My First Adventure : by Naiden Swiftcaller - Adventurer and Musical Genius

It was almost closing time at our favourite haunt in Rockyfalls, The Inn of the Red Onion. Barmaids frantically serving last drinks to sozzled farmers encouraging them to drink up. My sensitive ears picked up the sounds of talking in hushed tones which naturally twinged at my curiosity. Walking over to the two men responsible I casually strummed a little tune that I had created to loosen the lips of any who heard. Being simple farmers it worked a treat. The two men told of how they had noticed the man usually responsible for lighting the streets at night was nowhere to be seen, and in his place another man had tried to take the job upon himself, however he was no master of the stilts required to light the lanterns high up on the street poles.

I rallied my companions although initially we forgot to include the wizard. Druss and Crimson found a stone with a skull on it under the bridge where the towns whineos usually sleep. Where were they tonight? Something was up.

My ever alert ears (you have to have good ears in my line of work) picked up the startled cry of a man back in town. Crimson and Druss seemed to have their own ideas and ran off after Druss's mangy dog, tramping through the woods after a barking dog like thundering dumb beasts that thunder through the woods, er thunderingly.

My brave self and the fat cleric Randall decided to head to danger rather than have a nice jaunt through the woods. It was not long before we came to a dingy alleyway. My keen senses picked up a handfull of men ahead. They were dragging an inert townsman. Never one to sleep on the job I immediately recognised some of the men as local ruffians, Alam, Subor and Garis. Garis seemed to be the ringleader. There were others but the darkness hid them from me for now.

Our plan, although im sure I could have taken them all down by myself. Was instead to follow them. Surely they had done this before, I mean what happened to the bridge dwellers? So follow we did. We almost gave away our posititon when Randall's girth scraped upon a discarded cowbell or something but we blended into the shadows just in time.

Following the men through the woods we were making good progress. Them without notice Randall decided to bump into my Mandolin and it strummed loudly. It must have been Randall because I was sneaking much to cautiosly for it to have been my fault. Two men broke off from the main party and came back to investigate. There was no - where to hide. I made my move. Strumming a little tune I had come up with a week or so ago, my genius inspired me to pretend I was making a little ditty up for an upcoming festival. The men approached. "What are you doing?" one blurted out in a most common tone. "Seeking inspiration for a song im making up for the festival" I replied. One of the men seemed to believe every word I said. The other seemed a little more cautious. "I dont believe ya", "Nonsense, hes just making up a song" replied the other. I knew that this was the right time to strike, I had my mighty rapier at the ready and I neatly inserted it into the disbelieving mas stomach. He reeled in agony. Randall helped to and we brought the two men to justice. I reminded Randall that we were not common thugs and made sure he healed them so that they wouldnt die. Then we tied them to trees with their own undergarments.

It was then that we heard the dog again. We decided to follow these sounds as it appeared that the mutt had found something.

When we arrived it appeared that Crimson and Druss had blundered through the ruins of Cliffguard Keep where the bandits obviously had a base on their own. The dog had been used to check for traps and had found one. They could have healed it but fatty decided that 'divine' healing was only for humans and let the faithfull creature die in agony instead. I wont soon forget that.

Now that the leader had rejoined the party, me, we went on. Another battle or two ensued and we all worked cohesively together with my direction.

At the entrance to the keep, my ears picked up a sound. A lone figure emerged from the surrounding forest and shambled towards us. Getting closer to it I saw one of its eyes had popped out of its socket and slithered halfway down its cheek still attached by sinues. It muttered something under its breath. I couldnt quite make it out. I leaned in closer. "....brains", my blood ran cold and I ran....backtracked tactically to allow the cleric to turn the undead creature. It was soon destroyed, however when we next paid attention to our surroundings we noticed that the woods were alive with similar abominations.

Too many for the feeble cleric to handle, we beat a retreat into the old crumbling fortress. Inside we were safe for the time being. We closed the two hulking oak doors

Hoping that this would keep them at bay. Before this was done Druss covered the area before the door in oil and I have him my 1 gold piece tindertwig. I knew it would come in handy when I spent my last gold on it. As we closed the doors several of the nearest zombies caught flame.

