Abridged History of the 10th Age

Welcome to your Adventure Log!
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Every campaign gets an Adventure Log, a blog for your adventures!

While the wiki is great for organizing your campaign world, it’s not the best way to chronicle your adventures. For that purpose, you need a blog!

The Adventure Log will allow you to chronologically order the happenings of your campaign. It serves as the record of what has passed. After each gaming session, come to the Adventure Log and write up what happened. In time, it will grow into a great story!

Best of all, each Adventure Log post is also a wiki page! You can link back and forth with your wiki, characters, and so forth as you wish.

One final tip: Before you jump in and try to write up the entire history for your campaign, take a deep breath. Rather than spending days writing and getting exhausted, I would suggest writing a quick “Story So Far” with only a summary. Then, get back to gaming! Grow your Adventure Log over time, rather than all at once.

8th Festing
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24th Festing
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3rd Swording
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23rd Swording

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25th Swording
28th Swording
"...she clutched the book to her breast, a tome of mysterious design..."

From the Journals of Izmo Akeyan, Wind Lord, late of Tailimsia…

As a young one, I remember working at the mill, quite fondly in fact. I believe it had much to do with how I worked – which is to say, very little – but of course I was smaller then, and most of my time was spent making sure the grain trough didn’t become fouled in the humidity and heat. When grain was scarce, we milled winter beans, and I recall squeezing the hard gray beans between my fingers, harder and harder until finally it zipped out from between them…

And Redhorn feels something like that bean. We city elves are not without news, but I had no idea that tensions had become so high here when I arrived a few days ago. Now I feel as weary as the locals- shoulders hunched, eyes a little vague, the fear of war on every breath and every glance. Until last night, I was seriously considering leaving. But then, as is my nature, I made a few friends.

I was in The Signe of the Frothing Mug, an average example of that Brotherhood of Heimir staple, in the Fortress of the Sword-Militant, when three wanderers came in for a drink. I was…well let’s just I had partook my fare share of what the Mug had to offer – however, I could still tell these three were unique. It wasn’t an impressive conclusion, considering they were the only ones not stained in Redhorn’s insipid crimson dust, or wearing the symbol of the Sword-Militant order.

It seems to me, having lost what little I had in Tailimsia, that I had nothing to lose. Outsiders could mean a number of interesting things: pay, adventure, news, or even travel. I made myself known, just as the dwarf – oh yes, there was a dwarf, an imposing man, and an elf of the priestly order – was showing something to her companions. She clutched the book to her breast, a tome of mysterious design, all hammered zinc and fine etchings. I admit that I had not seen one like it before, but as I – ahem – “overheard” her end of things, it came to be known that it was of dwarf design.

Tact is a strong suit of mine, but so is knowing when to eschew kindness and get down to brass stays – I strode over and told them I would cast my lot with them if they would have me. Dare I say it, I was desperate. War is coming to Redhorn, we’re surrounded on all sides, and no good can come from waiting around for trouble to brew- better to make trouble first.

Luckily, I made the proper call. The man, Valerius, was as cocksure as I, and I believe he liked my manner. Sadly, the dwarf Ingrid was rather miffed at my intrusion on her precious secrets, but that is the way of the little folk. Askelor was as respectful as one would expect an elf to be, which is to say, quite a bit.

Came to find, I did, that these folk were members of some sort of adventuring guild: Sword & Sorcery was the name, and a strange, if potent, lot they were. After some fine banter on my part, their leader, Olin Griswald stepped in: and a curiouser fellow I doubt I have met. He was a rascally young man, seemingly too young to hold sway over such a group of adventurers, and yet I soon found myself charmed by his easy manner. He agreed to take on my sword under a period of observation, and if we both liked what we saw, I would join them under contract.

The whole matter was easier than expected. I was allowed to rest in the barracks of the fortress, and dined with them in the morning. Before I had time to finish my fast, though, a Paige came forward and all but ordered us to the chamber of the Marshall for some sort of conference. I admit I was almost afraid we were in some sort of trouble, but it seems Valerius is a Paige Devout of the Sword-Militant Order.

We were admitted to a hall – stately enough for the taste of Men, I suppose – where the Marshall Urquehart and a few other surly menfolk were worrying themselves- the situation around Redhorn is quite bad, indeed. They’ve lost contact with regiments, communication has been severed from a Brotherhood of Heimir Monastery, and the allegiance of dwarf and elf alike seems uncertain at best. I have no taste for politics, but I could tell that matters had turned dire. The Marshall wished to contract Sword & Sorcery for some kind of mission- an effort to act, in it’s capacity, as a mobile group of self sufficient trouble makers and problem solvers.

