Game Logs

[The Dungeon Master]

Xarvok's Morning Prayers

Nardur'kiev 21st, 12082

Dear Thor,

Thank you, my Lord, for another clear and uneventful day of travel. No doubt your cleansing rains are visiting another region of this world and removing the stains of evil the way the rivers washeth drool from my tunic. Today, we head back to the small mountain fortress called Quasqueton to forage for treasure and adventure. I have new armor to don and a new shield to carry; should I meet my mortal end this day, I will arrive upon your shores well-dressed for battle and itching to drive the nail of freedom into the board of tyranny and oppression. Blaarg, too, is ready, and has taken the halberd I bought him as a gift not only from me, but from You as well. He will make a fine soldier and a mighty addition to your cause. His frightening appearance seems to be drawing attention away from my own misshapen visage -- a fortunate development, to be sure. Robyn's verbal jabs were beginning to sting, and I have been hesitant to defend myself, lest I lose my temper and cause some harm to come to the woman who, despite her faults, is still a capable warrior, not to mention our party leader.

The Blessed Hammer striketh the Anvil of Evil and raiseth the Spark of Victory. Amen.

*****

Sa'mar, Nardur'kiev 22nd, 12082

Dear Thor,

Oh, Lord, whichever of Your brethren created the stinky lizard folk, may they be stricken down with Your vengeance and furious anger! They may have run from Your hammer as wielded by the hands of this humble servant, but not before taking out their aggressions on our comrades. Even Blaarg, he whom so recently swore his allegiance to You, was seriously wounded by their claws and stench. The poor lad was so stricken that he resorted to following Robyn's advice and started eating pieces of rock. There is no doubt the rock was magical, my Lord, and I would be lying to say that I did not taste of it myself, but I have lived underground for long stretches of time, my Lord, and never have I seen anyone feast upon rock with Robyn's hungry ferocity. Moreover, I fear that Blaarg has been poisoned; though his symptoms have passed, he continues to ask me Robyn and I for whiskey or brandy, no doubt to kill whatever toxin he ingested.

Blessed be saliva, for it cleans the teeth the way that Your rain washes dirt from a stone. Amen.

*****

Tu'mar, Nardur'kiev 23rd, 12082

Dear Thor,

I'm afraid that I don't remember much about what happened yesterday, and what I do remember feels like a bad dream. I remember feeling that my connection to You was severed by whatever that was that seeped into me and tasted like a mixture of charcoal and molasses, and that fact alone has convinced me that I may be better off not remembering the rest. I remember the Wizard's library, though, my Lord, and you will be happy to know that I liberated what books I could carry from its dank recesses. I wish I could have done the same for the creatures imprisoned there, but their cages were too well-crafted. Speaking of literary matters, I also remember that we discovered the diary of a damsel who used to live in Quasqueton; in fact, she claimed that Quasqueton was named for her. Her words shed a little insight into the fortress's existence and design. I could do without her fondness for oyster droppings, though, but "to each her own," I guess.

In the volume of our voice we find the power to moveth others the way that shovels moveth the earth. Amen.

*****

Quay'mar, Nardur'kiev 24th, 12082

Dear Thor,

I am saddened to report that Robyn appears to be growing madder by the day. Yesterday, she began talking like a pirate, and her behavior took a noticeable turn towards the dark side. Lord, I am sorry, but I just can't seem to get through to her. She barely listens to Erik, either, though, so I don't think it's a matter of Our calling being stronger than his. Erik has proven himself to be an able healer, though, and definitely trustworthy. Perhaps his deity is an aspect of yourself in disguise? Oh, dear Lord, I hope so. We do seem to have more in common than anyone else in this adventuring company, despite our obvious differences of opinion.

It's true -- yesterday, my ancestry be damned, I began to feel sorry for those dirty, drunken Orcs Robyn busied herself with torturing. Should I blame the conjurer vile enough to brew all of those nasty concoctions? At least we were able to get the poor Orc who had been stricken with intestinal distress to foul that vat of ale before Blaarg woke up from his inebriated stupor. Even with Your guidance, my Lord, I don't think we'd ever be able to get him out of there otherwise.

