for his father in the end, and he could see the pride in his father’s eyes.

All of his brothers and sisters returned for the funerals. While the event was sad, it was great to see them again and tell old stories of times on the homestead and also hear of new stories in their new lives. The tales of adventure certainly were intriguing, and appealed to the last two Amplerod siblings as they went off to live with the older ones to tend to their homes and businesses.

Chapter 2

Randal was suddenly all alone in a sprawling, once-bustling home. This didn’t sadden Randal at all, he had his entire life ahead of him. He was happy that his family had found their way and proud of his role in their happiness. Now an 18 year old man, with maturity beyond his years, he knew it was time to respond to the many flirtations by the ladies in town and start a family of his own. He remembered one in particular whose green eyes and bountiful bosom still entered his dreams on occasion. He went into town exploring every pub and shop until he finally found her.

“Shandri, my name is Randal and I’ve thought about you since the day I caught you watching me from behind my family’s oak tree years ago. I am a skilled stonemason and I live on a beautiful homestead that we could make a family in. Will you marry me?” She had said “yes” before he had even finished his proposal.

He received her father’s blessings and in what seemed like a blink of an eye, he was soon telling his three young boys that they were the sixth generation of Amplerods to live on that homestead, and his heart swelled with pride every time he said it. While never a religious man, he could feel his parents looking down upon him and smiling as well.

In the summer of his 22nd year however, his fairytale life on the homestead took a tragic turn. A great flood ravaged the area. It destroyed much of his family’s home, permanently flooded the area stone mines, and took the life of his youngest boy. Randal had led a hard working but satisfying life. “I’m due for a hardship,” he told himself, “surely my father experienced his own hardships.”. The home could be rebuilt, he could order stone from a further quarry, and he still had other children to care for. He buried his son and set about rebuilding their home.

Randal and Shandri did their best to overcome the obstacles caused by the flood, even having two more children, but over time they became short and cold with each other. The day that Shandri told Randal she had fallen in love with someone else and was taking the children with her, somehow it was not even a surprise.

Randal didn’t put up a fight. Shandri and the four children would still be nearby. He knew the man she had fallen in love with, and he seemed a decent man who would be good to her and the children.

His brothers and sisters all travelled to comfort him. Again they told happy stories of their times growing up at home, but this time they were bittersweet. He no longer had only good memories of the Amplerod home. Randal listened to their stories, but this time didn’t feel compelled to participate.

Chapter 3

Randal was still a 25 year old man, as handsome as he was at 16. If he was being honest with himself, as the flood had cooled his relationship with his wife, he had been spending a little more time at the local tavern than he used to. It wasn’t just the ale either, another one of those young girls staring from behind the oak tree those years ago was now a barkeep there. Telling tales of hard times over a flagon of ale to Omvek made him feel good. It made him feel what he felt in the first years with Shandri.

With no more reason to hide it, Randal and Omvek were soon married and starting a family. The homestead had been rebuilt and they had three children of their own. Soon though, it became apparently that her boorish and loud sense of humour was better suited for the inn than the home. Omvek was quick with a joke, but when running a household together, her good temper and crass humor was no replacement for housekeeping and child raising. Perhaps her entire appeal from the beginning was that he was able to escape the stress of home life to see her. With her at home, she no longer had that appeal. After yet another in a series of nights of too much ale and harsh words, one morning he woke up and she was gone and their gold and coppers were missing. He didn’t even bother to look for her. He knew the life she wanted wasn’t at home with him.

Randal was left to care for the three young children alone. Again his siblings came and visited to offer their sympathies and lend a hand. Again he was appreciative for their help, but the gloating stories of their success only rubbed salt in his wounds. Of course they were successful, he had made sure they were taken care of while he took care of their parents. He had hoped that his resentment hadn’t been worn on his sleeve.

Chapter 4

Randal was now 32 with three children at home and an ill-kemp home. He still had his looks and reputation in town though, and he knew what he had to do. His kids needed a mother. He courted a local widow named Brooks whose famous and brave husband had died adventuring. She wanted no more of a man who may or may not ever come back, and the thought of becoming a mother to a man with roots and a family was appealing. He wanted a wife who would be a partner in raising a family. She accepted Randal’s proposal and moved into the Amplerod home. After a few years, they had a child of their own.

