*When you open the book, you find perhaps two pages of text and two hundred pages that are completely blank. The text looks hurried and written with a wavering hand. The spelling also appears half-pheonetic, perhaps the way the individual speaks it.*
--- BEGIN ---
Well la-dee-da young adventurer, yeh found my journal. Perhaps I should have enclosed some sort of magically appearin' cookie fer yeh. I suppose you are lookin' for tales of grandeur or some recipe to create some magical thingydoesit --- maybe you are expectin' some great story of how I came from some terrible tragedy and overcame it... later riding dragons across the realm liberatin' the repressed.
WELL I DIDN'T AND I AIN'T!
All you youngin's walkin' around with yer fancy armor an' acid-dipped swords an' yer magical whosiwhatsits. I ain't havin' it! Why, back in my day we had to fight orcs with mundane swords using our cornfield-hewn bodies to defend our lands from those wretched Orcs. And we did! And people died! Ain't no glory in tha'! Hells, I fought better battles with a grain thrasher than yeh probably ever will with tha' king's-ransom worth of gear. Hrmph!
You know wha' I did? Well I did jus' enough adventuring to get a face full of scars, a hand full of coins, and a long march back home. Dagnabbit, that's what yer supposed ta' do! When I got there, yeh know what I did? Bought me a plot of land, worked it till my hands bled, got paid just enough to make it, and LIVED. That face full of scars!? Well it got me bedroom-accommodations-fer-one, awkward looks during negotiations fer grain sales, and this fine rake --- because the seller left it when he RAN AWAY.
I hope you are rethinkin' yer path you young numbskull because THIS is what yeh may be lookin' forward to!
--- IN CLOSING ---
So there yeh have it. Got up. Fought some orcs. Got paid. Bought the farm. Farmed it. Got bored. Resisted the urge to plant some plate boots in these young-hood-wearin'-mopey-folks' keisters. Took a walk. Worked the land as a hobby. Lost this book. Probably died somewhere.
Now if yeh don't mind... return this damnable book to Wallace T. Fallow at the Friendly Arm Inn. I am in dire need of paper to write reminders to myself of how pathetic these youngins are as well as somethin' fer usin' in the outhouse.
And don't be expectin' much of a reward if yeh bring this to me. Assumin' I am still alive, my coin goes to ale, flirtatious wenches, and travelin' expenses. Jus' like it should! HRMPH!
Good day!
---------- And who put this potted plant on my bed? By the Nines Bently, if that's another one of yer beholder-potted-plant-illusions...
Last edited by ragnarok1983 on Sat Dec 28, 2013 11:09 am, edited 4 times in total.
The thick book is filled with calenders, holidays in celebration of Chauntea's bounties, planting schedules, general weather patterns, and various chapters containing some semblance of "wisdom."
--- CHAPTER SEVEN ---
On the Gods and of Life
Followers of Myrkul:
You are goin' to die. We are all going to die. Quit reminding us of it.
Followers of Chauntea:
You will toil the earth and sow the benefits of that labor. Then yer goin' to die.
Followers of Helm and Torm:
You shall bring forth order from disorder, probably battle the lawless, and then yer goin' to die.
Followers of Tempus:
You shall enter the fray. Some day yer goin' to die.
Followers of Waukeen:
You shall barter and borrow until yer last tomorrow.
Followers of Talos:
Yer goin' to die sooner than the rest of us.
Followers of Gond:
Ye shall tinker until the last of your days... which will arrive when blow yerself up.
Followers of Illmater:
You will keep many of us from dying. You'll probably die twice.
Worshipers of death, *this* is what you sound like. BAH! Be gone with yeh!
Orcs and Orc-Kin:
I ain't never met an Orc I liked nor a Half-Orc I liked half as much. They are equal parts "green" and "destructive." Orc folk are best used as battle fodder and then as compost for stinking swampy plants you wish to grow by your hate-filled neighbor. It is best if you cremate the corpse first as the charred remains are especially porous and really hold in the water.
Elves:
If you have a superiority complex, these are your equals. If you ever needed to be put down, humbled, and surrounded by the aloof elite, they are the sorts to do it. By the Gods, you can be the finest smith in all the lands, but you meet an elf and he will share with you how his great great great grandfather (who is still quite alive) once forged some dragon-magic-infused mithral blade that was able to sunder the world even if wielded by Halfling of two years of age. They simply must be the best at everything! Hrmph! Why, these beardless, effeminate, pretentious, pointed-eared-sorts would tell a Dwarf how to better grow a beard!