Praise be to the Lightning and the Thunder, for they driveth the elf from the tree and the dog under the bed. Amen.

*****

[The Dungeon Master]

Awesome! Thank you Xarvok, devout Altar Boy of Thor. That's worth 171 XP.

[The Dungeon Master]

Run’mar, Nardur'kiev 25th, 12082



Dear Thor,



I must admit, my Lord, we accomplished little yesterday, mostly due to being so exhausted after our full day of adventuring on “Tu’mar” -- as the locals call it, ignorant of Our Sabbath. I interpret this exhaustion as some minor penance for failing to observe a day of rest in your honor. Fair enough. Please allow me to apologize, my Lord, for I am deeply sorry, and will be more careful in the future. My delinquency in this matter was due to my belief that You are far more forgiving of such transgressions of obedience than Robyn, whose single-minded dedication to treasure acquisition is not bounded by the tenets, nor the holidays, of the sensible. Judging by the cries of anguish and the cacophony of clattering ringlets we heard coming from her tent last night, however, Robyn, too, has been made to atone. Elven chain! Bah. A dwarf knows tin when he sees it.



Also, thank you, my Lord, for the glorious storm you blessed us with last night. Blaarg and I had a grand time celebrating amidst the strikes of Your Hammer. Would that we owned more than one tent, though, for poor Ivee and Carson, unaccustomed to fully appreciating your splendid displays of water and light, were forced to find sleep with only the bellies of their mules for cover.



Blessed be the meek, for they are tasty and easy to catch. Amen.



*****



Ara’mar, Nardur'kiev 26th, 12082



Dear Thor,



Oh, the horror! I awoke this morning from a terrible dream! Giant maggots, everywhere! Crawling at my feet, and devouring my companions, not to mention my humble pony! Then, the connection my consciousness shares with little Thara was broken with a sickening CRUNCH as one of the dream-maggots violently ended her innocent and sparkly existence. Gah! Err… um… excuse me, Lord…



(unintelligibly guttural noise)



Ahem. OK, moving along…



The bulk of the day was uneventful, yesterday, my Lord, as we made our way from Lake Cauldron to the crossroads alongside the river that flows towards Farzey. Today we should complete the second leg of our journey into town. We seem to be making much better progress overland than we have in the past, no doubt due to our greater familiarity with the terrain. And speaking of rapid progress, my arm-shield has accumulated so much rust in the past two days that it is now completely brown. In Farzey I will have to pick up some tools to take better care of these oversized dinner-plates that I wear. Forgive me, my Lord, for I had assumed that such supplies would be included in the set of maintenance tools I purchased to keep my chain mail in working order.



I was born in the sign of water, and that’s where I make my home; the albatross and the whale, they are my brothers. Amen.



*****



Gart’mar, Nardur'kiev 27th, 12082



Dear Thor,



I am proud to report, my Lord, that your recently-converted servant Blaarg is progressing quite strongly as a warrior under Your watchful eyes, despite his persistent nuttiness of demeanor. Yesterday, he had the brilliant idea of breaking open the carcasses of the boulder-like creatures that we encountered and bested in combat. I was about to voice my displeasure, confident that this would result in nothing more than an unpleasant and unnecessary spillage of gooey, still-warm innards, when his first blow cracked one of the rock-things in two, revealing a shiny gem at its center. Not unlike the round, white fecal matter which the humans find so fascinating that is found growing within the oysters of the sea, it was, my Lord, though quite clearly *much* more valuable.