The reasons for their marriage were pure, albeit utilitarian, and after some time they had settled into a routine. Everything was fine on the surface, but there was no passion. With the stresses of work and home, and with a sensible but not romantic partner, it wasn’t long before Randal began heading back to the local ale house and talking wistfully of his first wives. As Randal spent more time away from home, Brooks took note and it became a point of contention.

As life at home became less inviting, he began heading to the ale house straight from work more commonly, and got home later and later. Eventually, some nights he didn't come home at all. Then he began finding comfort in the other women of the town. One morning, the foreman at the mason’s guild told him not to come to work any more due to his unpredictability and the stench of ale on him at the job site. He knew his home was at risk. He could feel the shame of his parents' gaze from above.

He never meant for it to happen, but facing the pressures and sadness of life were too much for Randal. He could see the face of his son lost in the flood. He could see all the happy moments with his first two wives, now long gone. He could the faces of his children with Shandri, now calling another man father. He could see Omvek off sharing a sad story over a flagon at a far away tavern. He could see the faces of his brothers and sisters when they used to look upon him with respect and adoration, not pity. It was so much easier to escape into a flagon.

Days began to blend into nights, and Randal wasn’t sure if weeks or years had gone by. He remembered very few moments with uncanny lucidity though... Begging on hand and knee the foreman to give him his job back at the guild. Brooks telling him that she was leaving and taking his three children with Omvek to the monastery to be cared for, and taking their lone child together with her far away where he couldn’t get to her. The tears in his children’s eyes when she told him. Losing the family homestead in a game of cards. His brothers and sisters picking him off the dirt road and offering him to come live with them and get his life together. Telling them that their selfishness in leaving home was responsible for his hardships. That he blamed the loss of the home and his children and his parents on them.

Looking into the mirror at the local ale house and seeing the lines in his eyes. Randal was now 63 years old. He hadn’t seen his brothers or sisters or children in decades. Randal was likely a grandfather now, perhaps even a great grandfather. He had no idea. Any attempts by his family to reach out were met with enough hostility and embarrassment to cause them to stop trying decades ago.

There were six generations of Amplerods to live in the Amplerod homestead, there would only ever be six. He had failed his family and his ancestors and himself. Reality was painful, but the flagon would allow him to ride into the end without having to face the reality of his shameful life and those he had hurt and abandoned. He would never give his children the wondrous upbringing on the homestead that he had, and he would have no children to look upon with pride while he died. When the local Alchemist told Randal that he had the brain fever and would be dead soon, the news was all too welcome.

Chapter 5

When the Dawnbringers came through town spreading the word of Lathander the Morningbird, they found a husk of a once proud man hunched and dying over an ale house bartop. They bathed him, clothed him, and took him far away from the place where everything reminded him of his failures.

Randal remembered only quick glimpses of his time in the monastery infirmary. He was unsure what was reality and what was his fever dream. Visions of children caring for him when he died. His tombstone with a loving scripture right next to his father and mother and dead son at their homestead. A seventh generation of strapping Amplerod boys being gazed upon behind the homestead’s oak tree. A seventh generation of Amplerods cursing his name and mocking him over his shallow grave. Clerics casting holy magic on him to keep him alive. A road travelling to a sunrise. Lathander himself in the flesh telling him “this is not the end of Randal Amplerod’s story.”

By absorbing the teachings of Lathander, soon Randal was strong enough to hold consciousness. While they say Lathander the Morningbringer is the deity of dawn and renewal, no clerics at this monastery knew the secret to fully renew Randal Amplerod. Randal had every opportunity, most likely more opportunity, than his father and mother to live a happy and decent life. Instead, he had thrown it all away. His life was a complete waste. Even worse than that, he did active, calculable harm to his family and friends. The world would be a better place without him.