Olin seemed uncertain at first, and it occurs to me that it might have something to do with one of their members, Leu, being beyond this mortal coil. I’ve not yet seen the remains of this Leu, but Olin said that she is an elf of half blood, and they wished to resurrect her. The idea seems disturbing to me, but she signed her contract with S&S, and so it must be her wish.

Eventually, Valerius’s steadfast desire to follow the will of the Order seemed to quench Olin’s mind: he agreed to assist the Order. And so that is where they, and I, stand. I can’t fathom the strategy that Olin and the Marshall will decide upon, but these adventurers seems to be of a very unique nature: called to assist powerful entities as if they were themselves an unstoppable force. I feel troubled, naturally, at the danger that might follow…but at the same time, excitement boils in my veins.

It looks like I picked the right group of travelers to bother last night…

2nd Furrow
6th Furrow
"I hadn't know the steadfast warrior long, but he was a man of incredible courage, to be true..."

From the Journals of Izmo Akeyan, Wind Lord, late of Tailimsia…

There’s nothing quite like a ride in the country, is there? It reminds me of lazing on the hay cart back at home, though of course at the end of the day it’s that blasted Olin cooking up what may either be jerk stew or boiled roof shingles – so there’s that.

Also, I can’t believe the things we’re up to on this heinous journey, I really can’t. To think I’m just a few weeks off from village and here I am, camped-out within sight of that demonstrative line of trees known as the Smallwood, battered as we are already by traveling and wet and…

But here I am, getting ahead of myself again.

My party awoke, as adventuring parties always do, with a smarting good headache and the morning-after sick of a rude night in town. There were the usual blokes: the inscrutable masked elf Askelor, our fearless leader (looking almost the worst for wear) Olin, and of course Valerius, that shining Paige Devout. Spiraling in and out of misery was the little dwarf Ingrid, and then in the corner a fellow slumped in a chair, looking very worn out indeed.

I can’t personally fathom what happened the night before during the Libernean festival. Supposedly it has something to do with the goddess Raya, and freedom, and purpose, and all that quivering nonsense that villagers say to have a good excuse to get completely tight and set some kindling on fire. Clearly, Raya is the goddess of drop-dead drunkenness, and ale and the thick syrupy wine and Gods know what else that flowed in sufficient quantities to have laid us all out. So there we woke, with Valerius, as if in a dream, standing fierce and armed and telling us he was leaving for good.

Such is the life of a paige devout, I suppose. I hadn’t known the steadfast warrior long, but he was a man of incredible courage, to be true. In the presence of Olin’s frivolity and moody charm, Valerius often seemed austere yet concerned, like a busy minded lad with a purpose. In battle, or the staging room, he seemed more a leader that olin himself, and that worried me some at first. Over time, however, I grew to see things as they were – that Olin was in fact less a leader than he was a binding; holding the group together as much like a family as it was a parcel of rangy seekers. Valerius, though, was a fine figure, to be counted on and trusted. Truth be told, I think I will miss him more, as time passes on.

And what an assault on the senses, that morning! The next surprise, in quick succession like a volley of arrows, was the strange newcomer. Olin was quick to prod him, and the strange fellow – Agoste is his name (I think) – revealed himself to be a queer sort of wizard with an even queerer chair. Queerer still (and this is the limit, I’d say) was his revelation that, in our stupor the night previous, we had hired him on!

One look at his flying chair spent my cockles rumbling, and I dare suspect that some strange, instinctual part of my heart remembered how sick that damnable throne made us all.

Better still, the look on Olin’s face! Priceless truly, I’d give my sword to see it again. Sadly, with Valerius gone and this newcomer clearly not a spy or dagger holder, Olin conceded to his joining us. So now we have another of the wizardly folk – just what I need. Haeron’s Hammer, the horror of it all.

And then, like out of the old folk’s tales, a third stone landed on our head! -The deceased member of Sword & Sorcery appeared in the door. A fetching elf lass, I’m afraid to report, with fierce eyes. Olin seemed very tense at her arrival, and there was some business about contracts and the means of her resurrection (of course they haven’t even had me sign a contract, yet. Then again, I’ve not been payed either…). Perhaps I was the only one who noticed, but Olin seemed downright… disappointed. Not necessarily at Leu – that is her name – having been resurrected, but at the method in which she was returned. Never the less, the moment passed, and we decided we should be on our way; off to Smallwood and certain danger.

This war has tossed the lot of us in very big things. I can’t be sure what troubles the members of Sword & Sorcery have gotten themselves into – and with a member of their party just now brought back from the edge of death, one can safely assume there’s at least been a lot of it. Never the less, I get the feeling that our foray into the world of mercenary work, albeit mercenaries of a very special sort, is their, and my, most deadly challenge yet. Huge forces that I simply can’t or won’t fathom are massed within easy travel of us. and in our own small way, we’re scratching at the very heart of our enemies plans and deeds. Sometimes it feels like climbing across the back of a vast ferocious beast, who’s very size gives it the plume and air of the earth beneath our feet. We are flees, chewing at a raw nerve…and the beast WILL notice us, sooner or later.