In fact, later in the day, we were able to sell the gems we harvested in that bizarre manner, as well as a host of other items we liberated from Quasqueton. A local magician named Rufus was able to divine that the well-made studded leather we pulled off of that... *unfortunate* Orc the other day was, in fact, enchanted in some manner. (In retrospect, I know not why I didn’t think to check our items for magical auras myself – well, my channeling abilities are better served healing Your faithful servants, I trust.) We hired Rufus to study the armor over night; I will visit him this morning to learn of his findings. His price was high, but it will no doubt be worth it, considering the suit’s obvious resistance to the lingering effects of saliva and other secretions.



Today, we will begin the journey south towards Purge – I hear tell that one of Your temples stands watch along the way!



Bewareth the god of mysteries, for when he walketh, he knoweth not where he steppeth. Amen.



*****



Pin’mar, Nardur'kiev 28th, 12082



Dear Thor,



Oh my Lord, Lord, Lord, I rejoice in your presence and find great solace in your company. When I first saw the lightning-rod-tipped spire of your abbey appear over the horizon, I leapt from my humble steed and ran to your doors, pausing only thrice to catch my breath. Awakening in your humid and ozone-scented embrace this morning was like once again suckling at my own mother’s hairy, charcoal-tinted bosom.



I am proud to now call myself an Acolyte of your Loud and Imposing Magnificence; proud like a new father, or a priest who has stared into the flashes of a thousand lightning bolts and not blinked. There is no doubt in my mind that there exists not an ailment you cannot cure, nor a curse you cannot cleanse. The vindication I felt when your most noble and able Abbot first stated that my companions were deeply mentally ill and troubled beyond most manners of understanding… *priceless*.



Praise be to Thor, and to his humble servants, for they are learned and well worth every penny they charge. Amen.



*****

[The Dungeon Master]

Once more my thanks to Xarvok, now Acolyte of Thor and Warrior-in-training. I look forward to hearing more of our devout rumblings.

195 XP and 3 temporal honor. This will be applied to the next session.

[The Dungeon Master]

*****

Sa’mar, Tomar'kiev 1st, 12082

Dear Thor,

This morning, my Lord, I awoke in a barracks-bunk, which some might call snug, or stiff, but to Your humble servant it serves only as a pleasant reminder of my days in the army as a much younger dwarf. I have enrolled in a training camp here at the Mellet Way Fighters' Kobar in an effort to hone the skills I have learned over the past few months while on the road with the Cock Knockers.

Robyn, bless her soul and the muscles behind her sword-strokes, is funding this venture, in order to thank me for helping cure her of her... troubles. Though I assured her that it was You, my Lord, who did the curing, she insisted on focusing her gratitude on Yours truly, here in the mortal realm, rather than pledge herself to Your divine personage. Do not fret, though, my Lord, I foresee her coming around to our side eventually. Though she professes affection for the so-called god of mysteries, it is not difficult to see that, when she is of her right mind, it is lightning which guides her blade and thunder which reverberates within her thighs.

Time beith the river upon which the boat of adventure is paddled upstream. Amen.


*****

Tu'mar, Tomar'kiev 2nd, 12082

Dear Thor,

Robyn, Blaarg, Ivee, and Thara have decided to explore the region around the Kobar whilst I busy myself within it. I have no doubt that they can take care of themselves, but please, my Lord, I beseech Thee to watch over them and keep them out of trouble. Would that we could all enroll in this camp together! After seeing how Robyn handled herself in that little duel the other day with the leader of those orcish humans, however, I am convinced that she is more equipped to handle such challenges than she has been for quite some time.


Praise be to Thor, for without Him, the good would die young, whilst the evil remain afoot and shifty. Amen.

*****

Quay’mar, Tomar'kiev 3rd, 12082

Dear Thor,

Training camp in progressing well, my Lord, and Your humble acolyte is learning much. Yesterday I was even able to help some of the young warriors with their broadsword drills, recalling, once again, my army days. To think that I once thought such training was all for naught, after I was told that clerics of Thor were forbidden from wielding swords in combat!