I came upon a doorway that the mighty Crimson could not open even with all of this strength. “step aside”, I said and rolled up my shirt sleeve. I ran at the door and burst through it with an amazing show of strength and manliness. Unfortunately the seal around the door was some sort of trap and fire covered me, burning my robe and my some of my beautiful red hair. We spent the next few minutes convincing the less brave among us that this was the only way to go.

We checked out the entire area and came upon an entrance to the catacombs. From here on things would not go our way. We came upon an open area in the catacombs, where there had been traps before, this seemed to be too easy going for my liking. My keen eyes noticed that as I walked the dust I kicked up disappeared in the ground ahead of me. It didn’t settle onto the ground, it seemed to go straight through it. Sure enough the ground ahead was an illusion and it hid a huge spiked pit. The zombies had broken through and were closing. We kept the pit between us and them. A few fell in but some were smarter if this was possible and we were soon outnumbered. Without time to escape we had to run down a corridor where we had turned a portion of them. We hit a dead end and had to battle our way out. All heavily injured the final blow came when our warrior, Druss fell. The cleric went down to and things were looking desperate. I could not lift the heavier cleric and Crimson seemed interested in only rescuing a fellow warrior. I summoned all the strength I could and dragged the rolly cleric. Crimson hoisted the warrior over his shoulders and we headed for an underground river that we had found earlier. Once we reached the river there was no turning back. The idea was to get to the other side and at least be safe from the horde of undead that stalked us. Crimson hoisted Druss as far as he could but it was not far enough and he fell into the roaring river. He had to follow suit to try and keep him afloat. I rolled the cleric into the water and tried to keep him afloat. Druss’s body wedged upon a section of river that intersected the underground canyon and we could not get to him. Crimson and I did our best to keep the cleric’s head above water, then as the river went into a smaller canyon and we followed all we could do was try and save ourselves. It was sometime then that I lost consciousness despite my best efforts to stay awake and save the portly pastor. I woke to Crimson’s swearing. It seemed that at least the three of us were alive if not well. We staggered back to town to alert the guard. Hardly interested they gave us an acolyte cleric and a couple of fledgling guards to accompany us back. Surely our friend was dead but we had to try.

We stayed the night and healed up as best we could. We remembered our friend the mage and asked him along too.

We found our way back to where we had last seen our friend and discovered another level below the one where we lost him.

We eventually came upon an alter room with several stone slabs. On top of each slap lay a dead human. On one of the slabs lay our friend, Druss. My eyes immediately latched onto the ringleader of the thugs, Garis. My attention was quickly turned however to a much larger robed figure, “kill them, kill them all!” it husked.

I played a tune I knew would mesmerize the creature but everyone waded on into battle and broke my spell. The mage cast a magical missile at the large robed figure only to see in his horror that the missile turned around and came back towards him. The mage was almost killed by his own spell.

I jabbed some zombies with my rapier however this was not the weapon of choice and I soon switched to my trusty mace.

The cleric mangaged to heal Druss, luckily for us he had not succomed to being zombie fodder and the robed one obviously had other plans for him.

Undead were continually raised from the stone slabs as we tried to get to their master. Eventually they had been slain, Garis lay in a pool of his own blood. The robed one was strangely untouchable by our weapons. It sounded as if we were hitting stone. Then a lucky shot from Crimson or Druss made it bleed green blood. It was then that it simply faded into nothingness. A lucky escape. We would have killed it.

Behind the alter we found Druss’s equipment and some new ones for us. I found what I believe to be an Adamantine mace, I intend to discover what hidden powers this mighty weapon possess for surely a weapon in possession of a tall dark robed figure would be powerful.

Back in town, the dark plot exposed, the townsfolk saved, we decided it was time we left for a larger town. A place were we could do more good. Baldurs Gate was too provincial we decided, it would have to be Waterdeep.

The Companions

Druss - The half orc fighter.