Randal enjoyed the camaraderie and peace of the monastery, but if he stayed there, the brain fever would sooner or later take his life. He would not have a son or daughter to hold his hand and comfort him of the goodness of his legacy as he lay on his deathbed. Like Lathander told him, this couldn’t be the end of Randal Amplerod’s story.

Randal was now 70 years old, perhaps not as quick as he once was, but old age hadn’t yet taken his strong stonemason’s back, and the brain fever hadn’t yet taken his wits. Under cover of night, he snuck into the monastery’s armory and stole a handaxe, a finely adorned mace, a suit of chain mail, and a shield with Lathander’s symbol. As he crept away into the dark, his arm could feel a holy connection to his shield, and he thanked the Dawnbringers silently for their kindness. Randal Amplerod, the Dawnbringer, Lathander’s Cleric of Life, would uncover Lathander’s secret, a power that some consider to be unnatural, a power that the Dawnbringers wouldn’t tell you, to be reborn in youth before his disease overcame him. Before his immortal soul and legacy would be one of humiliation and disgrace.

Geralt

Geralt hails from a mountainous region north of Chult where he trained as a knight to defend his mountain clan. A noble and altruistic knight, he was often considered annoyingly righteous by those around him.

So his chieftain suggested he leave on a noble quest to rid the land of this strange illness that was beginning to spread. This move was two thronged. It sent a capable warrior out on a worthy mission but also got this annoying personality out of their village. Geralt is young, brash and perhaps a little over-confident. What he lacks in experience and wisdom he makes up for in brute strength and charisma. Despite being a somewhat self-absorbed snob, people rally around him and seem to fight better in his company than they normally would. He has a knack for uplifting his battered comrades when they seem scattered or defeated. Geralt longs for the day he can return home to his family and clan and declare victory over this unholy illness. He believes it will be a sign that he is a divine tool of the gods.

Nicodemus Darque

From the lost diary of Sandrine Darque

My brother and I were born on my father’s estate and our birth was not without difficulty. We were born healthy. We were born different. In later years I would come to believe that our birth was exactly as our father made us. Our mother did not survive. Some would say that it was the sight of us that killed her. In time I would realize that he and I were lucky to have lived through that first night.

As children, the significance of the small graves next to our mother’s was beyond us.

There were many things that we did not understand then. Why the others stared at us. Why they feared us. Why they hated us.

Our father owned a large elvish estate that was merely a location. His avocation…was wizardry. We loved our father, we loved the magic he called “the art.” And we were eager to please. So we began to learn.

We could do much more together, my brother and I. Much more than our father could soon show us. And with that our lessons truly began.

Our father told us of Mount Celestia. He told us he needed to travel there. It would be some years before we were ready. Years of preparation for the task that lay ahead. The process wasn’t without pain. My brother was strong for me. And I in turn was strong for him.

Our tattoos were our power. They were essential for the journey that we would make. They were our link. Their pain and power connected us.

The process killed others. But we survived. Thrived. It would be years still before it was finished. We were marked. A sign for all who would see us was our sacrifice. They made us one. We were strong. We were one. This was not to last.

On our eighteenth birthday we were ready and the journey to Mount Celestia could begin. The two of us were need to open the link. But as the spell began I could feel it. I was the traveler; the sacrifice. The toll was death.

The truth was that our father was willing to kill us to get what he wanted. What was another small grave to him. We were not his children. We were his instruments.

I felt the truth touch Nicodemus and felt him recoil. The betrayal changed him. I felt his cold sanity when he realized he could stop this.

Life comes from life. So does power. This is the knowledge that broke Nicodemus and made him strong. He took power from our father. Took power from his life and from life around him.

He was my brother and he loved me. He did this for me. And I loved him.

Beau

Sandrine

From the lost diary of Sandrine Darque

After our father's betrayal Nicodemus and I fled. And it was not without difficulty. It was not just our home that was gone. Our home had been our entire world.

But we survived. My brother protected me. Always. He turned our art into profit; doling out small blessings and curses for coin. There was always a market for both.

My brother's ambitions were always larger than this world. This world...offended him. It was foolish and petty. He thirsted for more knowledge. And he would turn his art into anything that could make that happen. I began to truly see him then. I should have fled but I did not. He was my brother...and I feared him.