No, my Lord, I have long since learned that every bit of experience acquired during my travels will eventually prove useful somewhere down the road. Who would have thought that an Ogre could be convinced that he was a tiny pixie-fairy? I'll have to try that tactic next time we encounter Ogres not nearly so personable as Your humble veteran Blaarg.


Avoideth the temptations of Peace, for it driveth the soldiers from their pay and the fervor from the nations of men. Amen.


*****

Run’mar, Tomar'kiev 4th, 12082

Dear Thor,

The brotherhood of Your faith is expanding, my Lord, and the connections I have planted whilst in your employ have begun to bear fruit. Yesterday, a gnome I met as we lodged at Your abbey last week has joined me here at the training camp with the intention of accompanying the Cock Knockers as my assistant. He calls himself Beavis, and he is a prestidigitator of some sort, professing to focus his studies on the nature of the elements, particularly fire. No doubt this will provide a fortunate complement to our current conjurer's more... domestically-oriented magics. That is not intended as an insult in any way, my Lord, for You know as well as I how many times I have been saved from harm when blows meant for my body were directed instead at a dancing figment of that pixie-fairy's imagination.


Blessed be the Heat Lightning, for it compelleth the man from his house to provideth for the humble insect. Amen.

*****

Ara’mar, Tomar'kiev 5th, 12082

Dear Thor,


Last night, my Lord, I was re-visited by that horrible nightmare with the crawling worms and maggots and whatnot -- terrifying! This time, though, the worms climbed upon me and began to burrow into -- well, it must have been my skin, but it felt like my soul. I was only able to stop them, in the dream, by taking a torch to my arms and burning the wriggling little abominations in mid-burrow. The horror! I have never had to immolate myself before, and the experience, however imaginary, still managed to propel me awake, with a lingering soreness in my arms where I had dreamt the worms were feasting. Oh Lord, what hath brought on these terrible visitations? No, never You mind, my Lord, I will think of it no more.

Cry out and lifteth a joyous voice unto the Lord Thor, so that He might hear thee above the din of idiocy. Amen.

*****

Gart’mar, Tomar'kiev 6th, 12082

Dear Thor,


Beavis is quite a scholar, my Lord, and he is leaned in many areas. Yesterday he informed me that it was possible to remove an elf's spleen through its navel, and for the elf to remain conscious during the process! Not that you'd want the elf to remain conscious, of course, but still... fascinating! Beavis seems to not think very highly of elves at all, come to think of it, which only lends credence to my theory that the scrawny folk can't be trusted.

I'll have to ask Beavis if he's ever met Dennis. They seem to have a lot in common, or at least more than simply their shared ethnicity would suggest.

Eat not of the hare or the oyster, for though they cheweth the cud, they swim not via the fins of the sea. Amen.

*****

Pin’mar, Tomar'kiev 7th, 12082

Dear Thor,


We spent the whole day practicing "charges" in training yesterday, my Lord, and it really tired me out. Heaven's Hammer, I slept like an anvil last night. No more nightmares to speak of, thank Goodness. Beavis has been making himself useful around the kobar -- yesterday, he stood atop our rack of charging dummies and goaded us on with a downpour of clever gnomish insults. I have no idea what a "bungmunch" is, my Lord, but I'll have to remember it for my "threat gestures" class this afternoon.

Blessed be the humans, for though they adorneth the neck with shellfish feces, they keepeth the Halflings in the kitchen and the elves in the trees where they are easier to hit with lightning. Amen.

*****

Sa’mar, Tomar'kiev 8th, 12082

Dear Thor,



Well, my Lord, you know I hate Orcs as much as the next red-blooded Thunorian dwarf, but I'll be damned if there isn't a better language to insult your foes with than theirs. Thirty-seven different linguistic terms for an anal opening, each with its own unique connotation! It boggles the mind. I sure as rain can't put a sentence together in Orcish, my Lord, but after yesterday's training, at least I'll be able to employ a few of its more colorful cusses. The servant of a lesser deity would no doubt have to ask for his god's forgiveness after using a few of those terms. 'Tis the very definition of "lesser deity," indeed!