Halflings:
They appear as children. Most are of short attention spans, unless that attention is focused on your coin purse. If you see one in the distance, it's already too late... your jewelry is gone. Just let it go. Always leave a change of clothing hidden when entering a Halfling village. Whatever you have on your person will be stolen before you depart. At least this way you have a set of britches and a shirt on your back to continue your journey.
Gnomes:
I ain't never sure if I have truly seen one. Then again, I am told they are master illusionists... so it's safe to assume that most of the people I meet may be Gnomes --- and any that appear as Gnomes are most likely some other race under a Gnomish guise. If you are dead set on meeting one, I believe Bently Mirrorshade at the Friendly Arms Inn is the best representation. Do be careful... if you stay at the inn he may wake you in the morn with the illusion of a beholder laying beside you.
Dwarves:
These stout folk are about the most trustworthy folk you will meet. They like ale, jewels, armor, and axes... and are quite straight to those points. A rule of thumb then, is that they are as trustworthy as their beard is long. If you can gather yourself up enough of them to make a Dwarven Moat (That is, a moat filled with Dwarves) you have constructed what is essentially the ultimate fortress. If a wall is breached, they'll plug it. If your armor is damaged, they'll fix it. If you need a fine blade, they'll smith it. If anyone approaches and they'll give them a run-through with an axe.
They key then, is to build a draw bridge approximately four feet from the ground --- which is an adequate height well out of the reach of the Dwarf-moat below.
--- CHAPTER THIRTEEN ---
Sizing Up Travellers, Part 1
"What is in a Name?"
Frankly, much is to be found in a name!
Gutteral Stops:
If their name sounds something like "Grog'nak Fraggle'nock," chances are, this individual is evil and intends to put you and yer innards in two very-separate places. They are probably Orcs or possibly Drow. Maybe some unholy union of both. They are to be avoided.
Knightly-Sounding Names and Titleage:
These will fall into two categories with absolutely no compromise.
1. These individuals be shinin' beacons of light in the darkness. They have earned the names and appropriate titles through their actions and have most likely NOT bestowed the names on themselves, but were rather given such. Such folks as are found in the Radiant Heart may be good examples, except that Half-Orc due to his Half-Orcness. Even then, I hear that he is in fact, a noble creature. Bah!
- OR -
2. These individuals are the worst sort of evil and use such nomenclature as an inane concealment which they think will be adequate to conduct their devious deeds without interruption. No parent goes about naming their children "Honor," "Integrity," or "Valiant." ** You can safely assume the sort with self-given names to be an ignorant sort of evil, convinced that those around them are even less intelligent.
These convicts can range from the wild sort of evil right to those that would use the laws against good folk --- much as a large owner of land would call himself "Noble James the Loving" despite the near-slavery and poverty conditions he forces upon his serfs. Likewise, an individual with a name such as "Valiant" is the sort of fallen paladin sort that would kill an old man's dog just to have an excuse to kill the old man --- who would surely be roused to avenge his fallen pooch. Such actions are done by small-minded Evil, individuals of great insecurity, and males with anatomy comparable in size to that of a hamster.
** The one exception is the name "Chastity" which is more-or-less bestowed upon daughters by parents who hope she won't make the same mistake as her mother did nine months ago.
Names of Simpletons:
Ahh, my favorite sort. They are good company and though they may be... erratic or fairly uneducated... are generally good folk. "Bob," "Sue," "Jimmy," and the like are those of which I speak. While it is not always true, this is a decent rule-of-thumb. Bless their hearts.
--- CHAPTER FOURTEEN ---
Sizing Up Travelers, Part 2
"Adventurers, Beware!"
Ah yes, adventurers! Surely they have captured our imagination in our youth. Admittedly when I was a youngin' myself I gave in to a wee bit of adventurin'. When we are young we do stupid things like chase fame and easy fortune. Do not fall for such a cantrip! Truly think about it... give yourself a chance to reflect on all the times you have met these no-good trouble-seekers.
