Welcome to the latest chapter of our Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) campaign, set in the legendary world of the Forgotten Realms.
This blog is a living novel, a raw, unfiltered chronicle of our adventures, told through the eyes of those who lived them. Each story is based on a true D&D session as played, with no add-ons or changes made by the authors. Our session reports offer unique, in-character perspectives on the perils, triumphs, and unforgettable moments that define our journey.
Our story follows an unlikely trio of heroes:
Finn, the streetwise Halfling Rogue with a knack for finding trouble (and exits).
Jonathan, a devoted Halfling Priest standing as the moral compass of the group.
Inez, a striving Gnome Wizard whose arcane mastery is often or not the saving grace.
Today’s chronicle is told from the perspective of Inez. Step into her mind as we recount the magic, mystery, and unexpected turns of our latest quest.
Prequel: Festival of Berronar's blessing in Nook
Dear diary,
Today I picked up Thorga at her place, one of the bigger ‘just two storeys, plus half a mine underneath’ dwarven houses in the old center. The two of us were dressed up for the festival of Berronar’s blessing, one of the major festivities in Nook. Once a dwarven rite, the celebration had since become a city-wide feast. Bringing the whole population to the central plaza to watch the new borns being presented to the council. Most of them, like Thorga and me, dressed up as members of a different species.
As my father would never fail to remind us over dinner: ‘Continuity was one of the few things our mayors agreed on’. That's why the city council propagated and sponsored the festival, concluded by a firework display. Guaranteed magic free, a concession to the ‘Grumpy Dwarfs’ faction, that strongly opposes all forms of magic and enchantments. So only a little bit of gnomish or otherly tinkering is tolerated in Nook these days.
My dwarven-warrior-costume had been created by my mother and me, with help from some ladies from our kitchen staff. The base was a black dress with a fat cushion stuffed underneath, giving me a proper bulky contour. On top of this I wore a silvery top, representing breast- and back- plate, together with silver armbands and handkerchief as gauntlets. Inlaid with gemstones this silverwork really did give an impression of a decorated harness. Underneath this I wore my riding boots, a bottle of beer stuck in each one. A fake red beard was glued to my chin and around my mouth. My hair was woven in many braids, held in place with barrettes and pins. ‘No need for coloring, as your hair, like your stubbornness, are dwarven in character’. Thank you mother! And don’t laugh, dear diary!
Finishing this all were the buttons and badges with fake dwarven runes that were attached all over my costume. Gnomish tinkerings, with just a hint of magic, cycling through runes before dimming, only to relight moments later. The characters were supposedly fake and meaningless, but every now and then I recognized a rather obscene or insulting one. Luckily both my mother and father were too occupied with all preparations and bookkeeping to notice!
Every newborn inhabitant of Nook was to be presented to our burgomeisters and council. My father, as solicitor and ‘Head of the Clerks of the Rolls,’ was tasked with compiling a list of children born last year: name, date of birth, its parents and family or clan, sometimes even the guild it was born into. This may not sound like a difficult task, the city registry contained this information, though a lot of parents came over to announce their offspring the last few weeks, just to make it in time for the festivities. My aid was limited to the ‘raw’ first version based on the registry and later additions, and adding the late-minute additions to the registry.
What made it truly difficult was determining if parents were registered inhabitants of our city, or should gain (or lose!) this status. Then add rulings on half-bloods (quite a lot), foundlings (an unlucky few) and which elder was to be the guardian (most of the cases but not always the parents). On top of this all, settling the order in which the younglings were to be blessed (all of them).
As the day of the festival came nearer, more dignitaries, notabilities, but also augurs and soothsayers, not to mention parents and family members of all kinds and sorts came over to the office to claim a position in the procession. Based on the moment of birth as known or lied about, dwarfs, gnomes, halflings and tall folks all had their reasons to prefer a different ranking than the one determined by the clerks. So many amendments and modifications were made, multiple versions of the list went round, until the final one was approved by all parties and stakeholders, and finally by the burgomeisters late last night. Allowing my parents a few hours of sleep.
So this morning, after breakfast and getting dressed up, I went out the staff entrance, taking the shortest route to the oldest part of Nook. Though her father still is a bit estranged from mine, politically and business wise, he allows for my visits. Just not the other way around. ‘Nothing as hardheaded as a dwarven oathkeeper, still you take second place easily!’ my father would say to me, when I pressed upon the matter.
Stepping out, raindrops kept falling on my head, so I grabbed one of our umbrella’s, though its colorful canopy did not match my costume. Not to mention the tune it started playing when I opened it, a joyful gnomish polka. In line with the rhythm, I tried to march on it, imitating our dwarven city guard, on my way over. Earning both laughs and grunts of dwarfs I encountered.
The door was answered by one of the staff, who let me in, led me through the hall into their guest room, then rang the proper bell to announce me. A little later Thorga showed up, dressed as a Gnome lady! My ‘gnomish’ hostess led me through the great hall into her maiden chamber.
“I see your knowledge of Dwarven runes has improved, your lordship!”; she wittily addressed me. “I see your nose has finally grown into a decent length, as your ears now end in proper points, my lady.”; I riposted, admiring her fake nose and ears. “May I ask for your name?” “Well, my lord, what manners you have! Shouldn't you introduce yourself properly, clan included, before I decide if you’re a knight worthy of knowing my name?” “Fair point, my lady. From the clan of Boulderbashers, I am baron Highstone the Magnificent. Visiting the city of Nook in search of a worthy bride.” The last part had Thorga rolling her eyes at me. Quite a number of young dwarf cavaliers had visited Nook recently for that purpose.
“Well highborn baron, my name is Zine Systemix, I’m just a modest gnomish lady, as you can tell from my dress”. Thorga’s dress was a patchwork of all kinds of colorful pieces sewn together. Stitched together with broken gears and metal parts that dangled from thin wires. Even her braids were painted in different colors, as if she had raided the gnome painters lodge.
Making an over the top curtsey towards me, the excess bandages stuck to her fingers waving in the air, she continued: “A solicitor’s daughter, my sister is the obnoxious Inez, feared and loathed by all boys!” Now my eyes were rolling: “Oh, that’s so not true!” “You’re right, you’re right, excuses, there’s a dwarf guy that really really likes you!” “By Moradin’s beard, shut up, your parents might hear!”; I sounded like a faulty gear in a perfectly running machine! “Oh, don’t be shy now, you weren't two weeks ago.” Thorga’s eyes were gleaming with mischief like a goblin and I was considering using my wooden hammer on her. Instead I gave her a hard push and sat down on the chair, pulling her with me.
That way we ended up next to each other on the wooden chair, obscured from sight for anyone looking into the large room. And hopefully our voices were blocked too, as Thorga called out some serious dwarven curses after her hard landing. “Forgive me, I never will do that again, but please lower your voice. And gnome ladies don’t have beards anyway! And don’t talk about that evening again, you promised!” “I should pull your nose, make it as long as mine.”; my pseudo-sister answered smiling. We squabbled for a while, then moved to gossiping and small talk (about small folks), our costumes and the coming festival. All the while I was prying to find out more about Thorga’s nephew, but with no result. Apparently he had been visiting Nook to complete or avoid obscure clan matters. “Let’s go out to the tree and look at the hatchlings!”; I suggested. “Great idea, perhaps we’ll see a nice dwarven-gnomish couple with their child?” Sticking out my tongue to her I stood up, handing my umbrella: “Here, take this and wind it up. It fits your costume better than mine.”
Moments later we were walking the streets of Nook, heading towards the central plaza. We cuddled up against each other under the umbrella, now playing a dwarven melody, to shelter for the light rain. Even as the house of Thorga’s was located dead center in the dwarven quarters, from where Nook was born, the new center was grown around the old Tree of Kin. And this tree had grown out of one of the first abandoned mines, long depleted before a serious settlement had arisen. The old tree had started growing underground and somehow found its way through mineshafts towards the sun. Nowadays its underground parts were literally petrified, only the higher branches looking tree-like. The overground parts were huge, its crown forming a roof for the whole of the plaza, high enough to walk under, and where parts of it that had reached the ground had grown into trunks, forming a one-tree-park. In this park almost all of Nook had gathered, a long row of guardians with children in the middle.
We passed the honorary guard, this year assembled of halflings. “They look more like robbers than soldiers.”; Thorga whispered in my ear. After stating our names we were allowed into the inner pavilion. From there we had a clear sight at the table where the burgomeisters and council were seated (and my father of course), and the Gemwarden placing the gemstones in the bark of the tree. Most guardians brought a quartz or obsidian gemstone for a child (or one was provided for by the council), sometimes truly expensive or rare ones were handed over. Still each newborn got one stone placed in the ‘heart of the tree’, a stump where a limb had broken off from the middle main trunk. As a kid I had spent many hours trying to count the growth rings on this heart, one time even bringing ink and paper, only to be laughed at, even by my mother: “Sometimes I wound, who’s more fanatic in keeping records, your father or a dwarf oathkeeper, but I think I found another contestant.”
Like each year, a dwarf had the honor to be the Gemwarden and hammer the stones into the hardened wood, expanding the spiral of gems. Though this had been done for generations, the size of the stump made sure that Nook could grow on for centuries! With a stone for everyone ever born in Nook, the collection of gemstones attached to the tree signified the lifeblood of Nook. I can’t think of a single friend who did not at some point try to find her own stone within the ‘heart’! My parents never wanted to tell me what kind of gem they had presented, so I could only imagine which one was mine. There was a deep blue Lapis Lazuli at the right spot for my day of birth, which would be a lucid choice for a solicitor. When pressed, my parents would say that they will tell me when I bring the stone for my first born to the tree. Pesky parents!
This year's Gemwarden was not a clan member of Thorga, not even closely related, so I did not have to listen to her explaining the skills involved in hammering the gemstones hard and long enough to stay in their place forever without damaging stone or tree. Nor why only dwarfs were capable of doing so. Instead she bickered about some member of an unfavorable clan having got a better spot than a cute newborn nephew of hers (to be blamed on my father). Giving me the chance to look around at the marvelous costumes some people were wearing.
Within the pavilion most visitors were dressed at their best, only a few wore a costume like we did (if you did not count men wearing battle outfits). In the crowd within the park lots of disguised and masked folks could be spotted. Gnomes posing like dwarfs and halflings, or even as tall folks, using stilts or standing on top of each other! Likewise halflings, some with even longer fake noses than Thorga’s, or wearing long beards that made them fall over when stepped upon. Two halfling youngsters told us that their fake beard was the only thing they were wearing, daring us to verify their claim, which we plainly declined! (Though one of them was certainly worthy of investigation, dear diary!). Laughing we chased them away with our sword and umbrella!
Wandering around we joined Thorga’s family at their clan table for a while. As a dwarf-lord, I was greeted even more thoroughly and meticulously had I been a true kin-man. Where Thorga was mocked for her gnome-ness, not to mention of having an interest in dwarf-men, and I could not figure out if these puns were directed at her or at me. Pesky dwarfs! Still even her father seemed to approve of my appearance, even bringing me a pint of ale. Or he himself had had too many of these already?
Leaving the pavilion we strolled the plaza, checking out the merchandise, jewellery and junk offered by merchants and locals. By now all ceremonies were completed, the festival had transformed gently into a marketplace, crowded like the gears and cogs on a workbench! Escaping the crowd, we found a nice spot to watch a group of dwarfs demonstrating their wrestling skills. Quite the eye candy, dear diary!
With Thorga fixated on dwarven muscles and torsos, I looked around a bit bored, only to find my father standing some distance away. Seemingly having a heated argument with a tall person, presumably a true tall folks person. Truly heated, as two halfling guards were flanking his disputant. “Hey, Thorga, look, my father is having someone arrested that came over our office some days ago!” Poking her fake nose in my eye, she turned towards the scene: “That one would certainly win the prize for best hag costume if she wasn’t one!” “I overheard my parents talking about a witch, but I didn’t expect it to be a real one.” “Those tall folks do all kinds of strange things, using magic whenever they like. They’ll do worse than gnome’tinkering!” “Thank you, dear gnomely sister! Always good to learn wise lessons, perhaps you could write them down in some nice runes!”
Before we could truly fall out, a group of wrestlers approached, a few of them clearly acquainted with Thorga. “Hi gnome lady, is this dwarf with his wooden sword bothering you?” “At least this dwarf does not smell of sweat, sand and sawdust!”; I retorted, recognizing the speaker vaguely. “You should have dressed up like Hlal, little gnome!” “Hey, who are you calling a little gnome? I’m the gnome here!”; Thorga came to my aid; “And this little gnome does not mind a smelly dwarf!” “Will you accompany us? We’re heading for the Drunken Badger?”; one of the dwarfs proposed. “Will you join me, Inez, these two are clanbrothers of me, they’ll make sure we stay safe.” “My parents will kill me if I show my face there, let alone escorted by a group male dwarfs!”; Seeing that Thorga really wanted to go, I waved her off: “Please go with them! You dwarfs have no problem finding gems in the dark and taking them!” Rolling her eyes at me, Thorga waved me goodbye as she and the men took off.
Not only was I worried about the consequences of joining them (and my interest in dwarves was limited to one specimen, anyway), but in the corner of my eye I had followed the scene involving my father. The hag was now paraded away by the two guards, and I was very curious about what had taken place. And where they were taking her to, probably the town hall or the halfling militia building, as Nook did not have a dedicated prison. So I followed the three of them, at a safe distance. Moving through the crowd of townspeople I saw them move into the Tanner alley, taking a more discrete route, away from the crowds. Heading around the corner, I lost sight of them.
Hurrying to catch up with them, the smell of the tanneries was favorably repressed by the rain, and I remembered that Thorga still had my umbrella. Then making it around the corner, I found the two guards lying on the streets, snoring like only halflings can! Clearly they were under a spell, slapping and pushing did not wake them up, a significant violation of Nook’law!
Further along the road I saw the hag walking on, as if nothing had happened. My curiosity repressed my fear somehow, and I continued my pursuit. Following her as stealthy as I could, keeping some more distance for safety sake. After some zig-zags through parts of Nook I had never dared to visit, the hag disappeared into a back street that was filled up with fog, dense and dark, and I did not dare to enter it.
Moving home to watch the fireworks from our attic, I encountered some drunks, but my costume and sword made short work of any goon. Keeping pace I made our place in a short time, again using the staff entrance to enter. The house was quiet and empty, as most of our staff had the day off and my parents were probably still caught up in the official part of the festival. Being king of our castle, our better, dwarven lord of our keep, I went into the kitchen and collected a plate of delicacies.
Before I had the chance of moving upstairs with my treasure, there was loud knocking at the front door. Heading over angrily, as I expected a drunk father, I opened the lower door and stepped out. To find the hag staring at me with a grin! Closeby, she was towering over me, two shiny eyes scrutinizing me like I was a transient creature under a microscope. In a strange way she looked old and worn out, even for a human, and sharp and vigorous at the same time.
“Hello dear, or should I say my lord? I was wondering who was following me, so I followed you back. Could have known it was you, you’re the curious one, aren’t you?” I tried to step back and hide inside, but somehow my feet were not mine to command. “Your father and I have some issues, controversies perhaps, there are some points in question about heritages and last wishes, he’s not as trustful as he used to be I think. Therefor I feel lucky that you answered the door, I feel you’re not spoiled, and I feel even some potential, I would say.” With that she took my right arm and pulled it towards her. “Open your hand, I would like to use your services as solicitor, storing this stone for me. One day I’ll pick up and reward you, if you’ve taken proper care for it. Can I count on that?”
With her other hand, she dangled an idol on a chain before my eyes. My right hand opened on its own, and the pendant dropped into my palm. A cold, creeping sensation slithered up my arm, as if the idol were drinking in my warmth. She then closed my hand, securing the idol inside, wringing her nails into my skin before letting go. “So dear, we’ve got an understanding? Good! Now I recommend not telling anyone, especially not your parents.”; she continued with a smirk. “Now, go inside and store it safely and secretly. We’ll meet again.” She gestured a circle with her forefinger and my feet started moving, transporting me inside.
As soon as I was inside I closed the door, securing it with all locks and bolts (quite a few). Opening my hand I looked at the idol. Set in an intricate frame, a blue, diamond-shaped gemstone was of a type I could not determine. (Not of a type that I had admired when visiting ‘The Gilder Hammer’ or ‘Glowstone and Gears’, nor one that I saw in the adornments worn at balls.) Still I could not stop facing it, until at one point the idol seemed to smile at me, making me close my hand around it again. As fast as I could I ran upstairs, to my room, hiding it without looking at it in the hollow book that I used as my personal safe. Next to you, my dear diary, I hope you don’t mind?
So here I am, keeping Hazel, one of our staff, who really does not like me, company. And she’s even in a fouler mood than normal, having been denied the day off like the rest of the household. But still, I prefer her presence over being alone, or alone with that idol. Surely next time I write to you, I will feel less worried, dear diary!
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| Inez admiring the Idol. (Image generated by AI) |