In time we were able to build ourselves a new home. Where we might study and learn. Where we might be safe from the world outside. But my fear grew as did my brother's obsession with me. I was terrified of what he could do. I grew fearful of what he would be capable of. What we would be capable of.

So I fled.

Into the forgotten realms where he might never find me. Where I might make what he had done right. Some of his evil I had allowed into this world.

It was in Abeir-Toril that I would remain. Safe from my brother for as long as he lived. I could only hope that this would be enough...

Graham Gopherbane

In the southern reaches of Chult, there lived a band of self-sufficient hill trolls who made their way in the world largely through farming rocky hillsides that others wouldn't find valuable. It was a mostly peaceful existence on the shores of snapping turtle bay.

This band of dwarves was far removed from the business of Port Naranzaru, or any other city in Chult. The Pirates of the west coast rarely came this way. They were isolated and this kept them safe. They farmed the soil, raised livestock, and like all dwarves, enjoyed crafting things of metal.

This particular tribe was not known for their achievements in battle as they avoided conflict, and other people in general. One young dwarf named Graham took a special interest in swords though. His curiosity led him to read up on many different styles of swords. He loved learning about fighting and self-defense. In his free time he would create armor and swords in the style of the variations he saw in books. The village had no real need for a garrison or militia, but they sent a small number of their youth off for biannual training with the neighboring mountain dwarves. Graham relished these days. He was a natural fighter, gifted with a sword and fluid on his feet. He earned the highest marks during these training retreats, but yet when he came back, he was just a farmer. Graham mostly kept to himself. He didn't play much with the other dwarf children, but in time they learned of his secret desire to be a great warrior. They would often tease him about his silly dreams. They would remind him that he was just a lowly farm kid, who's greatest accomplishment was killing the gophers in his father's fields. Graham grew to resent the other kids and spent more and more time alone, privately practicing with a sword. He found some peace in meditation but still, some bitterness remained. Graham began reading more and more about ancient combat and battle strategy, eventually falling in love with the way of the samurai. Graham would use all his spare time now crafting armor based on what he saw in his books. He dove deeper into meditation and withdrew from others in the village, save his family. The other boys, and young men in the village, now mocked him. They called him Graham the hermit. Graham the Gopher slayer. They loved reminding him of his place, a poor farmer kid in a boring town who would never find Valor.

Some would've described him as depressed during his adolescent years. His parents worried, but they took solace in the fact that he enjoyed his training and his smithing. Right around the time Graham reached adulthood his parents fell ill. They passed quickly and mysteriously. In the blink of an eye, Graham was alone. He had been somewhat of a loner all of his life, but this was different. For some time after, he was quite lost. He turned to his meditation and realized that he now had no reason to stay. He knew what he would do. He would head north to the temple in the mountains where he had learned about the monks who trained Samurai warriors. Graham left a note on the door offering the farm up to the rest of his village, but said that he'd be back someday. He packed up his belongings and he left.

The monks weren't what he expected. While he assumed they would be humans or elves, they turned out to be Arakokra. It mattered not. They had the knowledge he required. He knew this was the place for him. The monks heard his story and took him in. They saw the dedication in his eyes, but they also saw the fear and anger. They knew one thing. They had to help this young man before the anger turned to hate. He was accepted into the monastery and his training began in earnest. Graham underwent studies in combat strategy, meditation and dueling. His ability to focus on these tasks helped ease the passing of his parents. Graham stayed at the monastery for a few years at which time he finally managed to make a few friends. A kind princess also came to the monastery, and he took a liking to her. She was kind and caring. They developed a special bond. It bothered him that he would never be good enough for her, a high born lady. In time, his feelings for her made that too much to bear, and he decided it was time to leave the monastery. His masters agreed, and Graham set out for home. He wanted to return to his village and show the kids who made fun of him what he had become.