1. Wherever they go, destruction follows.
Ever notice when an "Adventuring Company" travels through your lands that wanton destruction rises in their wake? Think about it! You see adventurers, and all of a sudden, nobles' daughters go missing, Goblins or Orcs invade the farmlands, or there's some undead-creatin' blight. 'Tis no small coincidence! The Gods hate these so-called "adventurers."
2. They are completely insane.
They actively seek violence with anything. ANYTHING! Leave them alone in a basement too long and they will be slashing at the foundation claiming that it is some sort of stone-and-mortar-lich! They are prone to killin' anything that moves. By the Nines, they'd kill your dog and gut him right in front of you... LOOKING FOR GOLD COINS! Like dogs go around eatin' coinpurses. Bloody madness!
3. Idiots! All of them!
Listen to their conversations.
Adventurer: "Good day old sir! I was curious, would you care to join us on our noble expedition?"
Me: "Well I am an old man, with a rake, a potbelly, and the only assistance I can offer comes in the form arthritic fisticuffs."
Adventurer: "Well we intend to go into a dungeon and -"
Nothing good comes after the mention of the word "Dungeon." Aye. "Sure, let's all go down into some dank area with maybe a single exit, far below ground, filled with all manner of beasts that desire to end my existence, turn me into a slave, torture me, etcetera... and I am to go to this location with a person I JUST MET and do so VOLUNTARILY!?" By the grace of the Gods, I hope they stumble upon a potion of intelligence, mistake it for ale, and drown during their attempt to chug the contents.
You see, adventurers are bloody mad and about as bright as a torch thrown into bottom of the sea. They are to be avoided.
Let me be straight with yeh, Mr. and/or Ms. reader, there is nothing wrong with a bit of jingle-jangle with each step. I ain't never been against a feller earnin' enough coin to provide fer himself, his family, and even others. 'Tis a noble pursuit even!
Now then, the obscenely wealthy are another case entirely. The ones that hoard such wealth are either overtly evil, or at the very least, ignoble through inaction. They would let their fellow man go hungry, disheveled, and doomed to die in some musty alley. Those who would not help others will find that wealth in this plane shan't help them in another!
Some Observations and Limitations
1. Ever seen a rich feller ford a river? A'course not! All that gold and whimsical whatnots would weigh the feller down and drown him! Do be careful, the whole river thing applies to Vampires as well, or so I hear. By the Nines, it might be a wealthy Vampire! Beware! Undead smug, hoooooo!
2. Ever seen an opulent feller in battle? You shan't unless he was armored in a king's ransom and thereby makin' himself the biggest target fer a dragon you ever did see! Glimmering armor and wavering arms-of-epic-adipose-rage abound, my dear reader! Avoid combat with them as they surely own the aforementioned dragon-magic-mithral-blade-of-doom [see Chapter 12]. And so I restate: Avoid combat with them... but I ain't opposed to you leavin' a note with the rich feller's address fer a Chromatic Dragon. He'll do the hard work.
3. All those riches and you know where he'll end up? A pine box --- Probably sooner than later after he goes to the Auction Houses and bids a thousand piles of gold fer enchanted woolen underbritches (Thereby making himself a target for opportunists and thieves). Most expensive itchy nether-regions on all of the Sword Coast! Hrmph!
4. Morals and Gold appear in inverse proportions... thus... these folk are a blight. They take fer granted the breadbasket before them was brought by calloused hands who work the fields, thrash the grain, mill it, and bake it.
Summary
In closing, if you come across these sorts of corpulent excrescence, encourage them to change their ways. It may help them as much as it helps others! None will escape the ravages of time. Even Elves are subdued by it.
Chauntea's bounties have been an overflowin' cornucopia of blessins.
As such it is right and good to give thanks to the hands that have guided me,
a flawed and bitter man,
through my many years.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of blight,
I shall fear no weevil: for thou art with me;
Thy rake and thy flail,
They comfort me.
Surrounded by ungrateful youngins and fallen paladins,
you see fit to ensure me and fellow farmers are fed and clothed.
You anoint my head with the hot sweats;
My seeder overflows.
Surely your sickles and shovels will callous me
All the days of my life,
And I will live and dwell in the field,
For what feels like forever.
Paws "Paws rode a dragon once! Uhm. Scales are... uncomfortable. Learned value of saddle, yep-yep." Leo Hammersmitty Techsmith. Whhhhrrrzpt! Baldric BarringtonThe Politician (Died of starvation after a long torturous existence following him losing his career)
