Chapter 3, Side Adventure 1

The Personal Journal of the Venerable Konrad Spindleshanks

Edition 1 Volume 3: The Intellectual Savior

   After a successful quest to destroy Asmodeus' second beacon, we returned to town to receive instructions for our next assignment. To kill time while waiting for these instructions, I decided to have a frosty beverage at the pub. It seems that tales of my valorous deeds are not only far-reaching but travel quickly as well. Patrons of the pub instantly recognized me (most likely due to my noble jaw line) and hoisted me upon a high backed chair. Revelers of my fame soon began to pour into the drinking hall pleading to hear tales of my courage and benevolent leadership. Never one to be overly grandiose or boastful, I finally relented to their pleas and humbly retold the account of our adventure. Overcome with gratitude at remembering my role in our success, our little explorer placed a crown upon my head as I recounted the tales. As a courtesy, I bore his crown to placate his obvious admiration for me, but promptly returned it as I have never been one to laud my own heroics.

Chapter 2 ending, Griff's POV

((Dear adventurers at the far end of the table:

I am sorry if I have mischaracterized you, forgotten your names or confused your classes.  I will try to pay closer attention next time.))

Adventurers Log

-- the personal anthology of Griff Goodmeade

It was dark, and it had been dark for a very long time. I don't quite remember how it happened, but as we were searching for treasure in an old creepy house Tharn must have pulled a lever activating the trap. Then I woke up in a room with no light and no food. And Tharn.

Rather than describe the malodoros predisposition of dwarves (I'm not racist), I will focus on the group of adventurers that heard our desperate pleas for help from within the bowels of the jail. I will be forever grateful for their help.

The End of Chapter 2, Recap

 

Ed. 1 Vol 2: Learning to Fly

Bravery, resourcefulness, cunning, an humility....but enough about me.

Today began much like my last entry ended with me saving a couple of poor wretches. Obviously over estimating their capabilities, two gold-thirsty adventurers were found captive in a secret cell. Because of my keen senses I, as usual, was the one t perceive their muted cries for help. It seems our "intrepid" crew has a short term memory problem because the cries for help emanated from the very dungeon that the black death almost got them yesterday. Taking up a strategic position on the stairs landing, I guard the stairs as the rest of the party descended down to inspect. For some reason, Thorindor began slamming his mailed fist on every wall when any dolt (even out explorer) could easily realize the cries were coming from the floor.