The lot of us packed to go, I kept weary distance between myself and the undead one, Leu. True, she looked as normal and any Elf- but my way is not that of hers, and a return from death is a curious – and terrible – thought. I’ve decided I’ll give her a wide birth from here out.

As for the wizard Agoste, he’s….well he’s quite bit of fun! I wonder what the city-folk thought of us bedraggled bruisers trundling down the path with a blasted chair strapped to the back! Either we’re warriors or we’re cabinet makers, I say. But the nervous little fellow is too much fun to pick on, I’m afraid. It’s possible I’ve even given him a bit too much of a hard time this morning. Well… better not let up now!

----- 0 ------

First shift on lookout, and what a bore.

After a long day and a bumpy ride, we finally took up camp in the shadowed eves just outside of Smallwood. The country air had done wonders for my headache, but the jostling cart made my spine feel a bit ill put together. I’d wager the only position that would be comfortable right now is somewhere between laying down – and just being poured into a warm bowl like a cup of creamed soup. Ah, well. Be damned my sour mood, because I fear I was even meaner to that new Wizard, Agoste. He seems a splendidly nice fellow, but too darn nervous and clever for his own good. If anything, then, I like him more. Leu has proved to be an interesting specimen, herself. Quick with her tongue isn’t even the half of it. We both gave the impish wizard a bit of a row, but I think we all knew it was just in good fun.

Which leads me to the plan, which I like, because it’s very straight forward. Leu and I, by way of volunteering (and being the ones best suited to the task, if I may be so bold) will scout the Smallwood tomorrow, and try to “see what we can”, as the toughs in uniform have been known to say. Evidently S&S has had a run-in with these very cretins, and it could be very dangerous indeed. Either way, my companion and I will have to be at our best, but I trust her and my elven eyes implicitly. If all goes well, we can formulate a strategy to decimate their hold on the area. It seems to me that it would be best to flush them out, divide the force, and take it that way. But then again, I know not their number, nor their ability, and their familiarity with the Smallwood thick will be quite an advantage.

But for whom?

Clever trickery is on my mind tonight, it’s true. How can a young elf from such humble beginnings not wonder about it all, staring out into this expansive night? I’ve never been one for guts and glory, so of course I think we should flush them like pheasant and tear holes in their ranks. Or is it cowardice? I’ve never liked facing a team of thugs- and that’s been the very definition of life since joining S&S: bits of sneaking and scrabbling, followed by long period of getting thumped rottenly.

Ah well. I shouldn’t be so bitter. They’ll pay me eventually. I hope.

----- 0 ------

Being the 6th Furrow…

Chaos. utter Chaos. Olin was on watch when it happened, I think. I awoke to the sounds of hard-shelled scrambling, and Olin on his feet like a paladin on watch. By the time I had any conception of the fight, I was up as well, bow drawn, facing the horrible monstrosities that were bearing down on us.

Beatles, star and stone, beatles! What loathsome things they are, vermin. And big. Very big indeed.

In the heat of it, I caught Agoste flying wildly off on his strange chair, I let loose a sling-shot that did nothing at all, and my bow-string has had it’s last fight. A great wave of fume and fire shot forth from one of the horrid beasts, and it was a scorching affront to our being. Even I was hurt by it, and I stood some 20 feet from the creature. Simply chaos…

I don’t know what to say. My party stands, or stoops, or sits, picking at their wounds, collecting their things, saying a prayer here, and laying on hands where it can do some good. And what a morning! What a way to watch the sun rise, to see the silhouettes of your friends and companions lurching back and forth, trying to regain their composure and will. Even Leu, our returned one, was nearly felled. For a moment in battle, I almost leaped to her protection, but…

Well there can be no buts about it, can there? Either call it duty or call it cowardice, I suppose. At any rate, we all live, and so I can’t exactly fault myself too much. The fates held me where I stood, and perhaps if I’d lost my composure in battle, I wouldn’t be putting ink to paper now…

..then again, we’ve all taken a savage beating. I can’t help but think I could have done better. And, inexperience notwithstanding, i suspect the rest of them feel something like that, too. If we can be so viciously lashed by a few dreadful bugs, what chance do we stand against a battle-weary and dug in force? Dash that: what chance do I have in the field with a useless bow and a scorched face?

I’d like to go on, but I simply can’t. Work needs to be done here, and there’s a slim chance that Anunë smiles on me today, and a replacement bow-string can be found. Whatever the case, we need more time and more thought if we’re going to do anything except die out here in the Smallwood…and I pray that all of us are up to the task.

8th Furrow

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