Druss is as charismatic as a lump of wood and as witty as a slug.He is a half orc by blood however the only thing that betrays this, apart from his massive frame, is that his lower jaw juts out revealing two small tusks.Standing 6'10", with hands the size of cured hams, and arms as thick as a normal mans leg, Druss has a formidable appearance.

Druss is the product of Orc's attacking a outlying farm owned by elderly couple almost 20 years ago. During the attack the farmer tried to defend his wife but was brutally killed and old lady was savagely raped. The old woman despite being already in her 50's became pregnant. She kept the child as she could not bring herself to kill it as she had never been able to fall pregnant to her husband. Birthing nearly killed her as the babe was the size of most 3 month old infants and she raised Druss teaching him to be a farmer.

Druss worked hard on the farm however the small patch of dirt could not support him and his mother as she needed many expensive healing herbs to fight an ongoing aliment. By the time he was 8 he was the size of most teenagers and he was working on other farms using his scythe to harvest crops with surprising efficiency. Druss moved from farm to farm earning extra money and soon became known as "The Harvester".

In the off seasons when there were no crops to harvest Druss tried hunting with a great bow he made however his size often gave him away. He then started working on fishing boats harpooning seals for blubber. Returning from his last trip he came home to find his mother dead in her bed, the illness finally taking her.

Now that nothing remained at the farm, Druss gathered together some gear, and with the money he had earned on the fishing boat bought some armour and had his harpoon and scythe converted into weapons for battle.

Druss was now ready to see what the world had to offer him.

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Naiden Swiftcaller - Human Bard.

In complete opposition to Druss, Naiden is all Charisma and not much else. Wit and his natural ability to pick up any stringed instrument and play it as good as almost anyone are what have got him by over the years. And made him popular with the local ladies, and perhaps not so popular with some of their husbands and suitors.Naiden knows a little of just about everything, which can be helpful but oftentimes can also be dangerous. Just enough knowledge to get himself and his friends into trouble is generally the outcome.Raised by simple farmer parents. They still work the land and Naiden helps...but not so that his skin would become calloused and cracked from too much hard work, he has a professional appearance to keep up you know.Before Naiden had even seen his first Lute or Mandolin, or sung his first note or even batted his first eyelid his inspiration for his later adult profession came from a wandering minstrel, Dupont the Grifter as he was known in his own circles, Dupont the Lute as he would have strangers know him. Dupont had been traveling through Rockyfalls but had been forced to stay for the whole winter due to heavy snow. He had been forced to make the best out of a bad situation. Using his charisma and appeal he lived comfortably off the charity of many of the townsfolk. During this time Naiden had become quite awed by the tall stores and limited musical talents of this wandering bard. As winter lessened its grip upon the area, so did the appeal of this overrated bards performances. He bid a hasty departure from the village and took with him many trinkets that he had managed to grift from lonely widows. Dupont's departure only heightened Naiden's curiosity with anything artistic. Over the years Naiden developed an extraordinary natural talent with stringed instruments of all varieties. He wrote numerous poems and melodies, songs to both lighten and sink hearts. Naiden has played at every annual Solstice Festival and the ever popular Onion Festival, his ballads bringing a tear to many eyes, no pun intended....well actually pun intended.In Naidens mind and perhaps many of the villagers too, his talent could not be denied and a strong drive to become recognized throughout the land has taken hold of his every thought. Naiden plans to take the world by storm with his artistic genius.

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Randall - Human Cleric of Tymora

Randell is a medium-sized, but quite overweight, man whose ribald youth is starting to turn into the grotequery of middle age. Most would say he was losing his physique, except that he never had a physique to start with. His shoulders are slightly hunched in pain from years of scribing books in the monastery, but he remains strong yet and has not yet fallen completely into the
decrepitude that the life of the sedentary often leads to.

He wears dull brown clothing, and his physique is turning to fat. Fine hands creased only with the labour of the indolent are out of keeping with the rest of his generally boorish appearance. His cassock is habitually stained from dragging in the mud, and occasionally from food if it is not wash day. He has an anxious look in his eyes, and a face clear of stubble, but he nonetheless
strives to project an air of supreme confidence that his abilities will win him through at the last, and this charismatic charm, despite his physical deficiencies, pervades the perceptions of those who see him.