Blessed be the weak-stomached, for they suffer so that others may thrive, better-warned of foul presences. Amen.

*****

Tu’mar, Tomar'kiev 9th, 12082

Dear Thor,



It is only fitting, my Lord, that I graduate from this kobar's course of study today, Thor's day, our day of rest and celebration. Before I even had the opportunity to kneel in prayer this morning, the course's instructor came to visit me and offer his best wishes. He said that he so enjoyed my presence at camp that he would allow me to return here at some point in the future and enroll in another course at a reduced rate! You must share some credit for this, of course, my Lord -- it is clear that both the teachers and the students consider it lucky to have an acolyte of Your faith present for a class in the arts of war.

And though I look forward to revisiting this kobar, right now, I'd really like to just see Blaarg and my other comrades again. I thought for sure that they'd be in and out of the premises while exploring the surrounding wilderness, but I have smelled neither hide nor hair of them for a week. I trust Your hand to have guided them, though, my Lord, so I do not fear for their safety.

Praise be to the foul-smelling, for they remindeth the faithful multitudes of the many benefits of soap. Amen.

*****

Quay’mar, Tomar'kiev 10th, 12082

Dear Thor,

A disaster has occurred! Little time to talk this morning, my Lord, and I'm sure that You are well aware of the situation. Robyn's body is, at this moment, a'pyre, and I can only pray that her soul is on her way to You instead of that... other... deity whose errand-boy disappeared from our company a fortnight ago. When the foul... creatures... have all been burned from her unfortunate carcass, we will collect her remains and proceed to Your temple with the speed of a bolt of lightning. Ivee is distraught, Blaarg is in shock, Thara is wilting, and Beavis... well, let's just say that it didn't take long for Beavis to prove his worth in mortal combat. And Robyn must have agreed, too, for she fell while attempting to draw the... creatures'... attention away from the little pyromaniac. And I say only... "creatures" for there is no word in any language I have ever heard to describe the hideousness that visited our camp early this morning.

And I'm not talking about the stouts, either, those guys were cool.

And were those nightmares I had premonitions? Or mere coincidences? I'll leave the wondering to You, my Lord, for I have work to do.



Beware, tiny denizens of the foul cracks and moistened crevices of the land, for Thor is angry, and your creepiness tests his tolerance. Amen.

*****

Run’mar, Tomar'kiev 11th, 12082

Dear Thor,

We're almost to the abbey, my Lord. It has been slow-going without a rider to guide Robyn's horse, and transporting her weighty remains is no picnic, either. Thara has been both silent and expressionless... it's quite disconcerting... though not nearly as horrifying as watching a companion be consumed by...

...that's all for today, my Lord. We press on.

In each tiny drop of Thor's rain we seeth the both the mighty ocean and the humble mug of ale. Amen.

*****

Ara’mar, Tomar'kiev 12th, 12082

Dear Thor,



Once again, my Lord, I awaken in your embrace. My brothers here have taken Robyn's remains and the abbot is performing the ancient and remarkable ritual of resurrection. I have been assured that it will be a success, and that it is only a matter of time. But I am still anxious. Your power is great, my Lord, and I am but a humble pawn before your impressive might.
I thought that my companions and I would have to sell all of our possessions to fund Robyn's return, but that has not turned out to be the case. Apparently the magic boots she wore -- which we found amongst her possessions in the aftermath of the tragedy (she had no time to dress for battle and faced the... creatures... clothed in nothing but her nightgownery) -- were far more valuable than we had ever estimated, and the abbot said that they would even be a reasonable exchange for the service he was about to perform. Incredible. They must be made of the finest material around, and imbued with the magic of some dragon.

Praise be to Thor, for His rains keepeth the lakes full, the rivers rapid, and the turkey population down. Amen.

*****

[The Dungeon Master]

Brilliant! I especially like the heat lightning reference.

396xp and 39 temporal honor for the next session