The trek back was a good time in Graham's life. He was optimistic and brimming with confidence. He had learned to make friends at the monastery and saw the world as a more welcoming and forgiving place. The pain of his parents passing was a distant memory. He took his time on his adventure back. He followed every river and explored every cave on his way through the jungle, vanquishing every foul beast or ill-intentioned adventurer in his path. He found these battles envigorating. He saw them as personal tests. They were honorable duels. He took no pleasure in killing, but saw battle as an art-form. The idea of a battle to the death between two worthy adversaries was the ultimate honor. He would meditate after each battle, finding strength from within.

Eventually, Graham made it back to his village. Despite everything he had seen to this point, he was not prepared for what awaited him. His village had been reduced to nothing more than charred rubble. The winds and rains had washed away the blood and much of the ash, but the bones remained. Houses were burnt to the ground. The entire village, gone. It could only be one thing. A dragon. Graham knew there was at least one such beast in the western foothills, but it had never come anywhere near their village before. Someone had clearly angered this dragon, and it unleashed its wrath upon his home. Graham never thought that he cared for his village. He never once thought he missed it. He had only wanted to come back to rub his success in the faces of those who had mocked and ridiculed him. Now that chance had been taken from him. Everything he ever had or ever wanted had been taken from him. The anger inside him boiled over. Graham forgot his teachings. He screamed. Over and over. He screamed out his hatred for the dragon. He screamed at his village. He screamed at his parents. He screamed at the death curse. He screamed until he couldn't scream any more.

He wandered. He had no plan. No home. No direction. For weeks he walked through the jungle in a haze of anger. Striking down anything in his path. Then one day he awoke and saw a strange dinosaur watching him from a distance. They locked eyes. It wandered away. He packed up his things and followed. He was entranced by this strange but beautiful beast. Eventually, it led him to a small clearing. Graham felt it was a peaceful place. He stopped, sat down, and for the first time since he saw his village, he meditated. It was there in the clearing that he felt somewhat at peace again. During his meditation, images of his parents came back to him. He remembered the anger when they passed. Then he felt a message come to him. He now had but one mission. He needed to stop the death curse from taking anyone else. He opened his eyes and looked up to see a pack of small dinosaurs staring at him. Without warning they attacked. As they rushed towards him, Graham felt a surge of energy flow through him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He had never been so excited to wield his Katana blade. He sliced through the small dinosaurs in a flurry of graceful, sweeping strikes, leaving half of them in pieces as the other half ran into the jungle. This could only be a message from Ubtao.

Graham had heard of Omu. He knew the direction. He turned and started out at once. He would stop the curse. Then he would find the poor souls who roused the dragon. And finally, he'd find the dragon.

Annihilation

The Tomb was Annihilated

The last thing that you remember is standing before the wizard as he waved his hands.

Now you find yourself staring at an entryway which lies at the edge of a forest.

The Druid's words ring in your ears: "within the Castle Darroch lies our quest. The dreaded Warlock Lord will use his Black Magic to raise a Behemoth from the dark depths. The combination of his evil arts and the great titan's power will surely destroy us all!! You are the last of the line of Kings, the seed of prophecy that was foretold eons ago. Only you can stop the evil one from darkening our world forever! Only in doing so, can you reveal your true character. Fare thee well."

Gritting your teeth, you swear by your god's name that you will destroy the Warlock Lord!!

It's the entrance to the Warlock's castle. You can hear wolves howling deep in the forest behind you...

In front of you is a heavy wooden door with iron hinges. A skull of some humanoid creature is mounted above the door. Its meaning seems quite clear: death lurks inside.

Open Door Hit Skull Open Door Hit Skull Open Door Hit Skull Close

Answer The Riddle

While scouting a neighborhood one night, I hear a commotion. I investigate high up from a roof top to see several figures holding down a struggling body with one of them clearly trying to stick something inside of the body. I lite multiple fires on the rooftop and give my best impersonation of the call of the city guard. They panicked, pulled out, and fled in fear of being locked away, yelling about how it wasn't worth it. I zip my way down to the ground and am shocked to find a flashing message reading............................ FIRMWARE FLASH INTERRUPTED. PRESS "BOOT" TO REBOOT OPERATING SYTSEM: