The Slothfinger Diaries - Entry 1

I've started playing in a new campaign of Dungeons and Dragons and the DM suggested that we write up how our characters feel about the closing encounter of session 1. So, I put together the following. I'll probably post more of these as the game goes on, just for fun. They're sort of stream-of-consciousness too, so continue at your own risk.

The Slothfinger Diaries

An arresting account of the astounding achievements of an audacious adventurer. Containing much merry making, minimal murder, and maximum mayhem. Complete and unabridged with appendix, a smattering of helpful visual aids, and the personal approval of the Slothfinger Society, that marvelous collective of fans, frenemies, and fiendish busy-bodies devoted to documenting the life and times of Slothfinger Baeruran, the forest gnome horizon walker; an all around good, but slightly chaotic, sort of character.

Entry 1: Adventure Actually

Whenever I get lackadaisical with the state of the world, I think about all the dimensional portals in Greyhawk. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a Material Plane of domestication and safety, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that adventure is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – mapping portals, documenting extra-dimensional incidents, calming witnesses, pixies, dryads, satyrs. When the Bone March Campaign was under way, as far as I know, none of the letters from the people on the front lines were messages of boredom or trivialities – they were all messages of adventure. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaky feeling you’ll find that adventure actually is all around.

At least, that’s how I see it. Take a case in point. I was recently on the road from Deghulan to Owlsthorpe by way of Finton on a mission that promised to change the fate of every known plane (and probably a few of the unknown ones too), when I came upon a scum creeper in the muck. Now, I don’t have to tell you that scum creeper juice makes an excellent ingredient in many mixed drinks. There’s a magnificent whiskey potion that Liquortoe Owfaern whips up for special occasions that leaves one defying gravity and short-term memory. So, it should be of no surprise to you, kind reader, that I found it necessary to stop and milk this specimen to store the harvest for use later in Finton.

I was engaged in this muddy adventure when along came a wagon. In it rode a humorous soul of a human named Father Cooper. A dwarf named Mannix was at his side, looking very official in his trappings, badges, other various baubles of civilization. Another dwarf by the name of Fargrim road in the back reading some arcane text. We exchanged pleasantries and they offered me a ride to Finton. This worked out well since the scum creeper had long since fled its fate and there was nothing left for me to do in the mud other than to take in the fresh earthy smell of a good rain and fertile soil. (This is something a can spend all day doing, but I was on a very important mission and could not afford to waste time in idle pursuits.) Before we entered through Finton’s gates later that evening, we also met a gnome by the name of Issa who spoke in puzzling but insightful verse, a halfling named Kelbis due to deliver blessings to the families of those who fought in the Bone March Campaign, and a gnome jewelry merchant name Ulla who had her own cart and mule.

The stay at Finton was brief. I was a little sour over my lack of scum-creeper juice but comforted myself in the warming glow of the local drink and a never-ending stream of clever jokes supplied by good Father Cooper. Since our little group got along well enough, we agreed to continue on to Owlsthrope together the next morning. There were many fascinating things to see on this second stretch of the journey but none compared to the sure magic of the gryphon.

So, just in case you missed it. There was a gryphon. All alone. And it wanted to greet us. It wanted to be our friend.

I couldn't be rude. I greeted it right back and between Mannix and I, it wasn’t long before the gryphon (he later told me his name was Griftwind) was leading our little group off on another adventure. I probably should have mentioned that Griftwind was saddled but had no rider. It turns out that his rider, another human of some importance I suppose, had been kidnapped by a vile pack of xvarts. But I’m getting into the next adventure when I haven’t even finished telling you about this one. Well, Griftwind and I became fast friends. He even let me ride him for a bit. And sure, he never actually flew while I was strapped into the saddle (probably a good thing given the circumstances) but how many gnomes can say they have ridden a gryphon? Not many I suppose. And who knew griffons kind of sort of understand hawk.  Anyway, I thanked both Griftwind and Baervan Wildwanderer profusely, and mentally checked off another masterful experience on my barrel list.

As Griftwind led us on his adventure, I discovered the ruins of a rock wall that was spitting out hundreds of butterflies. A short climb and a quick look later, and it became obvious there was some sort of teleportation portal at work here. Exploring and documenting such things is critical to my mission of changing the fate of every known plane (and probably a few of the unknown ones too). Once again it should be no surprise to you, patient reader, that I became extremely excited. I was all set to leap into this new adventure when my companions reminded me that we were already in the middle of something else. Clearly, they’ve never heard the wisdom of Nebelun. “An adventure at its halfway mark is only half as exciting as an adventure just starting out.” Alas, I caved to peer pressure. (I shall make the appropriate apologies to Nebelun the next chance I get.) Regardless, we continued on our way with promises of returning to the portal after the business with Griftwind was done.

Sigh.

It wasn’t long, though, before Griftwind brought us to our destination, the ruins of yet another stone structure. (Did I forget to mention all the ruins. There were a lot of ruins. The place was lousy with them. They were all of dwarven make too. I guess that isn’t too surprising. Humans and dwarves really like to build big stone structures, the sort of sprawling complexes that gnomes, and elves, and fey folk really just don’t find all that appealing. But I’m getting off course again.) It turns out that Griftwind’s rider was a prisoner of a pack of xvarts who were apparently taking up residence under the ruins. (Did I mention that xvarts are vile?) I say this because a detachment of the blue villains were manning a ballista that sat atop the entrance to some sort of underground complex. And they started shooting at us!

We fought the xvarts. We won. Of course, it wasn’t all that straight forward. We had a plan; but plans quickly go in unexpected directions. Still, my new companions proved to be a worthy bunch. Even the jeweler, who I dismissed early on as just a merchant lord in training, turned out to be quite deadly with her bow. I did manage to take one of the xvarts prisoner and we did rescue Griftwind’s rider, one Lord Trelack. He was badly hurt and missing all of his armor and weapons. Oh, and naked. Weird.

More adventures were definitely on the horizon for everyone. But I should probably get back to changing the fate of every known plane (and probably a few of the unknown ones too) sooner or later.

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