Randell has been studying and working in the secretive monastery high on the hill for far too long. He has studiously avoided progressing in the ranks of the clergy through the studied art of competence at the cashbook and the journal, and not through competence as a missionary bringing the blazing light of Pelor to the peasants. Randell's calling from Pelor has been different to that, but no less important. Randell has spent ten years as the bursar for the orphanage, and in this role he has been competent, faithful, and diligent, if not brilliant.

To date, Randell has shown a hot desire for nothing but food and the avoidance of physical labour, but he has maintained his devotions to Pelor, and Pelor has never doubted him. However, due to his contact mainly with children during the day and his hessian cassock at night, he has maintained an appearance of being boorish and ill-kempt to most people, although they nevertheless find him charismatic and wise. Randell's indolence at physical labour, however, has brought him some scorn from rivals within the priesthood, and there have been rumours that Randell's role in the orphanage has allowed him to indulge in forbidden, perverted pleasures of the flesh while sustaining his studied art of laziness through misrepresentation and fraud in the monies of the Church. Completely unfounded, these rumours have lead to Randell's removal from the post of bursar, and the Abbott has told Randell to seek his way in the world to bring the blazing fiery light of conversion to peasants, gentry, and the nobility. Randell is
dismayed at the besmirchment of his good name, with rumours unproven and never brought directly to him by his accusers, and is woe-begone indeed to find that his former post of bursar - where he did nothing but good for the children - has gone to an overbearing, thin, man of despotic nature and devilry in his eyes. The rumours of Randell however have been widespread, and Randell's accusations have been met with stony silence and the desultory glare of the stupid. Randell's previous indolence is not completely cured, but he is now driven by his love for the small creatures of the forest and the small children in the orphanage - oh what shiningly bright eyes they have as they learn of the blazing crimson way of Pelor from Randell's tongue and become even more rooted in their faith! - towards a more proactive and adventurous way of life.

Randell is tired of having bad things happen to him. Now, Randell wants to happen to bad things!
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Crimson - Human Male Finesse Fighter (ooo ahhh) :P

Crimson is a professional and always has an air of control about him. Every move he makes or word he speaks is calculated to achieve desired effect. He never allows emotions or the circumstances, no matter how dire, to master him. He tirelessly maintains himself in top condition, and constantly seeks to improve his martial skills.Crimson also is terribly cunning, able to outthink as well as outfight his opponents. One aspect of his professionalism that is rare in a man is that Crimson usually never kills unless it is necessary. There has been the occasional exception, where Crimson killed somebody simply because he really wanted to. On two of these three occasions the victim had made the mistake of angering Crimson and provoking him. Crimson has vowed to "never leave an enemy in his wake." He does not take threats lightly. For the most part, those who are not enemies of Crimson or his allies have nothing to fear from him.

Crimson's greatest hatred and disgust is reserved for those who are willing to abandon or betray their children in an effort to save themselves. This is because of the events during his formative years, specifically because of something that was done to him by adults that as a child he should have been able to trust. Although Crimson has never revealed his total past, it appears that somebody close to him, most likely a parent or a close family friend, betrayed him when he was less than nine years of age. Whatever it was that happened, Crimson has been extremely reluctant to completely trust anybody since then.

Crimson is a tactical master, taking every advantage offered him and seeking to create more. He'll often do this by taunting his foe into anger and mistakes. Crimson is a consummate warrior, combining his agility and warrior's weapon skills to be a very dangerous swordsman. He specializes in a two-weaponed fighting style with the use of a two shorts or short sword and lonsword for added damage. He also favour's the bow or Heavy Repeating Crossbow.

Crimson reveals little about his past, but a little is known about his early life. Crimson was born into the streets and spent his youth in Baldur's Gate; here, he was constantly abused by his father and his uncle. He was taken in by a mercenary guild and taught the tricks of the trade including the basics of fighting. As Crimson practiced, he flourished, becoming a most efficient swordsman with unmatched agility and was hired by many merchants for his sword arm.