A brave and cheerful band met on the road.....
This is the veritable and true history, to the best of my recollection in my twilight years, of the brave band of adventurer's and their exploits that live long in my memory even to this day....
Now it must be said, over the months and years of our campaigning that we all took more blows to the head (arms, back. wrists, shins, chest, collarbone, throat, stomach, pelvis, neck, well hell, just about everywhere you can break a bone, raise a bruise or shed blood...). These injuries have certainly coloured our recollection of events, and the details contained herein within this journal are mine alone. I will beg your forgiveness if there is a slight embellishment of our great deeds on ocassion in this narrative and no doubt around a tankard or two, my brave companions recollections of events no doubt differ than mine, the general gist of our adventures is a true and fair account.
No, when I say "we", we have a problem, as despite our years together and great deeds and tragic battles we partook in from back alleys, to slavers dens, from mountain passess, to underground temples of the snake cults, we could never could agree on a name.
The closest we got was repeatedly calling each other "my brave companions" so lets get on with the cast of characters in this brave, yet sordid, heroic, yet pathetic story of how we rose from obscurity to be fabled adventurer's known throughout the fair and cosmopolitan metropolis of Parsantium as well, you know, without a name for the party this bit doesn't get any easier to write....
Styr, man of the North good with an axe? (actually, given the entire party has taken a few too many hits to the head - recollections of Styr's brave an selfless contribution and characteristics are somewhat sketchy...) Great man, I was proud to be with him at the end...and delighted to be able to tell his story, rather than the other way round......
Mord Ragnarsson, A wiley dabbler (some what more over the months, indeed) in the arcane arts, often referred to as "the Dissector" , no one ever thought to ask why, perhaps somethings are best left unsaid..... and his faithful familiar Hraben the crow (who as we will see has saved the lives of one or more of the party more times than you would think probable, but then the truth is often so much more outlandish than the pathetic minds and imaginations of mere mortels when the gods toy with our fates.)
Dorodir, Ah Dorodir, pretty damn useful in a tight spot, but as we will see unfortunately not blessed with great luck....
Garmund, a devoted acolyte of Lycilla who's piousness and rough calloused hands have brought back, seemingly from beyond the grave (along with Mord it has to be said, a dab hand at the mdeicinal, not divine arts....), each of us on more than one occasion....stickler for rules and all things goody too-shoes, we ribbed him, but only playfully....
Rakas Stick, A not unfortunately flawed fighting man. Capable and reasonably strong a bout of the "wasting disease" has unfortunately lumbered this skillful fighter with a poor constitution and he lacks the healthy vitality and air of indestructibility that often so distinguishes men of his profession.
Lohyq Joroti, your humble journalist and artist of the redistribution of wealth, crack shot with his longbow and lover of shadows for the anonymity they afford the shy and retiring types of his profession.....
My recollection fails me as to the sequence of events that led to these six brave fellows joining up on the road to Parsantium, but I do know, the gods were shining on us as we did, because no greater companions I have known, and besides, we all became fabulously wealthy - for a time - and shared many hardships, losses and moments of glory. We poked death in the eye numerous times and came out of it bloodied, but typically alive (exceptions are always here prove the rule, but I digress...)
Of what I am sure, we did not meet in a tavern, well maybe we met Barrabus the Bard in the tavern, but this is just a detail and somewhat hazy in my advanced years. Barrabus, we all liked him, he had a "troupe" of youg scallywags, that he took care of an tried to imbue with the finer arts he professed to him himself have in abundance, alas we were never really given chance to know much more...
Our first port of call in the great city of Parsantium was the Black Minotaur where as the weary travellers we were, we sought somewhere to slake our thirst, fill our bellies and amuse our spirits before finding a corner to sleep.
It was here on our very first evening in Parsantium that a chance encounter in the courtyard of the Black Minotaur Tavern would lead to fabulous adventures in far flung and exotic lands, wealth, jewels, magic instruments of dangerous and weird power, and astounding feats of arms that were a marvel to behold........
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